Riddle Heights escape; return

( set on the same night as <a href='http://relic-lore.net/index.php?showtopic=2317' target='_blank'>this</a>. )

you do not know who is your friend or who is your enemy until the   ICE breaks. He felt sick. Completely, wholeheartedly sick. It was lodged in the back of his mouth, across his throat, feeling warm and wet and vile, like a dead and rotting animal stuck in his gullet. He felt feverish and weak with it, disconnected from the world - detached. Not even the bouquet of purple flowers crammed into his jaws gave him purpose. Only a summer spent in rocky terrain at high altitude kept him from stumbling overly much, but even when he did, it was only a small annoyance, like the ripple from a single raindrop on the surface of a storming ocean. It felt like he was drowning and choking and burning all at once. Disturbed, more so than moments earlier, the fallen knight that was Ice stalled, faltered; eventually came to stand still, swaying slightly in the pre-dawn winds. He felt ragged and dirty and gray, tattered, but nothing of it showed except in the dazed look in his eyes. Slowly he let his matted gaze rove down, out of the foothills and onto the forest there. Home. Sacred Grove. A stab in the heart; Marsh. He'd sensed something. Heard something. Understood something that he yet denied. For who? Since when had Marsh ever cared about anyone other than Corinna? Another stab in the heart, and it felt like the wounds opened up all again and if only they had been physical he could've bled to death on these desolate rocks and been free from the torment. If only. She'd come to them in the dark, sleek and silent as a shadow, yet as all shadows she had been seen when she came into the light; smelt, more importantly. Intercepted, stopped. Promised. She'd come seeking flowers, needing them enough to be ready to risk their wrath. Risk me? She couldn't have intended... And yet here he was, purple flowers held delicately in his off-white teeth. For her, he'd spun deception; it was revolting. He wanted to thrust the certainty of that knowledge aside, he wanted to deny it with all of his being and run into the sun and hide there forever. Can't. It was brutal and merciless, and it was hammering on his head and ripping at his heart. He, Ice, the creature of honesty that felt bile rise in the back of his throat at the mere concept of lies - he had deceived the wolf of his heart and potentially his entire pack. He'd exploited Marsh's linguistic weakness. Mercilessly. Cruelly. Stupid. Can't breathe. He turned his bleary and desolate eyes to the sky; it was covered in a thin sheet of gray, admitting a thin and gray pale light. The sun was rising, but there were no colors in the world. .ice aesir

(This post was last modified: May 18, 2012, 09:13 PM by Ice.)

let the stars above shine in your soul

That night she had taken to the Heights and for once, not approached her usual haunt. Ava loved that damn sunbathing rock, for nothing gave her more comfort or peace, and comfort and peace were luxuries she had to speak of in that time. The dark she-wolf had rocketed away from the borders of Swift River when her time had run out; the weariness of such exertion set in to her limbs as she climbed the rocky passes, panting loudly. It was barely morning, all her pack-mates were still sleeping and she didn't give a hoot what prey animals she would wake up. But the shadow of a wolf could hardly even hear her noise - she had the angry wolf's snarls and howls of warning ringing in her ears the whole way home. Half of her wanted to crawl home, follow the path of nightshade to her den and bury herself in the back for good. A brush with <i>death</i> had taken an awful lot of her confidence, and now that the fear and adrenaline were gone from her hammering heart she realized just how close she had been to being sliced into pieces by that copper-colored wolf.

But the other half of her knew better than to lower her guard now. She'd <i>invited</i> her own slice of Swift River close to home, and though they didn't lay claim to Riddle Heights they were a pack of wandery little bastards and she didn't doubt that at least two of her packmates would ascend the mountain today. So Ava had taken to some other stupid boulder - a pathetic and cold replication of her beautiful perch - and sat stoically, knowing that if she decided to recline all the focus would be lost from her. How long she had she hadn't any clue. All she could think about was him, whose life she had risked, whose <i>name</i> she didn't even have, and the hellebore, which on the surface looked so stupid to care about, stupid purple flowers, and Naira, and Sticky, and all the secrets, and then back to him. Ava would've given her forepaw to have had it all go smoothly - creep in, steal flowers, creep out. But <i>noooo</i>, that just couldn't happen, could it?

