He didn't know what it meant to be left. Not in the eyes of others, at least—he'd never admit to it. Their pitying words, the fret of a worry they knew nothing about; he was better than all of it. He'd been on his own for a while, relying on the earth's care to keep him alive instead of a warm tongue. His life was his, and his alone—it was freeing almost, even with only his pride to keep him company.
Though even in his most prideful moments, there were glimpses of what his future might've been like. Glimpses again of the cards he was dealt. On occasion, he'd find himself running across another family—be it birds, deer, or even wolves. He'd watch them until his eyes blurred or the night grew too long, until there was nothing left to watch and he was left alone with his wishes and thoughts.
The what-ifs were loud.
Taunting, goading, making him want for something he'd never even been given.
Oh, just quit 'yer whining! It was snarled on an irritating and weathered morning. Transitioning between slumber and consciousness, he'd all but woken up on the wrong side of the marsh. There ain't any Ma's around here, so quit hollering. He huffed from his burrow in the snow, nose crinkled and eyes glaring.
For once, the boy was speechless, lips twitching as his mouth parted with thought. He could be honest, spill all his unsaid truths to the blonde boy, but he wouldn't understand. No one ever did, and he didn't need this lump of hay blubbering over more sorrows anyways. His chest bloomed with a heavy breath, irritancy knocking at his doors. Didn't ya' hear what I said? He pulled himself up from the shell of warmth he'd cocooned himself within beneath the snow.
There ain't no Ma's here. Not his, not theirs. Was this guy deaf or something? Or were his cries truly too loud for him to have heard anything else? Judgmental eyes took him in.
The boy tried not to be too disgusted by the other's presentation. Be it the salty-soaked fur beneath his eyes or the snot that he was sure would string from his paw should he move it away. He tried, truly—scout's honor—but nothing could wipe the disgust from his boyish face.
His next question earned a careless shrug from the boy. Somewhere cold, I guess. Doesn't much matter. At this rate, this wad of fur would freeze to death trying to search for his Ma. Tears frozen on blonde cheeks and mouth parted in a cry; oh, he could see the sight now.
Listen, teat-sucker, quit that whimpering before you encourage something bigger than your plump Ma to come find us. He grumbled exasperatedly, head peering over his shoulder with jaded caution.
Maybe the boy knew he wasn't being the perfect picture of sympathy. Maybe, in a life now foreign to him, he'd been taught better, reprimanded even. Maybe blondie didn't deserve his wrath or any spit and loutishness—maybes, maybes.
But, even in spite of what he "might've" learned, the boy knew better than to coddle. Just like him, this guy was abandoned—left completely to himself. It was a hard truth, evidently too bitter of a pill to swallow if the other's reaction clarified nothing else. But he wouldn't sit idly and watch another drown in his sorrows, in his hopes. She was gone, what was so hard to grasp about that?
The boy's sigh could've rivaled the exhaustion of an old wolf too arthritic to stand; he just wanted the crying to stop. What do ya' miss 'bout her, then? The warmth? Okay, he could find him something warm. The comfort? The boy wasn't no woman, but he could be...nice? Sympathetic...A visible shuddered wracked his frame. Y'know it's not normal to be blubbering at your age, right? We're too old for that. He didn't need his reputation being ruined, definitely not with this.
Maybe he was hungry, like most babes were when they whined. Or maybe he just needed a nap. Greed and selfishness settled like a rock in his stomach, remembering the rabbit he'd all but slaughtered to strings. They'd have to hunt something themselves if it was food he wanted. That being if blondie even knew how to hunt. He couldn't help but roll his eyes.
It was different for Tarquin. More complicated, he guessed. There'd never been much he missed, never been much he even remembered; so how could he ever understand? Not that, in truth, he cared enough to understand at all, but maybe a part of him wondered. Trapped in the nightmares of absence, he couldn't even remember the name of his mother—if he ever even had one.
He was never kissed when the nights grew dark. Never sang to when the storms blew the trees and the rain made the grass sparkle. He'd never been taught to be kind, or to know when too much is enough. And despite all his anger and exhaustion, despite not knowing who he'd found, there was a certain jealousy in his actions. Envy in his words.
Spoiled with attention and greedy for more, that's what this boy was. Hung beneath a tarp of love and warmth, it was no surprise he didn't know how to live in reality. The reality where a mother never stuck with her son, where a mother often died, was taken, or never cared for her son in the first place. How much of a shellshock that seemed to be for him.
The boy's lip twitched with unresolved anger. Well she was bound to leave ya' at some point! Did ya' think she was gonna be by your side for the rest of your life? Get real. Gods, he was so stupid, so completely raveled in the vines of his ways. Of his mother's love that the thorns had begun poking his obviously delicate skin.
As long as I've known. It was spoken in a hurry, like the boy truly didn't want to admit that he'd been too worthless to stand beside. Too much for anyone to handle. But it don't bother me none. I'm better alone, I don't need to be sniffling like you.
