Kingsfall summer don't know me no more

Evening, clear skies. Set at a respectable distance from the Hearthwood River borders. He howls for @Kisla specifically but anyone is welcome!

It was time. This was his only window, his only opportunity, the chance he couldn't burn—he was done with deciding what the hell to put first, done with trying to make some damn prioritizing game. Get over your fears, come home, great, they take you back—go hide behind your 'they need me' facade, too afraid to make the trip north and face what you so desperately need to face. And see how well that went? It was just a few days. Could've killed a couple of deer and left in a cache and no one—no one—would've died, or noticed. Hells, he could've told Serach he wasn't leaving, just taking a trip to Kingsfall to see Serach's sister, the one who was his not-quite daughter, but loved all the same.

He hadn't, and he had the scars in his face to pay for it, and a heart so heavy he wondered how he could move at all. It plummeted towards his sternum, defied gravity time and again and pulled him down, until he lay with it beating hard against the ground, whispering out a treacherous rhythm he wanted not to hear, curses and blessings, saints and demons howling in his ears.

How he had gotten the days to pass—how he had gotten the breath into his lungs—he didn't know. It was a blur of darkness, anxiety, and fear. It gnawed on the edges of his mind. It kept him awake even after too many hours, when stars wheeled quietly overhead, distant and blinking and a painful reminder of that night by the lake. A reminder of a foolish youth, who swore by them, loved by them, lived by them, knowing they were dead and distant and cold and never more but silent witnesses. He, who had never believed in a higher power, because the higher power had been nothing but the wind and an excuse to attempt to banish him, he—that one, had loved the stars.

And they had watched him all his life, from the first time he stepped outside of the den he was born in, and even now, as the giant trunks cast stark shadows and the cold breeze rippled through his dense fur. Their cold, crystalline light glittered upon his breath, upon the frost of the world, on the tips of his pale hairs, and in the depths of his silver eyes. They had watched him commit mistakes, they had watched him kill, they had watched him love, and now, they watched him be brave.

Kisla had said nothing when they parted, had roused herself only after he had slept. She had sent no word. Aponi's sides had begun to swell with Serach's kids, but the moment he left their company, the black thoughts of what he'd done with Kisla flooded back in. Worn, he finally made the journey north. He could wait no longer. She would become den-bound, and he would be needed to hunt for his son and his mate. It was now, or not until the summer days grew shorter.

It was not even a choice. He had to go.

The scent markers burned in his mind, yards off yet, beacons to guide him, beacons to warn him. He stopped, and wrinkled his nose for a moment. The north had a smell that was bittersweet, and this place in particular reeked of pregnant females. There were subtle differences to the scents. He barely noticed, too busy hearing his loud heartbeat, and the confusion seeping through his body. It was almost tangible, a thing he could reach out and touch. What if she's expecting? was not the question that had kept him up at night; it was the question what the hell does she want from me?

He tipped his pale back towards the stars, and eyed them in silence for a moment. "For once," he whispered, "give a damn and help me, alright?" Then, he drew in the cold air, and expelled it in a howl, calling out for Kisla.

RIP Ice's sanity.

The call not only resounded across the territory of Hearthwood River, but it echoed within her heart, and for the first time in awhile, the honeyed she-wolf felt the stirring of panic settle in the pit of her stomach. She would know that voice anywhere – it had born itself in her heart in Swift River, and had carried itself with her all these years. She might not have been in love with him anymore, but to deny she cared for him as she cared for any of those she had grown up with and run with during her days as a Tainn would be foolish.

Her sides swelled with the life within her – her third pregnancy that she found seemingly easy in comparison to the others. Perhaps it stemmed from the simple fact that her first litter had been entirely new to her, while the second had been spent in times of potential danger with Grizzly Hollow knocking upon their doorstep, and the long journey to settle anew in Hearthwood River. Perhaps, it was simply that she remained distracted by the day to day tasks of pack life – immersed fully in preparing for three litters.. one of them her daughter’s.

She stilled – her fur glinting beneath the clear skies of the evening. The sparse remains of a rabbit carcass rest at her paws – nourishment for her approaching young. His young. But he could never know. Not because she would not share them with him.. but because Serach would be gutted – the awkwardness of it all.. and it would tear Ice – to have to choose between his grown son who needed him now more than ever, or to be with his oncoming young. Something she had forced upon him.

She would not force this.. but she could not ignore his call. Licking the blood from her lips, the she-wolf pushed herself upward, stretching her aching form before she rounded to the borders, the minutes ticking away. It would take her awhile to reach him, but she would find him sooner than she was ready for. Steeling herself – masking her nervousness with a forced glint of curiosity, Kisla approached the pale wolf, studying him quietly, as if she had not expected him to ever check in on her. In a way, she hadn’t. “Ice,” she greeted, blatantly ignoring the elephant in the room that spoke volumes at the swell of her sides. “What brings you here?”

Word Count: 404

 

sparking up my heart

Very dead, much RIP.

His call lingered between the trees for a moment. It hung in the stillness of the night, a faint bank of smoke-breath drifting along in the starlight. Once it faded, all he heard again was the beating of his heart—too loud, too close, a thunder in his hears and unease in his belly, making him feel sick with it. But why? he tried to ask himself, to rattle some answers from his brain, but, nothing; what are you so afraid of?

