Even with this quiet, hissing voice in the back of her mind, Wren did not let it pause her steps. She swept through the exhaustion with fierce rigor, jaw clenched until the ache of her molars stretched into her temples and the pain kept her awake. There was nothing to be done now about her second-guessing. There was only Kindred, their pursuers, and the path before them. A lonely escape into the wilderness beyond their graveyard home, Kindred's silent haze imposing a muteness to the world that Wren did not know how to cope with. It felt unnatural, her twin's lack of commentary. Since birth it had always been Wren who struggled to string words together, Kindred the one to fill the silence with her mellifluous tones. Left alone with only her thoughts and the shell of her sister's body, Wren stewed in a hatred so profound and well-tended that it warmed her cold bones through the winter as they traveled. Anger was an emotion familiar and forbidden to her, a curse against clear thought and practiced violence.
"You cannot feel, Wren. If you do, you have already failed. You must be cold, you must be calculating, or you are useless."
Hell take you, she spits internally, ghost eye glinting in the half-light of dusk. They were wrong about everything else, and though she fears - in some unspeakable way that she does not have the words or experience to define - that she is too broken and disciplined to feel properly, it does not dissuade her from trying.
By the time they reach the imposing forest, with its mangled path and imposing darkness, Wren has not seen any sign of pursuit in well over a fortnight. She is not so naive as to believe they are free, but at least they are safe. She speaks this to her sister, whose eyes - though still fogged with a demon that Wren cannot fight for her - flicker and attempt to pitifully meet her own. "Safe? Yes...staying..." her twin breathes, and Wren swallows down her relief and gratitude. This is not the end of their journey, she will not fail her sister in these last moments. Wren may have been the herald of death, but it is hope that she always strives to deliver to Kindred instead.
As one they move together into the darkness, scattered light illuminating their shared ivory spots in flashes. Wren keeps a wing against her sister's side at all times, a gripping fear of losing her in these brambles taking hold of her heart. It is difficult to maneuver through the wooded confines, even harder to keep direction, but there is a tugging in her soul that tells her - intuitive and instinctual as she is - that they are on the right path. When Kindred shudders to a stop, Wren's little legs stop immediately in turn. Her name warbles unsteadily off Kindred's lips, and Wren turns immediately to face her sister and provide her wholehearted attention. To hear Kindred speak more than a mumble of a word feels like breaking from beneath the ice she has been trapped under, frozen and paralyzed by the cold of solitude she has been left in, and gulping in breaths of fresh air. Her primaries tremble with emotion, with gratitude. She will not be left alone in this world she cannot faithfully interact with.
"We are not in circles," she rumbles soothingly, letting both wings arc forward to embrace Kindred as her soft muzzle reaches for her dark cheek. "Will make it out, I promise. You trust me?" She gazes imploringly through her lashes, though Wren already knows the answer to this question she poses. Their trust lies only in each other, these days. It only ever had. But it is a comforting phrase to the both of them, and Kindred's confirmation will only imbue Wren with the courage and strength to keep moving forward when lethargy pulls at her very marrow.
Nervously twitching her battered tail, the faebird takes a shaky breath. There is a risk in breaking the silence they have traveled underneath. It has protected them in their journey, allowing swift departure, but the time has come to seek new allies. Though Wren would rather exist on her own with only Kindred at her side, her desires are meaningless. Kindred deserved a kind home, a herd, the protection of loyalty that was supposed to be offered. Not that Wren fully believed these tales, with how sheltered they had both been. Still...it was a risk she would have to take. They had to find a guide, someone to lead them forward into their new lives. She would have to hope that her eyes had not failed her, that they were truly no longer being followed.
Lifting her head to the sky, braid tickling the arch of her neck, Wren called into the air. It was a sound made rusty from disuse, but a call for attention nonetheless. As her breath left in whisps and her lungs deflated to end her song, she tucked her head against Kindred's mane and made a soft humming sound.
"We will find safety," she vows. Her ghost eye glints with malice beneath the moonlight, staring out into the distance with a vengeful gaze.
Let the bastards come, if they still follow. I will kill them all.
