The night crawls on.

Her den is sparse, littered with only whatever essentials she's deemed necessary in the aftermath. she pulled up her garden, so of course her bags are packed-- untethered to the bluffs as she is. That was before, though; here, in the night with a new neighbor, things are different.

And so, she sleeps.

Maybe not fitfully, but she sleeps and she dreams. Alone in her den, beneath the quiet cover of an autumnal moon, the covers are kicked free. Never before has her bed felt so big, nor her den so empty-- here, every little noise seems to reverbate. And through the squall of waking dreams, there is... something. Pressing, important. It cuts through the din of rest and slowly, groggily, a pale eye flutters open.

Asleep, awake-- caught in the throes of that grey in-between, a place she knows all too well.

Her starry mental scape made up a shuddering riddle all her own, the greedy grasp of a dream practically shaking her by the shoulders as she lay tucked within that nook of the bluffs. Each ragged breath carried her between visions of her sisters ever skirting out of reach and a forest awash in flame, an endless sense of falling gripping her until, at last, Hekate awoke with a gasp.

She panted. She froze. Alone in the dark of night, her heartstrings plucked a jarring minor key which forbade any true sense of safety despite the mundane glow of her surroundings. There was that same, dull stink of dust the rocklands carried, a far cry from the blooming life and death of the mire.

"Lazare?" Hekate chimed coolly. She liked to think her tone more a quiet command than a wavering, tumbling thing, be it true or otherwise.

Each moment following her feeble summons dragged on with the echo of autumn night, her flushed cheeks cooling with the creeping touch of shame's fingers.

---

|| october y12 | three years | WB hunter | at wolfbron bluffs | @Lazare ||

she is on her feet before she is fully awake.

her movements are loose, off-kilter-- whatever ( whoever? ) is pulling at her strings is not a talented puppeteer. that doesn't stop her, though. lazare prowls through the night, blinking her eyes to try and clear the sleep from them. lazare does not often hear voices but here, even through sleep, her name rings bright and clear like a bell. there is only one person that voice could belong to and fortunately, she's nearby.

lazare had wanted her close, after all, so of course she had given @Hekate the den next to her's.

despite the sudden, chest-pounding urgeancy into the steps that have brought her here, the dieudonne hesitates now. entering the other girl's den is a step too far. somehow, that's a threshold that she cannot cross. piebald ears tick forward as she stands in the doorway, head lowered like a defensive dog. still half-asleep, still half-mad. hekate? she chuffs softly, voice little more than a whisper on purpose; if lazare had imagined all of this, then surely hekate would sleep right though it....

but if not....

( well.

what then? )

"Lazare," she echoed again, a quiet hopefulness the second time she uttered the name. Hekate remained sprawled on one side in the rocky corridor she called home, glancing around in the dark once more as she struggled to place what to do next. "I ––"

I'm scared. I'm having nightmares.

Somehow, she could not even think to let those words loose. They were too puny for the likes of that Wolfbronic wraith. She pulled herself up into a seat, still frozen in the dark despite what invisible forces tugged her by the collar ever-closer to the girl from the glade.

"I can't sleep. Can I go to your den? Just – just for a minute," Hekate fumbled the hushed request, straining to try and catch a glimpse of azure irises through the doorway.

---

@Lazare

her name is returned to her, housed in a whimpering voice. there were no teeth to be found tonight, no weapons glinting in the low moonlight. just a quiet, gentle ( gentle? ) open-hand grasping for something more. something more. in the immediate wake of @Hekate's question there is only silence. stunned, maybe, by just how earnest and forward it was. no one in lazare's life was honest with her, or with themselves. here, in the red rock kingdom, there were only half-truths ( half-lies ), and it was always easier to obscure yourself than simply speak.

here, though, hekate asks for what she wants. what she needs.

was it always that easy?

oui, lazarre answers and when she does, her voice is small. even as she draws herself up to her full height, the french word tumbles from her tongue with little fanfare. as if she was the one, afraid in the dark. but there is nothing to fear here, now; non, if they were being honest, then there is nothing worse in the night than them. a hand extends to her friend as the corner of her mouth angles up for a brief moment, the ghost of a smile lighting up her face like a lightning strike.

you are always welcome there, she continues before her spine straightens, hekate's hand clasped in her own. her den was only a short distance away and lazare leads her barefoot through the would-be gardens, until they reach the doorstep. the den is full of scraggly pelts who have all seen better days. but still, lazare enters first and gesture towards for hekate to join her-- the space here big enough for the two of them and even more. despite her excitement to have company in the night, she is unsettled now-- unsure what to do, what to say.

i don't like to sleep at night, she says, a quiet little secret shared here in the safety of a shared den-- the first of many girlhood confessions in a sleepover. it's always too quiet. it's not quite an offer-- lazare doesn't quite think of it. but the truth is there, that if hekate wanted someone to be on guard while she tried to go back to sleep...

