Drooping Willows villains that live in my head

my mind's like a deadly disease

I paced around for hours on empty
I jumped at the slightest of sounds
And I couldn't stand the person inside me
I turned all the mirrors around
-- Halsey, "Control"

---

May 6th; Northern Drooping Willows near edges of Whisper Marsh; Hours before sunrise; Partly Cloudy; 50 ° F, 10 ° C.

He had been without her for a good while now - perhaps little more than a week in human time - and all Skoll Archer could deduce was that a majority of him had lived and breathed because of Morganna. Like a ghost, he drifted about in the night, his footsteps slow and his eyes unfocused as if he were staring ahead at something that really was not there. All that time without her, he had not eaten. He barely slept and he clung hopelessly to the idea that she might awaken him one afternoon just by settling down at his side. He only ever returned to his little hiding place when he happened to be there at dawn; as it stood, with insomnia just beginning to take root, he was prone to sleeping only when he could no longer keep his eyes open and he could no longer keep moving in the dead of night.

Tonight, he had awoken sometime just past midnight when the willows around him were too still and the stars twinkled in the spaces between the clouds above. When he felt he was able to take his first deep inhale of this vigil, he could have sworn that he felt nothing. Did his chest still hurt? Had the winds finally stopped howling in his ears? Were the aches gone from his shoulders at long last? It seemed so...

He figured caution would be best - which was uncharacteristic coming from someone who had always dared to do what he wanted and lived life without care. One step at a time. His breath came from him, ragged and scared; apart from Angier and Elettra, Skoll now had no one he could trust. Enoki, perhaps, but she barely knew him. Niles and Ravenna, also maybe, but they, like Greer, chose to keep their distance from their older brother (it was either that, or Skoll merely saw little of them due to the strange hours he kept).

For what could have been a very long time, he merely stared at the world beyond the curtain of willow branches just inches in front of his nose. Perhaps I had died that day, he considered, talking to himself now in his head. I remember running, but not where I went, what I did, who I met... how I got back here...

Overhead, an owl let out a wary hoot and a disturbed raven dared to answer it. It startled the Archer and immediately he flattened himself to the ground with his ears back and his eyes shut. Only until silence had prevailed did he crack open one silvery iris... then the other... Then, it dawned on him: he was a wolf, was he not?

He blinked, lifting his head quietly as he regarded the umbrella-like canopy above him, the grass beneath him. With his right paw, he swept his pads across the vivid green blades, their colors off in the darkness. Did ghosts feel anything? he wondered. If he spoke or uttered even a single sound, would anyone hear him? His jaws parted and he decided against it; he had assumed and decided long ago that no matter what Morganna had said, she would never, ever come back for him.

i'm a dreamer, i'm a man

i'm doing whatever i can to make the bad things go away

Spring had brought so much change, cementing itself over Winter as his least favorite season of all. None of it had been good, and all of it had done its part to change the youth at this most critical precipice between childhood and adolescence. With the turning of his first year only days away, his aspirations of being a man were beginning to hold true, mature weight within his head. No longer did he believes this to mean just being quick and strong and on top. It meant surviving all the mistakes those you trusted to be better made and ensuring that you yourself never fell into the same traps.

He had not approached his father since their fight over @Hecate, not even when the pregnant woman disappeared into the night, nor when @Morganna announced her leave. His beloved aunt was the last wolf he had expected to let him down, and so significantly. When she'd told him, a flame had ignited within him, but before he could act upon it, acceptance doused the fire. Too many times he had been left behind, and rather than fight or ask for reasons why, he had minimally responded without any heart to his words. "Alright", "you too", "good bye."

That wasn't to say he hadn't remained a diligent son, keeping tabs on the other Archer, learning every new twist of his schedule and monitoring not just his actions, ever wary of new sins Skoll might indulge in, but also his condition. Harder than anything, it seemed, hit Morganna's absence, and Sven did not yet know what to make of this, what lesson to learn from it. He'd concluded what to take from the rest of of it all, however, and on that same night that Skoll felt himself to be a ghost, Sven struck out to bring him back to earth.

He found his father with a hare hanging from his white jaws, silent as a spectre every step of the way. His steel-fog eyes were hardened by his own resolution, and while the gesture of bringing food spoke of the care he still held for the man, they reflected nothing of the sort. Dropping the carcass to the ground, he took a few steps back and then reclined.

"I need to talk to you."

A lynx has left behind the remains of a deer. +5 Health

my mind's like a deadly disease

His question was answered by the singular presence of his son... his own (not-so-little) prodigy of a ghost. Of course, he figured, if anyone could see or hear him, it would have been Sven. The scent of hare mingled into his senses and, with it, everything that had been attributed to the spirit of the hunt. Thoughts of trampling over the sun-soaked grass, lurking about the rabbit holes, and... feeling that satisfactory telltale sign of the kill in his jaws. His lips sealed; to any normal wolf, saliva might have pooled beneath his tongue and hunger might have pinched and poked at his gut, but for Skoll it only reminded him of the sensation of longing.