Her self-loathing was cut short when the scent she had been waiting for wafted in. The sky was turning grey, and it was a pathetic sunrise if she had ever seen one, but his word had been kept true. It made her feel even more guilty than before. Ava pounced from the boulder and started off at a quick lope, to ensure she got to him before someone or something else did. Luckily fate had put their personal navigation courses somewhere near each other for it was only a minute or so before she intercepted him. He was pale to match the sordid morning, staring bleakly at the sky. It was fitting, almost, that her pitch-black coat stuck out so sorely. This was his pain, his sacrifice, and she could feel guilty and bad all she wanted but it was her fault for his suffering. Ignoring the wavering pain in her stomach she would hide the grimace from her face and approach.

Ava was silent, holding his gaze with her own and keeping her expression unreadable. There was so much she ought to tell him, one complicated explaination to begin with, and then there was censorship that she had to exercise. What was necessary to say? What wasn't? How was she to keep loyal to them both? <i>Too damn confusing,</i> she decided, and would instead let him lead the interrogation.

art - threads

you do not know who is your friend or who is your enemy until the   ICE breaks. Of course, she, too, came. Like a bird of prey that had cast its black shadow upon the mountainside, swooping down on the tattered remains of Ice. Yet there was nothing of hostility, nothing of anger, just a raw desperation, and he swung his tired head around to stare at her with pleading eyes. The air around them vibrated with the mutual pain, and he found that the edge had been taken off those sharp stabs between his ribs. It was dull, now, but no less draining. If only she hadn't been there, he would've collapsed where he stood and done nothing but stare at the bleak sun that slowly began to climb past the rocky horizon. It was cold. It was always the coldest in the hour after sunrise. She was silent, as if the choking pressure in the air prevented her to exhale words. Dull eyes rested on hers for a moment, and he felt his heart break in two again. She was but a nameless stranger, their mutually understood precaution against these moments - but he couldn't thrust her aside. He had other names for her, just not the one she had been given at birth. She wasn't a stranger. She was a friend. He couldn't have stood by and let Marsh rip her apart, nor could he have let her come back for the flowers later. Marsh would've come for her again and again and in the heat of the moment, this mess had been the only viable plan. Blinking tiredly, Ice lowered his head and relaxed his tense jaws. Purple flowers cascaded out like a waterfall, coming to rest atop the flat rock. The breeze stirred them and they shifted, restless, but wouldn't take flight. They were safe there - for a while. Unlike us. His gaze drifted back to her, and he wondered if he'd ever feel alright again - if the sun would ever be warm and the flowers vibrant. "I hate lies and deception," he said in a wooden voice, unable to properly convey the emotions he felt.. for he didn't know what he felt, nor what he was supposed to feel. He just felt - sick. The skin on his muzzle wrinkled in a pathetic excuse for a grimace, and he knew that everything he did lacked the energetic edge he usually carried. He felt empty, as if someone had sucked all the life right out of his blood and left him nothing but a husk. Slowly, but with all the doom of a rock slide, his head tilted. "And yet I deceived him." And so he had condemned himself. Conflicting loyalties wasn't his issue (unless the flowers were for Rhysis); deception was. As if in a daze, he slowly turned to stare back the way he had come. "It was never a weakness before," Ice said bitterly. "That he understands few words, I mean. But tonight - I made it a weakness. Purposefully I used words I knew he wouldn't understand, while pretending to drive you out." A snap of anger and he rounded on her, but the agonized look in his eyes was for her - it was not her fault. He chose to help her. He had only himself to blame. .ice aesir

let the stars above shine in your soul

Ava was surprised that he even turned to watch her approach, after all the pain she had caused him. The expression in his gaze matched the numbness she felt in her body, unsure if it was the cold or the emotions that were making her nerves forget their duty. Slowly he deposited the flowers that had been the cause of all their trouble in the first place, and she was almost ashamed to be surprised that he didn't immediately turn tail and return to <i>his home</i>. Instead he turned his gaze upon her and once again she felt a stinging pain all through her limbs. It didn't matter what he thought - she accepted the full blame, and the very weight of it threatened to drag her through the stoney ground and down to some unreachable hell where she very much so belonged. But the world had no such mercy for her - she had to live with her actions. And so the dark female stood and stared almost through him, delicately listening to what he would say.

