sweat, ache, hands shake

Yarrabelle

the gore is magnificent and sudden and so horrifically brutal it’s practicality a work of art; the skill with which her sister takes the sheep down, the rending of skin from flesh and flesh from bone, the shrieks of agony as their quarry is devoured. Yarra merely watches for a moment as Auriga tears the sheep apart, admiring the display of strength and violence with unyielding familial pride. this is who they are, this is what it is to be a Saxe.

rounding the thrashing carcass (it’s still twitching, still crying, but in Yarra’s eyes it was dead the moment they saw it) she comes face to face with it and allows it’s gaze to roll up and meet her own. they’re dulling, fading as the life seeps from its stomach, and it seems to watch Yarra with weary acceptance - perhaps supposing there’s nothing she could do to it that Auriga hasn’t already performed. it’d be wrong. working with gleeful methodology, Yarra scoops each eyeball from its socket, sinking a single claw past nerves and vein until twin marbles sit at her feet in a bloodied mess. she takes them carefully into her mouth and moved to her sister’s side, placing them beside the disemboweled sheep guts. an offering, a gift. a trophy. then she begins peeling it’s wool back, trying to maintain the integrity of the pelt as Auriga had requested.

"Speech"

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1.	sweat, ache, hands shake	Devil's Spout	02:31 AM, 10-12-2023	02:15 AM, 02-13-2024

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sweat, ache, hands shake

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Yarrabelle