She could still hear it, sometimes. Not usually in her dreams, which is where she would have expected to find it, but very much in her waking-hours; the wind behind her would hiss, a woodpecker would tap... even the sound of rain could trigger it under the right circumstances. Instantly she would turn, and see the rustling leaves or the red-crowned bird or the storm clouds, and know, logically, that there was no snake. Sometimes, there was no obvious cause for the perceived sound at all, just a hint of a whisper caught by unguarded ears, and her breath would catch and she'd tense, just for a moment, just long enough for her rational core to take over and soothe her.
On those rare occasions where the sliver of movement in the corner of her eye was a serpent, though, Trisden's immediate reaction after fear was fury. The phobia was strong, but Trisden despised the weakness in herself, and her terror was easily transformed into bloodlust.
Even after all this time, though, she'd never actually encountered another actual rattlesnake. Many other species had fallen victim to her vengeance, but she'd never had to face that particular one. Trisden Lyall's attitude towards snakes was no secret in the Reach, but only a few really knew why, and she suspected that they dealt with unwelcome rattlesnakes before she had a chance to see them.
Pity was deeply unwanted, but she appreciated such actions, recognising them as signs of respect and love.
Nudging a paw through the grass, Trisden stared at the ground, having recognised the burial site easily. The water in the nearby pool trickled ever into the pool, the sound calming and repetitive, but she couldn't hear it, all she could hear was the rattle. Breathing deeply, she placed the paw firmly on the spot where her brother had been laid to rest, so young, too young.
Maybe if she prayed hard enough, right here, right where his bones were, he would finally hear and forgive her, and she could forgive herself.