a paw prods her side, and then the light filters in through her eyelids and she rises sharply to her feet, all tangled limbs and matted fur. blue eyes dart wildly until they land on the boy in front of her, and she curls her lip— not a threat, not entirely. fear. he is sun eater's boy, in body and in strength and perhaps in spirit, too.

"stay away." but she cannot hide the waver in her voice, the falter in her step. without blackfell to guide her she is lost. and alone with this boy? she is as good as dead.

she takes care to guard her hind, leaving him no access to the wound at her neck. it has healed into a gnarled scar now, and only tufts of wiry fur remain. her posture remains rigid, a blade mere seconds from striking, but ghelan does not lunge for her. he only stares, confused.

"stay back." she warns again, less certain this time. perhaps sun eater has died and taken the dreaded war with him. perhaps it is all over. wishful thinking. his face holds no grief for the loss of a father, only a wartorn sadness she cannot begin to place.

"ghelan," she speaks his name, and there is no warmth.

"i will not return to saatsine." a promise. a plea. do not make me go.

she does not answer right away. her breath comes in steady clouds, nostrils flaring as she studies him— and not in the way she used to, when she was a girl. she watches him like a soldier gauging distance before the lunge.

"you ask me this now?" she whispers, voice low and flat. "after all this time? after him?"

the silence stretches thin, taut. wind stirs the dry grasses at their feet, brittle and dry. far off, a lone crow cries. ishmira shifts her weight, old pain rippling through her spine. it shows in the smallest twitch of her lip, quickly buried by a snarl. she will not show weakness. not here. not in front of him.

[b]"he hunted me like it was easy." she went on, eyes locked upon his, unblinking. "not because i posed a threat to him. not because i fought back. just because i was in the way of what he wanted." the words hang in the air, barbed.

"i was a child," she hisses. "and he did not care." she lets it sink in. lets him feel the weight of it.

"you carry his scent, ghelan. it's soaked into your skin. like he's everywhere." a pause, then. not hesitation, but restraint. then, "if you're not here to return me to saatsine, then what are you here for? penance?" her mouth twists into a frown. "curiosity?"

she steps closer, each movement sure— as if she hadn't been half dead mere days before. he is taller than her now, broader too. she looks up at him with eyes of ice and does not falter.

"you want to know what happened?" her voice is a rasp now, closer to breath than speech. "i survived him."

ishmira watches him shrink beneath her silence, cowering like a child scolded. even as the heat in her blood cools, it leaves a tremble in her bones, the fading aftershock of some internal battle.

you didn't know. she repeats, low and flat— almost to herself. her eyes, icy and unblinking, fix upon him. he is not an enemy, not quite, but he is not forgiven either.

you didn't. because you were lucky. because you were gone, and i was there. her voice never raises, but there is a sharpness to it that cuts more cleanly than a scream ever could. and while you were off chasing clouds and butterflies, i bled upon the dirt he called home.

she turns away, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed toward the horizon like she might ignite it with look alone.

i see him in you. she admits quietly now, bitterly. in the way you walk. the way you stand. in your silence, sometimes.

there is no venom anymore. only the ache of memory, the burdon of too many ghosts for one so young.

but you're not him, she says after a long pause, wind brushing her fur like an unwelcome hand. she grimaces against it, curls her lip. her throat bobs as she swallows something more difficult than rage— compassion. understanding. she kneads the earth with her paws.

but i can't forget. i won't. so if you're really sorry...stay that way. carry it with you. she looks up at him again, and though her gaze is still hard, there is no longet malice beneath it. only the slow thaw of something broken.

and don't ever pretend it didn't happen.

you could leave. she says, and grimaces at the desperation in her voice. she sounds like a child, begging a boy she hardly knows to run her off with her. but there is some naive part of her yet— some childish dream that ghelan is not his father, and if he leaves now, he can be saved. he can start anew.

you are a man now, ghelan. if you left now, he would have no say. you could start a new life elsewhere, away from his influence. you could be free of him.

she turns to go, and the wind blows cold against the bare skin of her neck. a sideward glance back at him, hoping he will follow. if he trails her, it will be temporary at best. she knows her father well, and blackfell will not tolerate a young man trailing his daughter, regardless of any polite intention. he certainly won't take kindly to sun eater's progeny at her side.

but that is a bridge she will cross when the time comes. for now they are at an impasse, and although she cannot forgive the crimes of his father, ghelan is innocent. she will not push him away.