In the early days after their meeting, he had wondered if she would come to the Bend, and make some kind of.. what, claim? Demand? Or to just let him know, anything? But, what was it she had said? There is nothing for you here. You owe the world to Serach. He liked to think some of the she-wolf he had known lingered in the hardened widow, and that those words had not been lies, for what was he to do, if he was suddenly pitted against the choice—her, or his already born son? It was the kind of thing he had wanted sprung on him before any mating, not after, but it hadn't come.

He suspected it never would.

Silence was the only thing to answer him, taut and tense, as if it, too, waited with him, anxious and uncertain. As if it wondered with him how this would play out—surely they wouldn't just..ignore him? Surely, the whole pack wouldn't just pretend he wasn't there?

He could've walked a tight little circle on the spot, bitten his own tail and followed his ass around and around, but somehow, he kept himself from it. He was a bit off his rocker on occasion, but.. if he wanted to regain Kisla's trust, showing up on her doorstep and acting like he had completely lost his mind—or regressed into an anxious, uncertain child—wasn't the way to go. He needed to show her that, all these years or not, he was still Ice and he still gave a damn. Nine years meant he was supposed to be responsible, to use his brain to think for the pack (—what pack?) when his brawn would start to fail them.

Problem was.. his brain was only good for this shit—brooding, and getting tangled up. He could advise any wolf not to snarl in the face of someone who was twice your size, but come on, how was that making him a good Elder? It wasn't.

A scent broke through the miasma. His heart stopped in his chest. His nose swung towards it, and quivered. He'd know that scent anywhere. He'd know those eyes anywhere, so green in a world where spring had failed to melt all snows. "Kisla," he breathed, his voice steady in its quiet, and—and—and he wanted to say everything suddenly made sense, that the stars fell back into alignment and he knew his place in the world and everything was fine and dandy and perfect, but it wasn't how it went.

He only felt about three times as confused as he had before she showed up. His brows drew together. The one thing that relieved him was that his anxiety walked out the door, leaving him only with a kind of resolve to get some answers—not harshly, mind, but just to talk with her, try to figure out what's going on behind those emerald eyes, and walk away from here without the siren screaming what is going on in his head.

“What brings you here?” she asked, and maybe another wolf in his place would've been angry when it was so obvious, but Ice wasn't. Nor did he smile sweetly and say you, totally oblivious—he simply regarded her, rather kindly if such a thing was possible. He didn't make a show of studying her sides. He didn't need to see her to know that she was carrying pups. Her scent had it written all over it.

In fact, he had no idea what to do, or what to say. I told you I still cared, didn't I? Mine? What's up? "How are you?" he said, the words sort of slipping out of his mouth, and, belatedly, he realized he hadn't really answered her question. He took a hesitant step forward, and gave his pale head a small shake. "I mean, I wanted to check in on you, know how you're doing." With the first hurdle out of the way, scars still fresh on his face, he had no more excuses to not make regular visits. She was family, and she was nearby.

let the stars above shine in your soul

A young deer has been separated from the rest of its herd. Hunt Opportunity

She had told him at their last meeting that there was nothing for him here – and she meant it, even still, when it would be a blatant lie when her sides were now swollen with his children. Their union had not been a traditional one – she had crept away before the light of dawn to retake her life, leaving him behind as the ghost he had been to her for years now. He had no way of knowing what it was she had done after their union, or even before – not like when Maksim had been at her side, and his own instinct had been to keep any other wolf from her during this time.

Maksim, her heart whispered, for each day that passed it did not pass without the sickening realization that she would never smell him again.. would never feel the softness of his fur, or the warmth of his love. He had left her behind, and she reeled still, trying to find her footing in a world that was much colder without him.

Ice took her intended obstinance with patience that would be commendable, if she had the patience for it herself. He greeted her, his silver eyes not once falling to study her too closely, but she knew that he knew – he would smell it – he did not need to study her closely to see what had occurred. Lifting her muzzle up, her eyes glittered with consideration as she studied him, her form shifting in the cool spring night, though she made no movement to close any further distance between the two. “I’m fine – Hearthwood River is flourishing. And yourself? How is Serach?” She still played the oblivious card – ignoring what his probable question was. If she didn’t speak it, perhaps he would ignore it too – would give up without her having to lie to his face point blank.

Word Count: 313

 

sparking up my heart

It.. felt surreal—just as surreal as the night by the lake. He had sometimes wondered if it had been but a dream, something his desperate, wandering mind had conjured in the hours of bitter cold and blackness. The memory of her drifting away under cold starlight and the barest hint of dawn could very well have been just that—a dream. Later, with the sun kissing his aching back, he had woken with her scent written all over him. He'd only had two choices; believe it was real, or that he was losing his mind to the point that he made things up while awake.

