[AW] threnody

[Bexley]

" BEXLEY BRIAR "

The canyon is a beast in Bexley’s eyes as much as the one they are about to hunt. She’s avoided the imposing walls of the area as much as she could, uncomfortable with the press of impending claustrophobia, but now her only choice is to face it or look like a coward, and besides that, it’s not even close to her biggest problem anymore. Screw this stupid canyon and what’s waiting inside of it. Aggravated but unwilling to show it, Bexley picks her way down the rock wall with carefully-placed steps and resigns herself to appearing confident. Some government this is. A pack hunt can’t possibly showcase the qualities a leader really needs, everyone should be able to see that, but no, apparently this is how this Court is operating now, on stupidity, and blessed by recklessness. Those bone-white teeth grind behind closed lips. Bexley, turning the gears in her head manually, covers her fear with anger. Her derision of the campaign has so far gone unvoiced, but it can’t be too hard to sense, even with her mouth kept, always, stubbornly shut in the presence of her fellow Court members. 

Elder Teryr. Bexley feels her newness keenly as the name rolls around in her head. What the hell is that? The name implies something huge, horrific, and Bexley, though generally overconfident, is on the edge of a panic about how she’s going to survive it. But no one can know. She’s managed not to ask any questions, not to belie her fear, and she’s sure as hell not going to start being vulnerable now. Although her body tingles with patchy adrenaline, and her heart pounds like a wild thing against every wall of her chest, she attempts to focus on the clenching of her jaw, the spray of sun against her back, the idea that she may escape this alive. No one can know. This is what she breathes, eats and sleeps.

A small group comes into view. Maxence, Seraphina, her almost-rival-but-maybe-inspiration, Avdotya - a grimace crosses her face. It’s not even a little unexpected, not with her luck, but she can’t help feeling a little slightly. Bexley slows slightly, collects herself. BREATHE IN DEEP. Her head roils with thoughts that, as they come, are pushed to the side, desperation and stubbornness parting that tide. Her descent is made deliberately. Steps placed with purpose, expression held evenly, muscles tense and carefully collected. She make an effort to turn the silk-blue of her eyes as hard as they’ll go, to glass, to flint and steel. You can kill it. Kill it.

Kill it. Laszlo’s bleached skull echoes like a drumbeat in her head. For once Bexley lets it happen, does not fight the crying heat that builds inside her chest; here, the anger can only serve her.

The weight of that trauma thrums heavy, almost war-like in every recess of her body, as she slides to meet the rest of the group - walking in slow half-steps, coming to a stop only gradually. Her usually loose white hair has been bound back into a thick braid, both her mane and tail swept out of the way to avoid any complications. Too moody to speak without venom and knowing it won’t do her any good here, Bexley, in lieu of any words, turns her self-assured gaze to Avdotya and holds it there in a minuscule challenge; then those turbulent blue eyes take their turn acknowledging Maxence and Seraphina, but still she says nothing, leaning halfway onto a back hoof. 

love, space