It seemed as though his words were detached - they made sense, of course, and were entirely related to the encounter that had just run its course, and yet his voice lacked any of the strength (much less the pleasantries) of their previous meetings. And he didn't even look at her, but only turned the way he'd come from, so she could hardly read his expression at all while the bitter words seeped between his teeth. Ava wasn't even sure if she wanted to. But she flinched visibily when suddenly his paw steps brought him forward, absolute misery shining in his silver eyes like she had never seen before. The dark she-wolf forced herself to look at the mess she had made.

Just moments earlier Ava had decided Ice would be the decider of this evening's proceedings, but he had yet to ask a question. His mind was more muddled by the pain of his actions than her's was. Dark ears would fall flat against her skull while her typically jovial gaze fell to the cold ground and searched for anything to look at. For some unexplainable reason Ava started to look like a startled bird, her posture reflecting the broken strength she'd always had in herself while her eyes shone with some kind of terror. Whatever it was that she wanted, it was <i>never</i> this. The words struggled to come forward in her mind, trying desperately to find something to say that could ever make up for what he felt. Yet she was incapable, entirely so. Meekly she murmured, <b>I should have never put you in that position.</b>" Then she fell silent again, still staring at the ground and trying, but suddenly she snapped her head up and her jaws sprung open. But what spewed forth wasn't condolences, or a <span class='word'>gambit</span> to avoid the pain, but whatever she could think of that might make Ice feel any better at all.

"<b>We found a wolf - my friend - mauled by a cougar on the mountain. And she's barely conscious. We were trying to heal her, to keep her alive, and Naira didn't have enough to-- that's not purple flowers; purple flowers would be so <i>stupid</i> to take a risk for. That's hellebore, and it will help stop her bloodloss and her fever or whatever, but we needed it, and it might maybe save her. There was no where closer to go for it, because if there <i>was</i> I <i>wouldn't</i> have come. You have to know I <i>wouldn't</i> have done it if it wasn't important.</b>" The lies slid off her tongue so smoothly Ava very nearly believed them herself, that the lost boy they'd found on death's doorstep was some actual acquaintance of her own and not some random male who was both unfortunate and fortunate at the same time. And she couldn't fathom <i>why</i> she was lying, about his gender and about who he was because she didn't know the repercussions of the truth. It felt so twisted, belting out something of a pack secret to a pack enemy, her <i>friend</i>.

And unlike her previous explanation, which she had very nearly been yelling out of desperation for him to understand, the next thing she barely managed to whisper: "<b>It was a good cause,</b>" Her eyes had fallen again; now she was giving her toes some dull look. She wasn't even sure who she was trying to convince anymore: herself, or Ice? "<b>It was a good cause.</b>"

(This post was last modified: May 20, 2012, 08:29 PM by Ava.)

art - threads

( so cruel, that she <i>lies</i> to him right after he's told her he hates it! </3 )

