04-05-2020, 03:19 PM
She did not share, of course, that she had intimate knowledge of the process. That she had been watched and judged and absolved of the otherness of her nature by the very people who had raised and trained her. In another life it might have been Jacinda’s own blade that slit her throat, rather than the gift of time she had actually been given to discover a way to exist peaceably with her duality. She listened quietly, to the new facets of her sister’s history, as well as to the parts that had already been shared. Mostly her expression was still, but she made no secret of the disgust she felt at Regan’s name. Fortunate the man was dead. Her jaw tensed. Somewhere distant she felt the Moscow pack inquire as to the nature of the enemy, but she soothed them with assurances of two-leg troubles and they quickly lost interest.
“Means guardian,” she said simply, and with steel. Wolves had no use for the complex emotions of humans, and to some degree Tenzin shared that simplistic notion of life. Stubbornness reared in her voice as she twisted her arm to show the same mark on her own skin, hers engulfed by the other colourful images decorating her arm wrist to shoulder. It was not a misunderstanding. She scented every conflicting emotion clear as a forest trail, and knew it was not the answer Jacinda wanted to ease the shadows of her soul. Life had been hard for her. The cruelty curled Tenzin’s lip protectively, but there was no throat to tear. No enemy to chase down.
“No life without regret. No life without pain. Not for us.” For rākṣasa hatyārā the serpent also communicated where training had taken place. The further south in India Tenzin travelled, the more wary recognition became of her origins. Had those people also witnessed her yellow eyes, she would have become one of the hunted. That was fact. But she had never swayed over her loyalties, never truly suffered the loss of faith she sensed in Jacinda now. Perhaps that was the wolves’ influence. “Past is past. Can’t change it. Only grow. Or die, but look still kicking to me.” Her brows rose, and though it had been a joke it didn’t much crack the seriousness of her expression. She was not without compassion; Jacinda had seen that side of her already, the night of her injuries. But she was practical too, and fierce in her convictions.
“Means guardian,” she said simply, and with steel. Wolves had no use for the complex emotions of humans, and to some degree Tenzin shared that simplistic notion of life. Stubbornness reared in her voice as she twisted her arm to show the same mark on her own skin, hers engulfed by the other colourful images decorating her arm wrist to shoulder. It was not a misunderstanding. She scented every conflicting emotion clear as a forest trail, and knew it was not the answer Jacinda wanted to ease the shadows of her soul. Life had been hard for her. The cruelty curled Tenzin’s lip protectively, but there was no throat to tear. No enemy to chase down.
“No life without regret. No life without pain. Not for us.” For rākṣasa hatyārā the serpent also communicated where training had taken place. The further south in India Tenzin travelled, the more wary recognition became of her origins. Had those people also witnessed her yellow eyes, she would have become one of the hunted. That was fact. But she had never swayed over her loyalties, never truly suffered the loss of faith she sensed in Jacinda now. Perhaps that was the wolves’ influence. “Past is past. Can’t change it. Only grow. Or die, but look still kicking to me.” Her brows rose, and though it had been a joke it didn’t much crack the seriousness of her expression. She was not without compassion; Jacinda had seen that side of her already, the night of her injuries. But she was practical too, and fierce in her convictions.