2/28/2025, 5:08 PM
She’d lost.
She’d gotten a ring of teeth stamped into the side of her cheek to her neck by the other pup, who’d overwhelmed her in such a way she wanted to cry foul. But she hadn’t been able to do much of anything in the aftermath, except watch her uncle wrangle the shithead who’d decided to make her loss even sorer. Nausicaa hadn’t come back to the fights after that. She’d waited only enough time for the bite to be deemed non-fatal, and she’d stomped off. Rage was her only friend, and the confidant she’d needed. And she couldn’t turn it against her mother, with those hurts lingering in her eyes. Or her present sisters, who she’d resolved to protect wholesale. Her absent sister? Her father? Her chest felt like it would burst when she thought of them, her heart would begin beating like a drum, so fast her head spun. She didn’t know if that was rage, or just a deep feeling she couldn’t name, like grief.
So, in the absence of any target she could reasonably direct to, she had decided to take her anger out on her loss. She branded the other child’s face into her memory, imagined tearing her to shreds over and over again until the lioness in her chest was satisfied. That was how Shiloh would find her, aggressively stomping her feet in the snow as seething spit flew from between her teeth. Nausicaa was muttering as she stopped, kicking the snow until it was in a heap, and stomping on it again.
The boof visibly startled her, making her land with a pitiful plop in the center of her snow pile. Her hackles raised for a moment, teeth twitching into view as she considered who had spoken to her, but it was only her uncle. Her fur lowered, and anger was quickly sharpened to curiosity by the sticks held in his jaws. She was older now, the obsession with sticks slowly leaving her as the world pressed in, but these looked modified. Sharpened. Her expression morphed to one of surprise, eyebrows sharply raising.
She’d gotten a ring of teeth stamped into the side of her cheek to her neck by the other pup, who’d overwhelmed her in such a way she wanted to cry foul. But she hadn’t been able to do much of anything in the aftermath, except watch her uncle wrangle the shithead who’d decided to make her loss even sorer. Nausicaa hadn’t come back to the fights after that. She’d waited only enough time for the bite to be deemed non-fatal, and she’d stomped off. Rage was her only friend, and the confidant she’d needed. And she couldn’t turn it against her mother, with those hurts lingering in her eyes. Or her present sisters, who she’d resolved to protect wholesale. Her absent sister? Her father? Her chest felt like it would burst when she thought of them, her heart would begin beating like a drum, so fast her head spun. She didn’t know if that was rage, or just a deep feeling she couldn’t name, like grief.
So, in the absence of any target she could reasonably direct to, she had decided to take her anger out on her loss. She branded the other child’s face into her memory, imagined tearing her to shreds over and over again until the lioness in her chest was satisfied. That was how Shiloh would find her, aggressively stomping her feet in the snow as seething spit flew from between her teeth. Nausicaa was muttering as she stopped, kicking the snow until it was in a heap, and stomping on it again.
The boof visibly startled her, making her land with a pitiful plop in the center of her snow pile. Her hackles raised for a moment, teeth twitching into view as she considered who had spoken to her, but it was only her uncle. Her fur lowered, and anger was quickly sharpened to curiosity by the sticks held in his jaws. She was older now, the obsession with sticks slowly leaving her as the world pressed in, but these looked modified. Sharpened. Her expression morphed to one of surprise, eyebrows sharply raising.
You’re letting me use one?Wouldn’t mom freak? In that moment, though, she didn’t quite care. The patchwork child fell in behind her uncle, trotting at his heel as her eyes never left the sticks.