you do not know who is your friend or who is your enemy until the   ICE breaks. Ice was better than this. He didn't mope nor brood, he always took things in a stride with a cheerful grin on his face. He never had doubts about his actions, for if he followed his heart, what was there to regret? But first and foremost, Ice never lied, nor deceived. Ice was better than this, but that had just been proven a lie. Ice ought to be better than this, but he wasn't. He was just mortal like the rest of the Lore's wolves, mortal and fallible and - at last - had even this white angel had his wings ripped off, and fallen screeching from the sky. In a moment of hesitation and torn loyalties he had opened his arms to corruption, invited the darkness in, and now he wasn't sure if he could ever scrub himself clean of it and get rid of the filthy taste in his mouth. It tasted like ashes, thick and sour and dead. Ice protected; and somehow, he had done that one thing... One thing he had done, and so many others he wished he hadn't. He had taken the one thing - the only thing - he could use as a weapon against Marsh, and without mercy he had used it. He was supposed to be better than this. He wasn't, though. He was just a broken wolf who had struggled his entire life to live after a certain set of ideals, perhaps believing that if he tried hard enough, he could force those very ideals onto this rotten world and set things to right. Foolish. It clearly hadn't worked, and like all things that grow tired, he had fallen - defeated. And the darkness had swept in like an unstoppable flood. She didn't even acknowledge his words, didn't meet his gaze for long; one look and her eyes lowered to the ground, their brilliance dimmed, dulled. To match the dulled world, he thought sourly as another cold breeze stroked them with hands that spoke of death and betrayal. Even the sun was gray, hiding behind a curtain of clouds. Fitting, he supposed, but heartbreaking all the same. Ice's eyes narrowed, and her words trickled past like water in a brook. No, he should've shouted at her. I put myself in that position. But he had no strength to voice it with, nothing save emptiness to offer her as comfort for her own pains. And when it comes down to it, there is always a part of you that is selfish; that part wanted to slam his paw into the wound she had bared and wriggle it, make her yell in pain that matched his own and blame it all on her. So easy it was, with scapegoats - if he had deceived, why not stoop all the way to the bottom and become truly rotten to the core? It was tempting to forsake all that he had stood for and take the easy way out - but even if temptation is there and strong, the only thing that truly matters is whether you give in or not. Ice, drawing on some dimmed beacon of hope he didn't know still existed, chose to not give in. He chose to take another breath of silence, and another, and another, until his lungs felt like bursting and his mind like breaking. He chose to breathe in what little light there was, to fight yet another day. It would take a long time for this to fade - if it ever did. How cruel and ironic it was, that she lied to him then; with his confession of his hatred of the mere concept of untruth, the notion that she might lie to him did not even cross his mind - or perhaps it was a sign of his trust, that he did not believe she would. Her voice rose, nearly shouting, but he just gave her a bleak stare. He had no energy to scrounge up a reaction, but simply looked at her with something like disheartened curiosity. Hellebore. A medicinal plant. That could be important, the difference between life and death perhaps - a good cause, as she said, so meekly. But did the cause truly matter? Even without knowing what she'd come for, he would've helped her - but the pain lodged in his chest was because of what he had done to Marsh, because of the cold, flat look in his eyes as he left Ice to shiver on the other side of the river. He didn't care if she was going to feed some poor she-wolf flowers to save her life or if she was going to wear them in her fur. It had nothing to do with the burning ache in his heart, and some nameless stranger living because of his actions could hardly justify the smoldering throb. He wondered if anything could. "It doesn't matter," he told her in a brittle voice, his pale eyes raving up the mountainside and to the sun. So bleak, so distant, so hopeless. Desolation overcame him again with crushing force, and in despair he sank to his haunches. "It doesn't matter." He repeated it more firmly, pained gaze swinging aside from where it had been, and down to the ground in front of him. "I brought this down.. upon myself." He was more quiet now, one paw shuffling the loose rocks in front of him. "I chose my words; you... didn't." Ice slowly drew his eyes up her body, fastening them on her face and those yellow eyes - matted, without a shine, like the eyes of a sick animal. We're both sick of heart and spirit. He wanted to comfort her, offer her more reassurances, but his tongue was like a lead weight in his mouth and refused to bend to his will. Even with a bad cause, he wouldn't have acted differently - even if her sole intention had been to feed them to a goat, he would've helped her. That was what being friends was all about .. right? .ice aesir

let the stars above shine in your soul

( her conscience has a very strange existance indeed :( )

A nervous gaze observed all of his silence, nearly bursting out of her skin with the desire to make him talk about it, or about something, as though catharsis was the answer to all their problems. It would be so easy if it was. All she would have to endure was all his pain through voice instead of sight and honestly, she would really prefer him cursing her and damning her for all the problems she had caused than bottling up whatever it was he felt. Ava couldn't figure it out, exactly, but it was miserable to watch what little she could seep out into his body language. If he wanted he could just drag her back to the river and let that crazy copper-colored guy tear her apart to make himself happy. It drove her crazy that Ice was practically molting all that silvery fur on the mountainside, drowning in a sea of agony, and she hadn't any regrets that she'd gone there at all... the only thing that horrified her was how horrified <i>he</i> was.

