II. Apollo's Guilt

Theft. Theft of the lowest, slyest form. The Gods had taken from her what a God should not meddle in. They stole from her a love, the love that connects a sibling, this sister to her brother; they should not change such a love. They did, though - they stretched it across the earth into a length that neither affiliate could consider; daren’t consider, for fear of breaking down at the reality that they might never meet again.

Her bleached muzzle winkles in hatred and disdain, chestnut orbs ringed by charcoal boundaries pierce the darkness in the moon’s reflection. Her underside is lined with off-white cream; her flanks blanketed in a dizzying array of silvers and greys typical of her species. Her hackles are raised defensively, and in a flash of equally off-white to her coat her fangs dart at the large brute ahead of her. He is caught across the throat, blood pouring freely as his own optics gaze back. Fear and regret soften his glare and she turns her back on the male. He brought on my anger himself, he should have been more careful, she tells herself as she walks away, slowly, without a backward glance to her victim.

What if, perhaps, she has meddled with a love not even Gods meddle with? That brute might have had a love, a partner, a sibling, a parent… Someone who had now lost him forever. Would they even find out what had happened to him? Her ears lay back against her skull as she heads through the forest. Her back, previously pummelled with rain, is now oblivious to the light tapping of drips as they fall, like a fledgling shoved roughly from its nest, out of the cups of the leaves onto already soaked objects below.

The softened earth weeps as her paws press their misery against it, its regret left in clear, definitive prints sharpened by the recent showers. A crevice breaks her jaws apart, her flews taut despite the fight having finished some moments ago. A menacing smile is formed by the panting jaws and drawn lips, her calculating eyes accentuating her less than friendly façade. The brush of her tail is coated in drying mud, and hangs carelessly betwixt her ankles. She approaches the stream, the water glistening in lucid flashes as it throws itself tirelessly across the rocks that break the surface like merciless weaponry.

Soon these flecks of gaunt, trailing light encompass her ankles. The water, freezing cold and biting, flits past her at speed, her maw dropping as her tongue rolls free and flicks back with a scoop of the quenching liquid, leaving her throat sizzling like a hot pan dropped in icy water.

The End

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