epitxph

The snow crunches under Vasiliy’s heel as he picks his way through the woods, following the black trail. The motion is less graceful than he would like; his side still twinges from where the younger snowbrute and his friend had gotten some lucky hits in, when he’d run them off his streets earlier. A pang of guilt hits him again at the thought of the two. He hadn’t realized - they’d stepped out into the light of a streetlamp for a split second and he’d finally seen, just for that instant - how young they were. Younger even than Silver and Charlotte, and the thought had frozen him in place long enough for the younger brute to dart in and rake his claws down his unprotected flank. He shoves the thought of them out of his head. He’d recovered, he’d won, and they had left, because they had never been and would never be his. Nevermind how the dark howling thing at the core of him had raged and screamed at the sight of their scarred and malnourished frames - they had made their choices,