The older Archer's head turned to address his son, those pale silver eyes scanning every bit of him beyond the hare's limp and lifeless body. Once it was on the ground, Sven also lowered into the grass. Skoll steeled himself, unsure of what the heir wanted of him now... If anything was certain, Sven probably had something to interrogate and catechize him for and his father was going to have to fold.

One of Skoll's pointed ears swiveled back and he returned his gaze through the veil of willow branches. "Couldn't have come at a better time," he replied, his typically heavy and impatient tone nothing but airy and ethereal in the dark. Even with his next question it was apparent that something was not right. His words were much too patient, too impassive, too emotionless... "What is it, Sven?"

i'm a dreamer, i'm a man

i'm doing whatever i can to make the bad things go away

Sven's pale ears flicked forward to take in his father's unusual greeting, a frown threatening to press down at the corners of his mouth. Skoll, despite being the definition of a wildcard in the Archer family's hand, had been predictable and consistent at least in his attitude. While at a loss as to what the man's future actions may be, always the boy had been able to anticipate his father's reactions, and this hazy night was the first time since their final fall out over Piety that Sven did not witness what was expected. Rage and venom he knew how to deal with, even if not constructively. This... faintness? It unnerved him.

Sven paused to watch him, letting silence fill the space between them even after Skoll's prompting. The barely-yearling couldn't help but to contemplate in that moment whether or not his father would ever be capable of more. Always he had been the true ghost, touching here and there on all of their lives but never tangible enough to hold onto, to rely upon. Sven yearned for him to solidify, to prove the naysayers wrong and to be more than this liability he always seemed to end up being. It seemed very possible; in many ways, the youngest Archer still looked up to his father. Yet he had to consider, then and there; what if Skoll never flew any higher? What if he never changed?

The answer came more easily than he expected, a mantra that always seemed to line the thrumming of his heart when he thought of his father; it wouldn't matter. Sven would always protect, fight and care for his father because no matter how faintly, he was still here. Through all of it, Skoll had stayed, and at the end of each and every day, that was enough.

But would even that continue?

"Morganna hit the pack hard, and dumped it back onto Nonna. She won't be able to stay on top for long, and now there's no one good enough to take over. The pack feels like it could fall apart at any moment and I don't think anyones lifting a paw to turn that around. Doesn't feel like it, anyways," he spoke, almost as if sharing his thoughts as they formed. This had been in his mind for a while, however; none of it was novel.

"Hecate's also out there alone, most likely. She'll have my siblings and they won't have a father, unless you plan on fixing that." Problem number two that was under his skin. "I don't want either of these things to happen, so I'm going to do something about it. What about you?"

my mind's like a deadly disease

The information that was relayed was not new to the older heir. We'll do something then, Skoll had wanted to say, but that thought was just much too... precarious. The last time he had tried to do something - challenge Nicolo specifically - his promise fell through. All he had left now was promises and he intended to keep them. He just couldn't trust himself to act upon his desires and not tear Willow Ridge apart (like he might have wanted in his yearling days months ago). If the pack fell, he would have failed his mother and sister, leaving Niles and Ravenna and Sven with nothing.

Then, Sven spoke those very words he had been thinking: "I don't want either of these things to happen, so I'm going to do something about it." The subject was then turned over to Skoll, and he merely pondered the possibilities. What about him?

The black-furred Archer shifted his weight from one side to the other, leaning on one elbow at first and then the other. "I intend on helping you," he decided. In doing this, he would a least make certain that the next generation of leading Archers had a leg up. Whether or not Sven could manage in the face of his age-mate aunt and uncle, though, was all on him. His tone morphed from indifference to something akin to curiosity, "And, what is it you intend to do?"

i'm a dreamer, i'm a man

i'm doing whatever i can to make the bad things go away

I intend on helping you. It was the moment that those words hit him that he realized they were the last he'd been expecting from his father's mouth. Sven could not keep all of the emotion from his face; his moonlit eyes widened and his lips loosened. He recalled the last time his father had promised to help him, and how in the wake of Hecate that promise had been revoked. Distantly his mind whispered to him, what would take him away this time?, but the boy refused to listen. Faith hammered loudly within his chest as he swallowed his father's words greedily, refusing to see the mountebank behind the curtain.

Skoll would help him. They would be a team to fix what was wrong.

The question was turned around and the interest in his father's voice was like a drug. Words leapt into his throat but a second was taken to consider what should and should not be said. Never did Sven want to make a false vow, and what was declared on this night would be taken to heart. Even if not by Skoll, then by himself.

"I'm going to find Hecate. I'm going to be there for my siblings, no matter what. That's my first priority. Then I'm... once I know they're okay, I'm going to approach Niles and @Ravenna. This pack needs an heir ready, and so long as it's an Archer I don't care who steps up to the plate. But we need to support each other. If they won't work with me... I have to try, first."