[ not to be some nationalist or speciesist or anything, because she’s not. the both of them have been scarred and wounded and near broken by the homeland, and yet… how completely twisted of her, to have thought the country and its ways inevitable and inescapable. all her life she’d helped texas, almost without a second thought, just about helping her escape while she herself sunk in the mud and just wanted texas to put an end to it before she could actually run free.

every touch, every squeeze pulls at her bastard heart that just about wanted one thing, one person all her life. but they might just be too different, because— ] If you’re not a wolf, what are you? I know what I am. You might not even believe in ‘truth’, because you kept running from everything. From friends, from the famiglia and country, from… maybe, from what you really think or want. [ her hand strokes into texas’ hair, an almost soothing gentleness, as affectionate as a lover’s. her sheer violence, but she’d so rarely ever bared it to texas outside of duels. maybe her heart is such a betrayer that she could still be kind or soft to her, though underneath it is the bitterness and blackness of covetousness. ]

You ran and I was thrown out, I’m a lone wolf but I’m still a wolf.

You still reject… everything. Maybe that’s your new method of turning tail.