How did she make it right when she could barely fathom what was going on? For the first time she was at a complete and total loss - there were no words she could throw together to make him feel any better. <i>He'll get over it</i> meant nothing. <i>He doesn't even know!</i> was just terrible. <i>He'll forgive you eventually</i> was perhaps the least terrible of the bunch, but how did she know it was true? Ava knew absolutely nothing of Swift River when it really came down to it - and she especially knew nothing of the crazy male who'd come to tear her throat out that Ice was so upset over deceiving. And to add to the chaos that was taking over her mind he finally spoke and told her in a hardened voice that <i>it doesn't matter</i>.

Doesn't matter? How could it not matter? Why was there nothing at all she could do to offer him some solace? Ava didn't quite understand the concept that sometimes things just can't be helped. Perhaps she hadn't a terribly difficult life, with minimal tragedies and enough "oh poor dear you"s to go around from friends and families to get her by. The two wires just didn't connect in her brain that <i>nothing</i> she could say would do Ice any justice. It didn't make sense to her; how could he be completely inconsolable? Instead she chalked it up to her incompetance. <i>She</i> did something wrong, and was still doing wrong, because none of her words fixed anything. That in itself was like a hole in her brain - no matter how much she thought about it, she couldn't make sense of it.

Somehow Ava ended up entirely fed up with the stiffness the grey morning held between them, and all rationality seemed to leave her with the speed of light.

"<b>Fucking blame me! Just do it; it's not like <i>any of this</i> would have happened if I hadn't taken my sorry ass to <i>your</i> part of the lore! You know that, don't you <i>know that</i>?!</b>" The female shouted, some ugly confusion leaping into her eyes as they finally showed some character. "<b>What do you want me to do? Want me to go back there and let him have at it? Is that going to fix it?</b>" She growled, a little less loudly but not without a feverish anger. "<b>Or do you just want me to fuck off? Cause I will. Just tell me to get my ugly ass out of your sight if it'll do you <i>any</i> good.</b>"

Somehow Sticky was entirely lost to her now. How could she remember that she had to go give him the stupid purple flowers before she could be allowed to die? Emotions flooded her workable thoughts and took all the logic from her. No such thought was of any coherence to her. Ava just needed something to happen to change the dead way he'd been looking at her before that cold silver stare drove her insane.