BG — ART — CODE

She expected an interrogation. She expected to be made to justify herself. Where Lazare was raised on half-lies, Hekate had been nursed on near-anonymity in a crowd of not quite family meant to appear a mere accent to a grander picture. What she did not speak would go unnoticed. What she could not force with her own paws would not occur. So, when Lazare spoke her simple acceptance, there remained a moment of silent buffering between them. Lazare accepted what she had asked without question.

Was it always that easy?

"You are always welcome there," the words came as a healing balm as she was tugged along through the darkness. Hekate gasped lightly and moved an arm to catch herself, unsure whether her heart was thudding from the visions of her dream or the tender touch against her palm. She only had a matter of moments to dwell on it before they reached the red-rock shelter steps away and Hekate looked to her brunette apparition for guidance. The tilt of Lazare's head beckoned her onward.

"You don't share with your sisters?" She surmised, perhaps pulling at any loose thread for conversation. The girl wound her feet in slow, meandering steps through the corridor, voice instinctively hushed as if not to wake anyone else.

"I don't like to sleep at night; it's always too quiet."

"What do you do instead?" Hekate rooted herself at one side of the room where she would not disturb any of the pelts or trinkets around. Her head was tilted in that wolfish manner Lazare often took, eyes gleaming with a greedy desire to understand that eccentric princess. Already the air around them was thick with the scent of her, every inch of the den a testament to Lazare's inner world. She could imagine her in the domesticity of it all: gathering the hides, polishing the bones, sweeping the dust floors. She could imagine the way her brow must have furrowed with quiet determination. Yet, no amount of imagining would be enough to sate her.

---

@Lazare

It is never that simple.

Were the tables turned, would lazare have been able to ask for something so succinctly? Has she ever had thr words to describe the turmoil brewing in her chest? Hekate is many things the brunette is not-- here, they are opposite sides of opposite coins. Alike enough to make a strange pair, even if their rough edges don't quite align.

Not even here, a breath away in the dead of night.

( maybe it's the lack of blood? )

Her den, too, is decidedly bloodless. Any grit and grime has been cleared out and cleaned away-- the undersides of her fingernails and the space behind her canines were equally clear. It is not much but lazare has never had a need for physical, tangible things. The closest thing to sentiment comes in the form of pelts and shrubs-- dry, brittle branches that once grew in her garden and housed butterflies. She'd torn it all up and out after her father died; some of it had been replanted but some stayed here. Dry and brittle, weaved into the ceiling and columns of the den.

The den that she certainly did not share. No, lazare answers, though her voice lilts like it's a question. Returning hekate's curiousity straight back to her. Why would i? Lazare could think of few things she wanted less. This space was hers-- small and sparse though it might be. Few things were hers and hers alone. Though.... she did just offer to share with hekate. Realization comes with a small, owlish blink as she waits for the bitter disapointment to follow. It doesn't.

There's only the thrum of her heartbeat in her veins, pulse rapid-kicking from more than just their hasty pace back home.

What did she do besides sleep? Everything, she murmurs, the word framed with a breathless little laugh-- the same sound you might make right before you leap. Free-falling, free-flying. The world is quieter at night, she murmurs, voice a hushed little whisper-- dipping low for the effect. If she speaks soft enough, it'd be easy tovpretend they were the only ones alive. Just the two of them and whatever butterflies fluttered just outside. Pale eyes cut to her companion, curious as she asks: are you still tired?

are you still dreaming?

BG — ART — CODE

"No. Why would I?"

She grieved for something Lazare remained ignorant of losing. Why share warmth with those cast in her same mold – why allow sleep to take her in the safety of a pile of those who had always been with her? There was a such thing as stupid questions in Hekate's world, even if Lazare would be spared of hearing that judgment aloud.

