like (adopted) mother like (adopted) son

The invaders were driven away, and for the first time in her life Aryn could feel she had a real hand in it. Nobody could say she had not given her all in the raid, even sacrificed her own flesh to see Habari successful. It felt like real, tangible growth - a far cry from throwing up on Tyrian so many seasons ago - so why didn't she feel good about it? Aryn sighed, laying buried in the long grasses of the nook and gazing into the waters of the Rio Grande, lost in her thoughts and staring deep into her scarred reflection.

In the defense of her home she had forced at least one pirate to surrender and had sapped the strength of another. It should make her feel successful, but it was impossible to be proud of such a minor victory when she had utterly failed where it really counted. Veigar had taken a wound so deep that she was sure it would scar, and not even Aryn's desperate intervention had protected him. Then in the fury of witnessing his injury she had attempted to mirror it on one of the invaders. That too, failed, and had earned her a gruesome wound of her own, an ugly, long gash across her brow and between her eyes. Aryn knew it was a scar some wolves might be proud to wear, but every painful tug of the skin upon her forehead only served to remind her of how hideous she now was. How would she ever find a mate, looking the way she did? At least she could somewhat hide the scar upon her chest, she had successfully hid it from Eli on more than one occasion.

Eli. Aryn buried her muzzle in her paws, heat flooding to her cheeks at just the thought of the Aerie alpha. Their last meeting had not gone well, and while Eli seemed apologetic for the way it turned out they had not quite been able to gather back the level of friendship they'd once had. Aryn knew it was not fair to be angry at him for not reciprocating her childish crush, but the knowledge that she was being unreasonable did nothing to quell the burning shame at his words or her reaction. Now with the scar upon her face, whatever hopes she still had at winning him over had spluttered into nothingness. Perhaps accepting it would be the push she needed to face him once more.

The train of thought was enough to break the dam of emotions within her, a pained whimper escaping her muzzle as she freed it from her paws and threw it down angrily upon the grass. She was a terrible mother, a terrible fighter, a terrible packmate, and now, a terrible candidate for anything even resembling love or romance. If only the river would rise and swallow her up right here where she lay.