art - threads

you do not know who is your friend or who is your enemy until the   ICE breaks. It all broke; the world fell apart, tiny little pieces, fragments, shattered glass that exploded upon impact and pierced, pierced. He could taste it, taste the storm that brewed on the horizon, he could see it, swirling in her eyes and in her dark fur - felt it, in the gleeful rush of wind and how it whispered only of darkness. It closed in on him again, eyes closing to the world. The heartbeat before impact. Calm before the storm. A thousand cracks marred the glass lining of his world; she drew a breath. The cracks spread, crawling like spiders, reaching out like the fatal rifts on thin ice - they raced and reached, hungrily, for the end. She didn't draw a second breath in silence. The first one was let loose in shouts, and the artful but fragile web finally splintered and fell apart. It shattered with a resonating boom within in his own head, tremors spreading through every part of him as an earthquake rocked his heart. The words fell around him like a meteor shower, slamming into the world around him and all he could do was snap his eyes open, tiredly, and stare at her. She was livid - rightfully so, but even her hot anger couldn't quite reach him and his gray island of desolation. He perched there at the edge of the world and watched as fire consumed his life. But, finally, her words started to hit home, like bullets flying across the space between them and lodging firmly in his flesh, burrowing deeper, spreading a slow, seeping poison; disease of the mind. She invited temptation back in, opened the front door wide and shouted for the shadows to crawl in and take him in possession, and something about it sparked a small response from him. His head tilted up, chin lifting a fraction, pained eyes hardening from their empty state into something more alive. He would not let her lead her back into the darkness, into the bog of lies and filth; he could not take her up on her offer, could not tell her to go, couldn't tell her it was her fault. If he did, it would be like putting out what little light he had left, snuffing out the candle that was Ice - he couldn't, wouldn't, do it. Instead, he fixed his eyes on hers, wishing he could dispel the confusion with a single word but how could he? How could he make her understand that he wouldn't ever be the same, that every moment would be a battle to stay afloat and on the right path? Once you have taken one step in the wrong direction, it's so easy to break into a run or simply stumble and roll down the slope into hell. Marsh's cold and flat eyes ghosted across his vision, and Ice sprung to his feet as another wind ruffled his matted fur. "No," he snapped quietly, more determination and force behind the word now than it had been in his voice before. His gaze roved across the mountain, then back onto her; couldn't the sun burn the clouds away now, and free them from this nightmare? Why did it refuse to let the colors bleed back into the world? Ice wanted to scream at it. "And what exactly is this?" His voice was more quiet and controlled, but it had blue flames licking at the edge, a raw and ragged edge. "Two friends roaring over flowers and broken hearts?" He gave her a cold glare - he wasn't angry, per se, just... Her fire seemed so bright to him that it might blind her, and by snapping at her, perhaps he could make her realize that fury solves nothing? Fury is simply the heat that melts the iron; the hammer that strikes it into shape is cold, precise, unyielding. If she was hot enough that she was losing the shape of her soul... If he edged closer, cold but still hot, perhaps something would happen - a fusion. Closer. Physically, he stayed put, though his small island of desolation had vanished - instead, he just felt vaguely lost in a tall and dark forest on a night without stars. Like now. Fuck those bright bastards, playful as the wind and never truly reliable. "I just want you to accept that I hate what I did to him!" His voice was steadier, but his eyes pleading; it had been his choice to help Ava and deceive Marsh. Not hers. She'd been there, but she hadn't asked for his help. He'd given it. Purple flowers. Hellebore. Hell-born. He glared at them as they rolled gracefully in the faint breeze, mocking the argument taking place just above their heads. Ice ground his teeth together. "Like the storm, it'll pass," he said in a rough voice, forcing desolation and pain into some remote corner of his heart. He could deal with those emotions later - they were just in the way, and even though it felt like each breath got stuck in his throat and as if each beat of his heart was painful and labored he wasn't going to let Ava run away. He wasn't going to let his nameless friend run off like this. Couldn't. Didn't dare. Didn't want. "Don't go," he whispered, as quiet as the breeze. .ice aesir

let the stars above shine in your soul

<blockquote>Standing in the aftermath of her outburst Ava half expected Ice to turn away from her crazy ass and return home, where he was loyal and did not need to listen to some wild-eyed maniac screeching at him.

But he didn't, and instead turned his steel gaze upon her and barked more forcibly than he had before. For as quiet as the words came from his throat they had a registry far higher than the decibel level. Something, some uncertain emotion, was driving them out. Exhausted from her emotional explosion, she coal-coated female could only offer him a blank stare while she heaved trembling breaths. Then he was - was he - scolding her? It sure felt like it. Visibly Ava drew back, her expression quizzical and jaws finally clamped shut. She knew he wasn't calling their fight <i>stupid</i> or unwarranted or something, but the actual meaning of his words couldn't quite be grasped. She was considering it all until she met his eyes and found them colder than the chill of the morning. Staring at her so vehemently Ava could picture Marsh's own stare on his face and found herself wrinkling her nose at the memory. Was she offended? Was she confused? Why had she stopped being able to identify the feelings swimming in the empty cavity of her chest?

"<b>It's called emotions, and it isn't as simple as 'flowers and broken hearts'!</b>" she spat back, not actually having anything helpful to say. Somehow she just needed to justify her whackjob yellfest, although really there wasn't a way to. Within her mind she was still transfixed by the Guardian's expressions, which had melted into one copper-silver mess of disdain focused on her own head.

His next demand couldn't block the picture from her mind, but at least she could see past their snarling faces to hear the absurdity of his request. <i>Accept it,</i> how could she accept it? All the disappointment, the hurt feelings, the resentment that was awaiting Ice. For as much as life forced the wolves of the Lore to grow quickly, Ava couldn't help but cling to some parts of childishness. One did not simply <i>accept the blame</i> when it was rightfully theirs. She knew it was her fault; she felt the guilt like a hot drip of wax melting through her fur and fusing into her spine. She couldn't herself but to shoot a bothered stare his way when he continued. Of course it would pass. Everything did. Knowing the wound would someday heal didn't make it stop hurting today. The longer she thought about the convoluted mess the more she felt her strength disappearing. There hadn't been soundness in her mind for quite some time, not since she'd began her trek toward Swift River's border, but now the situation was finally talking a toll on her physical being. For the ass-whooping she avoided at the border she was instead given an absolute weariness in her legs. Her bones felt softer than the flesh of hares; how was she still standing?

