Roamer's Rest pressures of a new place

He had done so much walking.

The pads of his feet were raw and threatening to spilt open as he slumped against the cool ground. Fortunately, for the black-furred yearling, the warmth of summer was beginning to fade. The air had begun to grow cooler and the leaves were starting to drop. Even as he collapsed against the ground a few leaves had abandoned their perch and settled onto the ground beside him; keeping him company. He sighed, his ears falling flat as he nestled his nose between his sore forepaws.

He had gone south, all those months ago, to secure an alliance between the Ridge wolves and his mother’s pack (despite the distance) for what? For the Tarn to splinter as illness plagued his mother? He had even cut his trip short due to a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach to discover that his mother had grown sick during his absence. Despite her health slowly returning she had left the Tarn with his little brother, Valentin, at his side and while Cyril could have accompanied them he knew he couldn’t follow his mother forever. He had his own path to forge. She was a strong woman; she would do fine on her own. Valentin was a smart boy and would be there for their mother when she needed him. He did not doubt that she would be safe.

But he still worried… and wondered if staying had been the right choice.

He had trailed after Odin and Jenessa as they headed for the Scowle but his interests did not lie at the lagoon. He had other business to attend to.

But he was too tired (and sore) to make his way to the ridge just yet. Cyril would make his way there eventually to update @Adeltra on everything that had happened since his last visit. How his life was just getting progressively worse and that she was the only good thing that remained. Aside from little Jenny, maybe. She was a brat but she was okay, too.

The temperature had plummeted in the past few weeks, leaving many of them shaking and wary until their winter coats officially grew in. She knew what was coming: the snow. The snow, which blanketed everything and seemed to stomp out any signs of life. The winter was eerily quiet, the opposite of what the sunny-eyed girl liked. The Archer yearling thrived in the summer. She loved the sounds of the birds and the feeling of the warmth on her back. In general, she loved the feeling of life.

Perhaps it was this love for life that led her toward the Meadow. The meadow in the summer months was a hub of activity, always bustling with something. Life clung there until the last bits of fall before finally giving way to it’s unforgiving usurper. She meandered through the tall grasses and flowers, their tips wilting and the grasses greying already. She sighed, tilting her head toward the cloudy sky with a squint. She took in a deep breath...then paused. She found her heart racing, looking around herself for the scent that she knew as well her own family’s.

But where was he?

The girl took off at a run, zigzagging back toward the Ridge before making a sharp turn downward. Her agile feet took her through the paths she knew all too well. After all, as a scout she patrolled this area quite often. Her path and the scent took her to the Rest, and sure as her nose had told her there he was. She felt her breathing hitch, taking in his dark form. He looked a bit ragged, she noticed, and...something was missing from his pelt. Her eyes widened at the realization. It was the Tarn. And, more importantly, that of Piety. What had happened?

Cy, she breathed, moving to him until she was pressing her face flush into his furry neck. She breathed in his scent, breathed in him, and found a calmness and reassurance in his presence that she hadn’t known she’d been lacking. He was there beside her as he had been for so many moons. But, no matter how much she enjoyed it she had to ask herself. Why was he there?

(This post was last modified: Oct 03, 2018, 06:15 AM by Adeltra.)

A nearby creek is full to the brim with fish. +3 Health

He did not know what was next for him. Now that his mother was gone, with his younger brother accompanying her, there was nothing left for him at the Tarn. Not even Cheedo, who had been there since the beginning. The final straw had been Lenae’s departure; Cyril knew he couldn’t stay on the mountain anymore. There was nothing left for him. Sure, he wanted to stick around for Jenessa. Keep her safe. Be an older brother to her. But his head, and his heart, wasn’t in the right place.

And as long as he was in the Tarn neither was he.

But did he stay in the south? Cyril was not sure if he was interested in joining his older half-brother’s pack—especially when the alabaster male did not have the best (or any) relationship with their mother. Adeltra was there, which would make things easier, but he could not force him to be content among the willows. There was the Scowle, led by one of his mother’s closest friends, but Cyril was not sure that was right for him either.

Maybe he needed to be alone for awhile. Figure his shit out or whatever.

His nose twitched as a familiar scent greeted him, causing his chin to lift from the ground. A faint smile worked its way onto his dark features as his yellow gaze landed on her ebony frame.

Of course she had found him.

They always found each other.

He welcomed her touch with a sigh and leaned into her with his forehead pressed to her scruff. However, he did not rise from his spot on the ground. His paws were still too sore to move or stand. But he did not speak either. He wanted to enjoy their reunion before spilling his grievances to her.

He relaxed readily into her, the pair folding in on each first for the first time in 6 months. She hated that they’d spent so much time apart, but it was a necessary evil. Both had lives they had to lead and new members to welcome into their family. They’d understood that in their last meeting, had known that it would be some time before they would be able to see each other again. But, it didn’t make it any easier. Though lately he hadn’t been popping into her mind everyday, there was a week or even a few days that went by where she hadn’t wondered about her dark friend. About how he had been doing, if he was enjoying his life. But, if his presence was any testament she should have sought him out sooner. As soon as the coyotes had disappeared in fact.

