Larkcall Lowlands there ain't language for the things i've seen

Cyril only continued to grow more confused as the tawny cub’s face become contorted, mirroring his own reaction. Did she know why she was apologizing, or was she actually sorry for something she had done? He was positive that he had been the mean one, his venomous words lashing between them, and she had only reacted the way she had because she was mimicking him. He had been the one to refuse being friends with her, when she had wanted nothing but friendship and kindness.

But the little Kael was not sure he was sorry. If he had acted that way, regardless of how rude it had been, he had obviously wanted to respond the way he had. Was he supposed to feel bad? He was not sure he did.

At least not until the girl’s face started leaking. He panicked, his body recoiling away from her as he shuffled backwards, bewildered by the streams of water falling from her eyes. What was wrong with her?! He shook his head, sharply, hoping that the action would rouse him from his slumber, but this certainly was not a dream. ‘I’m bad,’ the girl managed, a heavy sniff breaking up her words as they fumbled off her tongue. Again he shook his head, but this time it was him rejecting her statement, for it simply was not true. She was annoying, yes, but she definitely was not bad.

Still taken aback by the water dripping down her cheeks he leaned forward, his nostrils twitching as he studied her, unsure of what to do or say. “Not bad,” he countered in a cool tone, his lips dipping into a frustrated frown. 

 

Huh. That was weird. She wasn't quite sure how to react when the boy suddenly leaned away from her, but for the moment, she didn't really care. The child was too busy swiping her paws over her cheeks, trying to stop crying because crying was embarrassing, no matter how bad you felt. Ris had plowed facefirst into trees without crying, so she wasn't sure why she was crying so much now. It was like Kisla's being taken away had flipped some kind of switch, and she hated it.

But then he spoke again, leaning forward toward her. She blinked slowly, moonstone silver eyes meeting sunshine yellow ones. Had he just said she wasn't bad? Because, last she checked, he wanted nothing at all to do with her. She was more confused and surprised than anything else, and she blinked a few times before she could think clearly enough to formulate any sort of reply for him.

She wanted to ask if he hated her, but she didn't think that he did. Wouldn't he have, like, left or something, if that was the case? So, instead, the girl just offered him a 'thank you' smile, slowly managing to crawl her way out of that sudden pit of self-despair she'd found herself in. The tears slowed, and then stopped, though that hollow feeling in her gut never did quite go away.

It took a long moment for the child to speak again, but she finally decided what she wanted to say. "Wha's yo-ou n-n-na-me?" She wanted to at least know what to call him in her head, because he couldn't be boy forever. The question itself wasn't asked as it had been before - it wasn't as bright or friendly or pushy, but it was a little bit of a step in perhaps the right direction.

She hoped he wouldn't tell her it was none of her business again.

Being nice felt weird. He still was not sure if he liked the silver pup, for during their first encounter she had been dreadfully annoying, but he was sympathetic to her—for whatever reason. Something seemed off and while Cyril did not want to prod, he knew it must have been bad to effect her personality so much. His frown deepened, his brows softening as his forehead smoothed, tail tucked neatly against his hindquarters as he remained statuesque. The leaking of the face bothered him, his nose still wrinkled, and he would be sure to ask his mother when he returned why that happened… and if would happen to him. He shuddered, inwardly, at the thought. He hoped not because, boy, was it terrifying!

Eventually the face-flood subsided and Cyril breathed a sigh of relief, his ears tipping backward slightly. His expression remained grim, mostly because he was not sure what to do—or say—so he simply sat. She was the talker after all.

Her frail voice filled the space between them once more, this time asking a question she had attempted asking during their first meeting. His name. The smudge toyed around with the idea of giving her a fake one, but with her miserable state, he did not know if it would be any fun lying to her. So, he sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly in defeat as he spoke: “Cyril.” 

 

The girl wasn't quite sure that she liked this boy, either. She didn't dislike him, for sure, but their personalities just seemed to clash. But Risaela was nothing if not persistent, so perhaps she could make a friend of him yet. Her beliefs were reaffirmed when he sagged and offered her his name - it was a little shorter than the children of Hearthwood's names. Particularly Lil Lil's actual name, which was too long for any wolf's ever.

Regardless, the child wasn't going to be able to say it right.

"Ce-re-al," she repeated, adding another syllable by accident and furrowing her brows just a bit. Because it didn't sound quite right to her ears, though she had tried. But for the moment, it was unimportant, because she wondered if he remembered her name or not. "Ris," the pup croaked, angling her ears toward him and lifting one paw up to her chest in an introductory fashion. She was further losing her voice, and it was obvious in the way she spoke.

Clearly neither of them were too verbally inclined at the moment, so the encounter would likely be boring if they were to try to carry on a conversation. The pup didn't really feel like doing much, but she wanted to try and make friends with this boy. But maybe if she stuck around too long he'd get tired of her again, and try and be mean.

"W-want go?" she asked, tilting her head to the side and poking her nose toward the Lowlands. "A-venture?" Perhaps it was hoping for too much, but it was all she could come up with at the moment. Perhaps the two of them would be able to find something awesome to see.

He sighed. Cereal? His name was only one syllable, how could she have possibly gotten his name wrong? There was no point in correcting her, for the boy doubted she would be able to say it right, so he let it be. For now. The ebony Kael did not feel like fighting—not today. Not when the silver-eyed girl was riddled with grief and incapable of having an ounce of fun.

She uttered her own name once more, just in case he had forgotten, but he hadn’t. He had just chosen not to acknowledge her by her name mostly because she had offered him shortened names. Rissy, Ris. They were nicknames. Little Cyril did not like calling unfamiliar wolves by nicknames, for he felt as though they were personal. The two were not friends—he wanted her full name but he did not want to ask.

