[ P ] glass ships on stormy seas

Echo had always found Melrose a beautiful place. Full of green trees and multicoloured wildflowers, it never mattered the weather. In the sun the colours glowed and everything seemed so bright, so alive; even when the sun was hidden behind the clouds and a rainy haze settled over the earth, there was a softness to the area, a quiet serenity. Right now Echo was glad for the rain. Her mood wouldn't have complimented the vibrancy of sunny weather. It had been a couple of days since the incident. She had been sent away from the site of healing like some naughty child, and it had angered her. Voices had risen as she'd argued her case, tempers had flared and judgements had been made. Part of her didn't care what they all thought - she'd done it to save her mother and if she had to she'd do it again in a heartbeat - but a smaller, insistent part of her niggled at her, told her she did care. She'd still do it again if she had to, but she didn't want her family to label her a monster. So she sat in the rain among the flowers, her thoughts deep and dark. Echo didn't bother about finding shelter, letting the rain wash over her as if it were washing away the blood that now stained her person. Physically it wasn't there any more but she knew, for some people, that would be all they saw when they looked at her. Echo only turned her head slightly at the sound of someone approaching, glancing out of the corner of her eye to see who it was before she returned her gaze to the horizon. "... Hey." She didn't want to look at Arthur and those big yellow eyes of his. She didn't want to see the judgement there, the disgust, the fear. Did he even know about what had happened? "Speak."

He should've found her sooner. He knew that. When the college rippled with rumors and whispers and fear and derision, he should've gone to her first thing. Asked her what happened. He shouldn't have poked around for more information, shouldn't have eavesdropped on hushed conversations about the grisly guessed details, shouldn't have sent himself out on an herb-collecting mission just to avoid it all. He should've had more faith. He should've been a better friend. He knew all this, and the guilt weight heavily on him. He came across her scent by accident. The rain saturated her fragrance, causing the floral notes of her perfume to become even more colorful. He stopped and hesitated, something swelling within him. She had been there for him when he needed someone. But you didn't kill anyone, his mind whispered harshly. His brows furrowed and with frustration at himself he turned resolutely in the direction of her scent. He found her sitting out in the rain, apparently uncaring that she was getting soaked. The man stopped, staring at her back; she apparently heard him and sent a glance briefly his way. "... Hey." she said, and the subdued note of her voice pulled desperately at his heart. Guilt and sympathy and fear curdled in his stomach-- he swallowed it all down. "Hey," he replied gingerly, voice soft and husky. Slowly he came to her side and sat down, allowing his gaze to follow where hers were resolutely staring. He felt unsure, and he felt awkward -- and feeling this uncomfortable around his childhood friend was perhaps the worst part of it all. "Are you okay?" It was a dumb question, but he truly didn't know what else to ask. Did you do it? Why? What happened? all seemed too brash to just spit out. He blinked, dark lashes covering his eyes briefly before his gaze moved to her and remained on her face. "Echo..? he prompted, voice even more ginger than before.

STOCK ➤ dawnthieves ART ➤ amphi

Carefully, after perhaps only a moment of hesitation, Arthur came to sit beside her. Was he scared of her now? She had always been brash and boisterous, always having something to say more often than not, always had her opinions and was never afraid to voice them. But she'd looked after Arthur, in her own way. Had stood up for him, had encouraged him to stand up for himself. They'd been good to each other. Where he was gentle she was course and somehow they just complimented each other... but had he ever been scared of her? But she'd never killed anyone before now. Never even hurt a creature unless she was hunting, never hurt another wolf unless it was with her cutting words or the odd brawl. She kept wondering - was she now no better than the soldiers? Was she just as bad as the wolves who had killed Arthur's father? Was she just like the Guards who had mistreated her mother? The thought sat heavy and black in the back of her throat, coating it like tar so that every time she swallowed she could feel the lump there. The worst thing was, she supposed, was that she didn't regret it. Perhaps she might've if it had been one of their own - but this had been one of them, and he'd been trying to hurt her mother. Maybe that's what truly made her as evil as all the rest. Maybe that's what the others saw. "Echo..?" his soft voice pulled her back to the present and she turned her head in his direction though her eyes jumped between his chin to his cheek to his chest before tilting her muzzle down to stare at his paws. His eyes... she couldn't look into them. "I don't know," she said thickly, that lump of black tar bobbing in her throat and straining her voice. "You... know? You know what happened?" She had a strong feeling that he did know if only because of the tentative way he spoke to her, but she needed to know for sure. "Speak."