Heartleaf Creek sat front row in my need to fall

A corner of Eros' mouth lifted a touch higher, a whisper of amusement at the jest that didn't last long. It wasn't Isidore's fault. The Valle existed within a fog that was, for all intents and purposes, impenetrable. Minimized and obscured, so much so that he no longer felt as one. What he had been, what the world had seen and still expected, was something that rattled noisily, ineffectually around in a grand empty space. He could recognize it and touch it but he couldn't grasp it, couldn't step back into it. The Eros of now was distinctly separate, the thin, almost ethereal container. Paradoxically impractical and indispensable both.

A heavy, difficult-to-process feeling.

Eros stretched out his forelegs as he listened to his companion talk, peach eyes watching his own toes as they spread and wriggled. The guy had probably had the right idea, choosing to go it alone and live his own life. Hopefully it would work out really well for him. Hopefully he wouldn't end up bogged down with regrets by the time he reached Eros' own age.

His gaze lifted as the stranger gave his name, properly matching it with his sterling features.

"Eros."

Introductions used to be a point of pride for him. They were much simpler these days. Even his given name felt superfluous anymore, but of course something was expected.

"So, what's some of the best stuff you've seen so far?"

While he knew there was some kind of turmoil going on in that head, Isidore had no way of grasping the enormity of it. He hadn't experienced anything like it before, loss of himself or of family, so Isidore had no frame of reference for the feeling even if he had known what the other man had experienced.

But not being able to understand did not mean he couldn't empathize. Didn't mean he couldn't reach out and help, even if he didn't really get it.

Eros.

Isidore's mother had been a collector of stories, and had gifted to her children as many as she could remember. He'd heard stories of Eros before, many times, and though there was no chance this man was the god he was thinking of, the name itself carried meaning and weight that were familiar to the younger wolf. Recognition sparked in silver eyes, and he hummed, a smile forming on his maw.

"The god of love," he said, tail thumping on the ground behind him. "Your name has a beautiful story behind it."

He perked up a little more at the continuation of the conversation, and lowered his head to rest on his paws, still studying his companion. "Everything," he said simply. "But I guess if I had to pick, it must've been the glowing water. Did you know water can glow?" He laughed a little, eyes creasing. "I didn't. Not til I saw it, anyway. It was salty water, and when I stepped in it, it lit up blue. Haven't seen it since, though."

It was a shame, really. It only seemed to show up in salt water, from what Isidore had found, but it was definitely one of the most magical things he'd ever seen.

"What about you?" he prompted, swiveling his ears toward Eros again. "What's some of the best stuff you've seen around here?"

Love. A beautiful story. Eros' polite little smile twitched again. His mother had named him, in part to commemorate the commitment she and his father had made. Picturesque indeed, at least from the start when the decision had been made, the dream formed, his own path set in motion. All that had crumbled away, and her death had rent what remained of that foundation. Of course, that wasn't what Iss had been alluding to.

He was distracted from these thoughts by the novel tale of reactive water, mild interest bolstered by the detail of it having been salted. South wasn't quite the same direction, but maybe still there was some overlap? Maybe this wolf shared some of either of his parents' cultures, or was even familiar with the lands they'd come from.

Before he could muster a comment, though, the question had been returned. Eros blinked back at Isidore without a ready answer. Nothing in particular jumped to mind. Not a favorite location or event, not a wolf or a sentiment or a view or a feeling. He could say the best stuff was something like being introduced to his first batch of siblings or meeting Seri or growing up with Archer or getting to know Ally but even these things were so thoroughly tainted he couldn't view them as proper answers to what he'd been asked.

His silence stretched a bit longer than could really be brushed off, and embarrassment began to tinge his features.

"Uh, sorry. Hard to choose, I guess. Been here my whole life," he spoke as though he were still thinking, still prepared to give a response eventually, but he was certainly hoping his partner in this conversation would prove easily segued, "Definitely nothing like water that turned color, though! Were you near the ocean, then, if there was salt?"

If that didn't work, he could ask after which beautiful story Isidore had been told. Maybe he had a different take on the impish god Eros had been raised to know.

The silence stretched on, and Isidore began to wonder if he'd perhaps chosen the wrong kind of question to ask, before Eros spoke again. It made sense, he supposed, if you'd only been in one place, to get lost in all the details, and to not be able to choose a place. Or perhaps everything here was just too wonderful to decide on a favorite. Either way, Isidore could be patient as the other man chose.

And Isidore was very easy to segue.

"I was at the ocean," he confirmed, eyes lighting up a bit. "I'd never seen anything like it before. It glowed like starlight when I jumped in - it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen." He'd spent a frankly embarrassing amount of time dancing in the glowing water, unwilling to part from it until he was too cold to continue. The only thing that would have made it better would've been to share it with someone, but Isidore rather liked the idea of having this one special memory for himself.

Then, he tipped his head to the side, and instead of asking anything of the other man, decided a different approach: "Is there anything else you wanna know?" Hopefully it took some of the pressure off of thinking of things to say for the troubled wolf, as Issa wasn't keen on embarrassing him again. Isidore didn't mind carrying on the conversation for the both of them.