As if the drainage hadn't been enough, he chose to take the last bit of resilience she had with one simple plea. It wasn't only her heart that broke, but everything within her, and the sheer weight of it all was enough to nearly topple Ava to the mountain's floor. And she would gladly take the roll down the steep sides, crashing into every stone on the way down, at that instant. <i>Don't go.</i>

"<b>I can't stay. You can't either. You have to go back before you smell too much like mountains and traitors. And I...</b>" but there was nothing to follow. Ava was supposed to smell like the Grove. She was instructed to go to Swift River; she'd done everything <i>right</i> by her authority. Once again it was Ice who had forsaken his duty, betrayed his people, and the blame weighed in all too heavily on Ava's shoulders. Sickness bubbled in her stomach. Never before had the black she-wolf been the cause of problems for someone so dear to her. Friends did not cause other friends misery, and yet that was all she had accomplished today but for the stupid purple flowers.

Ava looked anywhere but in his eyes, desperately wishing to be free of their <span class='word'>imponderable</span> mess. It wasn't like she hated him all of a sudden; he was her closest friend. She just wanted a sea of black oblivion to bathe in until the guilt had gone from her, unpoisoning her soul. Then could she return to the world that was moving around them as the two wolves faced each other, stuck in a slate of grey morning. For as much as she wanted to run away and hide in a cave somewhere to let the shame seep from her pores, Ava just could not turn her back on Ice.
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art - threads

you do not know who is your friend or who is your enemy until the   ICE breaks. With every passing second, and every breath that hitched in his throat before sliding in or out, it felt like the distance between them only grew - longer, wider, chillier, as if winter had wrestled its way in between them. It wouldn't have surprised him if frost had sprung up beneath them, or if his breath had fogged up the air, but nothing happened. The sun was still slipping up, bright beyond the cover of clouds, but it wouldn't warm them yet. It's always coldest the hour after sunrise, and he found it oddly fitting, hopeless and all that. Weary and confused he kept watching her face, and she spat back at him. He supposed he deserved it, but still it hurt. Why wasn't it as simple as that? Why couldn't it ever be as simple as that? What was he even feeling? Was he even feeling at all? He expelled a shuddering breath. It quivered in his throat, it quivered in the air, and he felt like he was just a couple of months old again, not understanding the frosty edge of his father's voice whenever it spoke. Harsh, cruel, and with no real reason he could understand. "I never understood," he found himself saying, the voice of reality distant in the ears of memory. "I never understood..." He faltered, fell silent, blinked - the paws were black, not the cream of mottled gray wolves. Black. But he hadn't had black paws... He'd never been female, either. Ice blinked again, and Sceral's phantom face dissolved to the wind, slowly, but the River male still seemed dejected. Even though his gaze sharpened, what little iron there had been in him had become the malleable silver again. Ice looked up at her - black. Black. Had he ever met black wolves before coming here? What part of his mind that still functioned slightly rationally pushed the useless question aside. "What is it?" His voice was soft, as if simply asking would send her skittering away to the safety of her home, her lost friend and the purple flowers left behind. A low whine broke free from his throat and his ears fell back in a truly pitiful gesture. Ice had always withdrawn into some childish part of himself when things became tough, with his waking mind fogged over. He could feel the world slipping through his grasp, but found no way to hold on, and no real desire to. Was it so bad, to simply not understand it anymore? I never understood. Did it ever solve a problem..? She had spoken. His sliding attention snapped back momentarily, and frustrated, he ground his teeth together. He couldn't really remember everything that was wrong anymore, it all had just blended into one mess of emotions; it had been like a crescendo but faded off into a strange, shallow numbness. He was on the verge of saying, I don't care, when he realized that he did care. He cared about Marsh not ripping him apart, about Corinna not losing trust in him. Ice's gaze was pained when it landed on her again. "I don't want to," he whispered into the lazy wind. "But you're probably right." He swallowed the warm, painful lump in his throat and swatted at the ground in front of him. "But I've been gone before. It won't really be strange if I'm not back until later tonight. Plenty of time to scrub your scent off my fur." The worries were leaving again, flying out of his mind with the shafts of sunlight that started to pierce the clouds; he couldn't quite hold on to them, for if he did, they would overwhelm him and bring him down. It was easier to forget and ignore, at least for now. He fidgeted slightly, before giving a strangled sigh, picking up his speech again despite having left it off for a few seconds. "I.. probably should go." But nothing in his voice nor posture hinted that he would. .ice aesir

