Leera keeps herself there for as long as she can, braced against Nephthys, pressing into her to let her know that she is here and that she is listening. Her concerns and decisions, whether she agrees with them are not, are valid and she wants her to know this. It's difficult to watch a creature like Nephthys break... she can almost hear the sound of her cathedral walls collapsing, revealing pieces Leera hadn't even known existed within the woman.
Forehead pressed gently into Nephthys' heaving side, Leera knows she has pieces hidden within her as well. Corners of her soul that rarely, if ever, touch the light of day. Remembering them, she closes her eyes and murmurs into her first friend's coat, feeling rather maternal. "Shh..."
They might be competitive, drenched in the fiery desire to be better than the other, but this is something Leera will never speak about. For Nephthys' sake. Unless brough up by the goddess herself, not a breath will be spoken about this wintry day in the falls, where tears have been shed and words have been said. Leera nods when the bronzed queen speaks of a pack, pulling away only to answer. "I scented it, too. Perhaps there is a healer." She'd rather Nephthys see someone skilled in medicine before she decides the future of her impending litter.
Nephthys' next question makes her freeze. A glaze crosses over her small, fuschia eyes and she folds her ears against her head before sighing gently. "Three litters," she answers after a moment, looking away from Nephthys to conceal the shadow that crosses her angular face. "All children are dead, now. Either murdered by their fathers or men wo wished to be their fathers. It's always the men, Nephthys. They cannot control the fire within their souls like we can."
speech action
Leera is a mature character.
Force/violence is permitted within reason.
Plot with us here!