"I do everything with my sisters," Hekate revealed pointedly. Do, not did, even if her pet knew that distinction without her having to make it.

Still, some part of her knew they were not meant to be there in that moment – that dark corridors with that girl from the glade made her breath shake with righteous greed. Even with space yawning between the cats as they whispered sleepover secrets, Hekate thought that the presence of any other might feel like a smothering hand clasped over her mouth choking out that which threatened to spill from her lips.

Perhaps that was why she crawled forth bit by bit, Lazare's come-hither whispers so faint she could scarcely hear her. She did everything. Night was quieter. Was Hekate still tired?

"No," she denied the colossal weight of her eyelids as she forced them stubbornly parted. Just a moment longer – and another. She could not help the way her gaze flickered to the free space at the brunette's side, her mind mapping out the trail there a thousand times before she ever dared lift off. Her stomach was already heavy with a hunger she could not name.

"What should we do?" Hekate asked. She said that instead of, "I want you."

---

@Lazare

everything. a simple word, a grand gesture. there is no grief in lazare's chest-- she, truly, does not know what she is missing. wolfbron's brood has always been lacking-- the ties that bound them were as shallow as blood. her sisters might enjoy the taste but lazare could taste nothing. instead she thinks of delphine: the bond there was small but budding, a flower finally taken root.

and @Hekate, too, was still alone.

lazare may have pulled hekate from her bed and brought her to her own, but both their dens were still. she remembered, vaguely, a mirror image haunting hekate during a past hunt-- a shadow that lived and breathed on its own. was that the sister she spoke of? if there's any grief to be found at this insistence, it's here-- the realization that she may not ever get to meet this sister, or these sisters.

( lazare is greedy too; she wants to know all of hekate. every secret she has to share, every facet and face she shows to the world. )

no, hekate lies, she is not tired. a piebald ear tips forward at that-- if she has any reason to read between the lines, then she simply does not. honesty is forever given freely from the dieudonne and here she takes it in turn; but then, why does her breath catch in her chest? why does the simple admission make her heart flutter and pound?

why is hekate's simply no the most alluring sound she's ever heard--?

she pulled her father back from death with ease-- reaching out from one world to the next to grab and take. she'd done this with ease, the careless sort of grace that can only come from a girl's hand. here, though, her palms feel shaky-- she feels threadbare and raw, open in a way that doesn't quite make sense. this was her home, the den a place of safety and rest, and yet she feels she stands upon a presence.

her voice, too, is thready and soft when she answers: anything. the word punches from her throat breathless and eager, her tongue poking up into a canine tooth until she tastes blood. the taste is faint, imagined-- but the way her heart pounds certainly is not. whatever you want. bloodied mouth and eager eyes, lazare dieudonne waits-- the want burning in her heart as large as her family's appetite.

BG — ART — CODE

"Anything."

Lazare spoke in absolutes Hekate envied. She had never felt herself capable of wielding everything and anything, but the canyon princess seemed to do so with gorgeous ease. The seconds plucked by on harpsichord strings, her withheld fatigue vanishing as if only because Hekate willed it so. She was awake for the distant chirping of desert crickets – attuned to her own heartbeat throbbing in velvet ears. More than anything else, she was aware of Lazare.

"Whatever I want?" She echoed the sentiment more slowly, tone ebbing and flowing in near sing-song as she considered how to even name that which she desired. It had something to do with the way umber furs clung to the sharp valleys of the other girl's collarbones, Hekate suspected; her eyes did linger there near pathologically, a craving never quite satisfied by sight alone.

She pushed herself up into a seat, squirming slightly closer in a feeble attempt to swallow up the expanse between them in Lazare's den – extinguished too quickly by overwhelming nerves.

"You could hold me, if you want..." Hekate suggested through suddenly-scalding cheeks. Her ivory chest ceased its rise and fall as she held her breath subconsciously, unable to force her gaze to fasten to Lazare's as she felt utterly at the mercy of the fanged-one's response. Already she could feel herself unraveling, ripe and bruised enough to fall apart with one misplaced touch.

"Or..." Her mind was suddenly, humiliatingly devoid of any option but Lazare's embrace.

---

@Lazare