Here you go, one strange Ice.

let the stars above shine in your soul

( My favorite kind! )

<blockquote>Once again she felt frozen within a sheet of ice with the grey morning surrounding her. Her little bit of fury did little to save her from the chill of the wind and the chill of her emotion. The longer she stared into his silver eyes the easier it became to see them as nothing more than a desolate wasteland; a snow-covered death trap that was tearing her apart. And suddenly she could see herself: one black shadow, drapped in an endless drapery of snow and ice, doomed for the end. The stars above rained down upon her and became snow themselves, drowning her in their innocent appearance. So plush, so pure, so <i>cold</i>. Ava flinched visibly when she finally looked away, feeling as though all the warmth had been drained from her body. <i>Never</i> would there com a time when she wanted to feel like that from looking at Ice. His words did nothing to help her out of it; she could only tilt her head in the utmost confusion. He never understood? Never understood what? What was <i>what</i>? When she looked back upon him she found no answers; only a crumbling shell of what was her best friend.

He looked so defeated, blending in to the grey morning and trembling like the puppies that were coming their way. Momentarily Ava closed her eyes, trying to ignore the fact that their convoluted mess concerned more than just this individual event. She heaved a sigh, allowing the breeze to drag from her what righteous fury had momentarily lit in her heart; the flame put out by a gust of wind. No longer were her eyes on fire, burning that bold amber color as they so often did. They were stone, the color of frozen tree sap. So clear, and yet there was nothing behind them. Ava was frankly sick of feeling anything at all; how cruel that within some weeks time she would wish to feel even misery over the numbness that was so soothing.

The expression on her face looked as though it were painted, fitting together perfectly and yet quite one-dimensional. It was the hardest thing she had ever done, trying to block her emotions from leaking through. It went against every grain of her personality, but it had to be done. For him. As he tried to reason it out, whether he ought to come or go, she shook her head quietly. It was denial, and it made her heart beat quite heavily in her chest. Ava managed to slip something reminiscent of a smile upon her dark lips, adding gently, "<b>It'll be suspicious if you aren't there. Maybe it's better if we lay low for a while.</b>" How easily the words slid from her tongue. Her heart was breaking, but not a single shattering piece could be heard as she spoke. Every word that came from her throat felt like the broken glass, cutting her throat and causing her pain in merely saying them. "<b>It will blow over, and it will be okay.</b>" <i>Hollow words,</i> she hated herself for parroting them. But it was what they needed right now: to go back home, to serve their packs, to let the pain of their wrongdoings cease and eventually forgive themselves.

Ice had not moved, not one inkling in his posture that he was going to go as he knew he should. Ava swallowed the grimace that wanted to blossom on her plain face. It seemed as though she'd have to catalyze the reaction; that was, apparently, what she did best. She approached the hellebore; <i>stupid purple flowers</i> that had gotten them into their mess in the first place. Gingerly Ava lowered her head and scooped them into her jaws. Their vibrant violet hues contrasted against her pitch-black fur and complemented her eyes, and yet she hated them. They tasted disgusting against her tongue. They were not beautiful. When she picked her head back up again, she looked pointedly at Ice. This was the signal, the cue card, the lit sign above the audience. This was their next move. They had to part ways, and leave. Him to his wounds and her to the lost mountain wolf's.

But it wouldn't be the last time they saw each other. They would reconcile... at another time.
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