The boy was in quite a pickle.

Her fragmented voice came forward once more, disturbing his thoughts and bringing him back to reality. An adventure, huh? He frowned. Cyril was not sure he wanted to go anywhere with the tawny pup. Where did she come from anyway?! The first time he met her she had smelled earthy, like needle trees and moist soil, but now her scent was more grainy, like the fields south of the monadnock. She couldn’t be a lone cub—his parents had told him that puppies were incapable of surviving on their own—but where was her home? Was it to the east or the south? “Shouldn’ go ‘ome?” He asked, his head tilting to the side as his brows narrowed sharply.

 

More silence followed in the coming moments, and Risaela couldn't help but feel a little awkward. The Hearthwood child had no concept of personal and impersonal, so she couldn't understand why he didn't seem to want to use her name. She never went by Risaela anyway - to be honest, from time to time, she actually forgot that there was a longer version of her name at all. There was just no understanding why some wolves didn't want to be insta-friends.

Or, well, she kind of did... lately. Friends weren't as appealing as they were before Kisla died.

Finally, the Cereal kid spoke again, and it was rather obvious that he did not want to go anywhere with her. In fact, he was quick to suggest that she needed to go home. Which made sense, because she did need to go back to the River. It just wasn't possible at the moment - even the thought of it made her feel sick to her stomach. Ris swallowed a couple of times to reign in the nausea, and she shrugged her shoulders in response. "M-may-bee," she replied, then watched as the same blue butterfly from earlier drifted over between the two of them.

The insect landed on her nose and she instantly went cross-eyed, her vision filled with blue once more.

This girl was positively frustrating. Even when words failed her and they stumbled out of her mouth, fragmented and weak, she was still irritating.

Why wouldn’t she go home? Did she not like being home—was that the reason why she was so glum?

Most importantly, why was she being so difficult?

He exhaled loudly from his nose, his triangle sonars pinned forward as he dug his claws into the soft ground, unsure of what to do with the silver-eyed girl. He could not force her to go home. That required a) touching her, and b) spending more time with her. Nearly shuddering at the thought he dismissed the thought with an absent flick of his tail, his shoulders sagging softly as his yellowed gaze followed the trail of the blue butterfly that fluttered between them.

The thought of lunging forward and capturing the insect between his teeth consumed his thoughts for a moment but he shoved it aside. He did not want to see her face leak a second time. Cyril had already been traumatized by the first bout of face-flooding.

Instead he sighed, his frown reappearing as a question rolled off his tongue: “Why maybe?” He didn’t really care why she did not want to go home but he did not know what else to do. Leaving was always an option but his curiosity was getting the better of him… so he would suck up being in her presence for a little while longer. 

 

'Why maybe?'

What a good question. One that required many more words than what she had been offering, and one that she wasn't sure she wanted to answer. Because answering that question would cause her to dig up the memory of Kisla and have to explain it to more than just Jessie, and she didn't even know if the boy would understand it anyway. The child twitched her nose and the butterfly drifted away, leaving the two of them in more silence, just like before.

But then something occurred to her. Something that she could not ignore.

She didn't have to tell him anything. Ris didn't owe anything to this kid, and above all, why was he the one who could ask questions and expect answers? Normally, the silver child would not have even thought something like that, but it was about time that she grew some sort of a backbone and stood up for herself. If Cyril didn't care, then why should she bother?

"Nun'ya biz-bizness," she said, to quote him from their first meeting.

His first response was a slow blink, his brows pinched together as the corners of his mouth fell into a sharp frown. However, the reaction was short-lived.

After a brief pause he snorted in amusement at the girl’s defiant answer, the snotty words fumbling off her tongue in an attempt to be malicious toward the ebony cub. Rolling his shoulders in a lazy shrug he dismissed her resistance and unfolded his legs from beneath him, his chin tipped slightly toward the sky as he observed her. Clearly this girl was a far bigger mess than he was capable of dealing with and he wanted nothing to do with her anymore.

“Wha’ever,” he spat back at her before turning his nose up once more and stalking away from her. “See ya never, bug!” He called over his shoulder as his hips swayed behind him, his yellowed gaze fixated on the monadnock in the distance. Bug. The name seemed fitting. She was just as annoying (and small) as one.

He had tried to be better this time. He had even shared her name with her—his real name! But clearly the two weren’t meant to be friends. Her face did leak after all, and Cyril did not know if that was contagious or not… His pace quickened at the thought, fuelling his steps. He needed to ensure that face-floods were not an infectious disease immediately! 

 

It wasn't until he spat at her and called her a name and stormed off that Ris realized that she couldn't handle meanness at the moment. Because it made her eyes burn and her breathing pick up. She nearly let him go, just so that she could wallow in her self-pity and cry in silence, but she couldn't do that. What she'd said was mean and wrong and he'd been trying to be nicer - she could tell. Why had she done that?

"W-w-w-w-wa-ait!" she stammered, the stuttering worsening as her emotions got out of hand. The child ran forward, in front of him, trying hard to think of what she could say to explain things to him. She wanted to, now, to keep him from being mad at her and make sure that they still had some semblance of hope to have a friendship.

She planted her paws down firmly, tail tucking between her legs and breathing rapidly. "M-ma-mamama... no," she began, pinning her ears to her head in frustration when she realized that she'd said the word incorrectly. "M-my-my... mam-mama not... not h-home no m-more." Her voice weakened toward the end, growing hoarser and more gravelly. Tears welled back up in her eyes, but she set her jaw, desperate not to cry again in front of him.