But standing in front of her now, knowing beyond any and all doubt that she was with child.. he didn't know what to think. It was tempting to be horrified and think what would Corinna say? but self-pity and comic relief wasn't what he needed. There were things he did not know. There were questions he hadn't asked. Kisla greeted him with.. not the anger and disbelief and bitterness she had expressed last time, but with a kind of casualness that made his blood run cold. She had said her mate was dead, and he believed her—and yet there had to be someone or something, why else would she just..ignore it?

He remained standing where he was, alone in the pallid light, watching her with eyes that fought to remain neutral.

"Serach is much better now—him and Aponi are expecting," he said, his voice like a block of ice just barely thawed by his mouth. It was getting hard to move his jaws. It was starting to hurt all of a sudden, blossoming in his chest, flooding his veins—it was so.. so casual. She didn't even have the grace to tell him there was someone else. There must be someone else, and that must be why she didn't.. acknowledge what had happened. It felt cruel. He drew a shaking breath. "Who's the father?" he asked, surprise by the bitterness he couldn't keep from lacing his voice.

It wasn't that it really mattered—in a roundabout way, Ice would be relieved if she'd be able to convince him they weren't his. No—what hurt him was that she couldn't even say it to his face. Surely she knew that was part of the reason why he was here (even though he'd like to think he'd be here right now anyway, even if what had happened hadn't happened). He was dutiful above all else. She had not been afraid to tell him by the lake, of things he had done wrong and the ways he had let her down and become nothing but a memory, a ghost; why not so readily tell him now? He wouldn't be angry. He wouldn't judge. He'd still visit.

He just wanted to know.

let the stars above shine in your soul

He spoke now – a coldness that emanated from him would give pride to his namesake, but it did not stir the she-wolf to flinch. Instead, she solidified her decision, her shoulders mentally squaring and her eyes falling upon him with a flash of dare. She dared him to say something – to make the assumption, as she knew he would. How could he not? She had not expected his anger, and her friendliness dissipated with it – reverting back to the she-wolf who had considered her scorned for his disappearance all those years ago. The news of Serach’s pending fatherhood would have been a nice interlude to the next part of their conversation, but the pale wolf before her braved the storm, asking a question she knew he did not truly want the answer to. What would he do if she told him the truth? The change would do nothing but hurt those she cared for – primarily Serach, if she took his father away to play the role to her children instead.

“Don’t worry, Ice,” her own voice shifted – mirroring the coldness that had found his own tone. “They aren’t yours.”

The lie fell from her lips with a great ease – it had been one she practiced after all, and the woman had learned self preservation of emotions over the years. To witness devastation on his face that they had brought children together in the world was not something she could handle – and she had already determined these children were hers. No one else need be involved.

Word Count: 255

 

sparking up my heart

I'm sorry, he wanted to say even before the words were out of his mouth.

He knew it had been stupid. Had felt it in his bones. He knew it had been the wrong thing to say, or at the very least, the wrong way. The words had tumbled up from the pits of his despair, like poison wafting out with his breath—they had come from that rarely visited place deep within, the cage harboring all his frustration and anger. The days of his short-fuse youth were long since past, a memory of another time, another wolf, who always tripped over his tongue. Always said the wrong things, but always had a heart of gold.

Maybe it had been endearing, at some point. Maybe it hadn't. Maybe they had forgiven him his rambling, because he had lived and loved and fought alongside them, a shining beacon of white, an unmovable rock. An anchor.

But it was definitely less endearing when spoken in the cold, shocked tones of an unforgiving iceberg—he wanted to to turn the clock back, erase whatever it was that had forced the words past his mouth, swallow them and reshape them and make them better. He could've asked gently. He could've not asked (he doubts it, though; he was afraid it would've come across as not caring). He could've done a million small things differently.

But maybe, they were just destined to sink. He wanted to scream at the coldness in her eyes, he wanted to lash out, grab her and shake her, yell at her to forgive him this one mistake—but how could she? After all this, if he had wanted to fix things, he would've needed a perfect track record.

He just wasn't good enough, and her words were like icicles ramming into his skull.

Don't worry, she said, and it was probably his imagination, but she almost sounded happy to tell him, which was absurd, since her voice was as cold as his had been. They aren't yours. But how could she know?

She couldn't. Even as his head hung, his ears slicked back, and his tail drooped—in shame, not with lost hope—he knew that she couldn't, absolutely know. Maybe there had been others. Maybe there was someone to ready to claim them, be their father, but at the end of the day—she couldn't know. There was no certainty, no absolute truth. He saw it through the world swimming in front of his eyes, murky and distant, like pinpricks of light (—stars).

She didn't want them to be his, but they might still be.

He dragged in a deep, uneven breath, and raised his head. "I'm sorry," he said, quietly, his voice thick. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm.. I'm so sorry, Kisla." For everything. The hot lump in his chest kept burning. He didn't know whether it was just the toll of the emotions, or something more sinister.

He doubted his apology would do much good.

It didn't. She turned him away, her voice as cold as his name, her demeanor so unlike the wolf he had once known—but how could he blame her, honestly..? So he did the only thing he could.

He walked away from her with a heavy, aching heart.

Never guessing it would be the last time he saw her alive.

[ Added ending because Kisla died. :( ]

(This post was last modified: Jul 26, 2017, 03:54 PM by Ice.)

let the stars above shine in your soul