The scent of raw flesh brought her out of her thoughts and she gave a sniff, honeyed-amber gaze traveling to the source: his paws. A deep frown marred her maw and she bent her head, licking at the pads in an attempt to clean them. She’d ask him later if he’d let her treat them, but for the moment she made do simply with this. She made no move to comment. Addy knew that Cyril would speak when he was good and ready to. There were no secrets between the pair, only long passes of time that would be filled in.

Truthfully the ebony youth was glad that his friend had stumbled upon him. He did not know how soon he could get back to travelling with his paws in their current condition. They were not as bad as they could be but it was evident that they required proper rest and they would not heal properly if he did not give his paws a break. He had worked himself too hard (as usual). But it was worth it. He had found her—the light at the end of the tunnel. The only constant in his life. Despite the distance between them they had always found each other; always sought comfort in each other.

She made him better.

The yearling winced as she noticed his injured paws and proceeded to lick them. His nose instantly wrinkled as he tried to shuffle away from her in discomfort, a soft frown appearing on his handsome features. Cyril knew she was trying to help but it was not an enjoyable feeling … eventually he complied, his shoulders sagging as he nipped at the base of her ear. What brings you out here? He asked, his voice soft with genuine curiosity.

Her friend retreated from her cleaning, his muzzle wrinkling in protest. How cute, she mused in her thoughts. Though, her eyes squinted at him as if to say “don’t be a baby.” After all, if he wasn’t going to do it she would. He’d thank her later when his paws weren’t infected. Then he’d really be in trouble. Eventually he relaxed into her touch, and after a few more moments she was done with her efforts.

Her tail a happy wap, wap, wap against the ground, a hum filling the air as she leaned into the touch at the base of her ear with close eyes. His gentle, boyish voice filling the air with a question. Her gaze remained closed as she replied, content to revel in his presence. Wanted to enjoy the last of the warmth and life that I could before winter came and ruined it, she replied, her voice tilting downward with displeasure at the end. She really didn’t like the winter. But, I guess if winter brings you to me it might not be all bad, she mused, rolling over onto her back and wriggling to squeeze up next to him. Her lips tilted into a cheesy grin. After all, it had been around this time the year prior that they’d first met. Wow, so much had changed in a year. Yet, through that change they still had each other.

His gaze narrowed as he observed her but a faint smile remained on his dark lips. He had missed this. Being around her. Having someone to confide in. Normalcy. Things had not been normal for the Kael-Santoro since his father’s death, but Adeltra had made things bearable. She had never pushed him to speak or do anything beyond his comfort level. She merely supported him with her presence and, for Cyril, that was enough.

He hummed in response to her question as he leaned back against the tree trunk, his chin angled slightly to the side as he studied her. She appeared to be doing better despite the recent tragedies that she had endured. Adeltra was much stronger than he was. It was why she thrived in the willows and why Cyril couldn’t find somewhere he belonged.

He would always be lost.

While he did not mind the cold he could not deny that he preferred the warmth of summer. But winter was not so bad; tolerable, even. He rolled his eyes at her second comment but wore a lop-sided grin on his dark maw. Maybe winter brings you to me, he retorted as he prodded her stomach with his tail. I don’t got anywhere else to be anyway. There was nothing left for him in the north. Not the monadnock. Not the tarn. Not his mother, or even his younger brother.

Just Cyril.

Adeltra always like seeing the expressions cross his face, largely because there was any expression at all. She’d been around him when he’d been with his family and the others, witnessed how he behaved. In a way, she very special. Special because he was so open around her. She was happy he could be, because she would always be there for him. Come hell or high water, Adeltra Archer would always find a way to him when he needed her.

She laughed when his tail tickled her stomach, curling up defensively and swatting at his muzzle with wrinkled muzzle in amusement. Though, his last statement made her pause curiously for a moment. What? Does Miss. Piety give you that much free reign? she chided. Then, her brows rose in realization. The yearling rolled to her stomach, crawling and scooting until she was directly in front of him. How’s your little sister? Or, is it a little brother? What’s their name? What’re they like? she bombarded, tail twitching excitedly for her friend. How could she forget such an important thing?

His expression tightened at her comment but he did not let it weigh heavily on his shoulders. His mother had left, along with his brother—that was a fact. Sure, he could have begged and pleaded for them to stay or he could have accompanied them, but he knew neither option was right for him. He could not force Piety to stay when she was unwell or uninterested and he could not join her when there was something (or someone) keeping him in the Lore. Eventually, if his mother did not return, he would seek out the Santoro. But for now he did not mind being on his own.

Not exactly, he responded in a low voice, his expression softening as his yellow gaze fixated on her amber pools. Little brother. Valentin. He shrugged. He’s alright. A little quiet but he’s not so bad. He often worried that his younger brother wouldn’t be able to take care of their mother due to his softness but he was still a Santoro. He would find the strength within him. Mom stepped down as leader. She got sick. The Tarn had a healer, and her efforts seemed to be working, but not enough. Another shrug. His expression remained smooth; indifferent. He had accepted the fact that his family was gone. That the Tarn would no longer be his home. That he had to take care of himself. So both her and Valentin left. To seek better help. He sighed. And I chose to stay. He frowned at this, almost as though he wasn’t sure he had made the right decision.