Coconut Grove standing so incredibly still, i become invisible to the eye

Dream sequence for a sleepy @Hemlock.

Lotte stomped into the sandy grove where Hemlock slept, a generous roll of fog surrounding all but a clear ring around the fox-furred Kali woman. Bordering the ring were six dreamlike blossoms — five whose filaments and antlers glowed and shimmer-shifted in a kaleidoscopic rainbow, and one that was gray and appeared made of stone. It was annoying that the tread of her paws bore no sound no matter how hard she stomped, so she grumbled, more for show than out of real irritation: “Why must you sleep here? There is so much sand here.” She made no mention of the fact that her beloved also lived on an island surrounded by the dreadful stuff — she didn’t want Hemlock to regret her choices.

“Where are we going?” she asked blithely, turning off her bad mood in favor of seeing the Hinterlands again. Now that she knew all four of her children were alive and safe, living their respective lives as they were meant to, she had few worries — only Mallaidh and her demons, Hemlock and her heart, and Arturo. It occurred to her now that she had not visited her husband, but his grip on reality, she’d seen, was so tenuous — if she came to him, would she not risk the rise of the Witchdoctor? She had to love the Witchdoctor, as he was part of Arturo and she loved everything about her gangster king, but it was an act of gravely painstaking labor and practiced action instead of an effortless desire.

It was by unspoken contract that during these visits, Lotte concerned herself only with the dreamer — glancing regretfully at the flowers, she summoned up a smile for her wife. “The weather is warming,” she added conversationally. “Your world will grow green again — didn’t I tell you it would be so? — and more beautiful every day, like you.”

 


Although invigorated by the buzzing prospect of a like-minded friend in Raven, Hemlock nonetheless had to sleep and recharge just as ever along her journey. She wasn't sure where she was going, but she'd sheltered herself by bedding down in a grove of the odd trees. It wasn't the sequoias that she still stared at from time to time, nor the strong proud forest she'd come to know in the strath. Idly a foot twitched in her sleep and disrupted bits of sand, it had warmed during the day beneath the sun and now had provided her a gentle sort of warmth now. It was near snuffed out however, a cold sweeping like a fog across the little grove and causing her to release an unknown and unexpected whine. 

Lotte

Just as before the voice of her wife roused the flamekissed healer in an instant and her doeful green eyes blinked open to look at her beloved. Words began and then ended, gaping not unlike the first Droman had gotten so good at catching. "It was warm," Hemlock offered simply, shifting up to stand and then shake out her coat before she rushed into Lotte's plush embrace. "You are warmer." A simple 'this would be my preference' went unspoken as she reached up to give a teasing tug to Lotte's bearlike ear. "You only say that because you have to." Hemlock said with a breathy laugh. She knew she wasn't a sight that was pleasing - she was still malnourished even as she recovered on the island, run ragged by the six youth's and the unexpected journey they'd set on once Arturo was gone. 

"The last time I had set out along this path I had sought herbs for you - and now, another. One of the ones who took me and the children in will whelp in the coming weeks." Hemlock explained. "Although I may try and bring some honey back for her, too, if our Eirlys taught me anything." She said with a breath of a laugh. There was something in her that this time did not stop to question her circumstances. If she was going to fall into the depths of depravity and finally embrace the insanity that had licked at her heels at least she'd be lead by a beautiful wolf. How could she ask for better company than Lotte on that journey? 

A fiercely exultant growl rumbled within Lotte’s breast as Hemlock rushed forward and nestled against her, slender muzzle arcing up to tug at one small, bearlike ear. She leaned down to make it easier for her petitely-fashioned wife. “Calling me a liar, liekkikukka?” she questioned, a thread of genuine hurt twining through her velvety alto. “I forbid you from questioning my judgment.” Her tone was playful, lightly mocking, but the nip she bestowed upon one burnished shoulder was sharp enough to pinch. “I do not have to do anything I do not wish to,” she reminded her mate more seriously, with a spirited toss of her head. “I say you are beautiful because you are, no matter what you may think of yourself. Your judgment of yourself is often poor. I see things more clearly.”

Lotte’s tone was, okay, a little smug in this dream of Hemlock’s, but the wise woman’s perception of her mate couldn’t be truer. She was smug — and bossy, and bullheaded…

Anyway, “I remember that!” Lotte crowed, and if she had been able to, she would have clapped. As it was, a great belly-laugh rollicked from her smiling maw. “You and I have both had terrible luck when it comes to pregnancy and logistics,” she chuckled, refusing to acknowledge aloud that her death had caused great problems for Hemlock. Guilt stabbed at her, and she savored its bite, but she did not speak of it — she was here to comfort, not be comforted. “I hope your next patient is more…stationary. Who is your next patient?”

She smiled fondly at mention of Eirlys, but her love for her second daughter was quieter; she had never really been close with the girl. Both she and Eirlys had been waiting for something to happen — some momentous event that would cause them to cleave together — but even when things in the family had started to crumble, mother and daughter had remained islands without any real connection aside from their shared blood.

 


Hemlock did not cower beneath the intensity of Lotte's gaze nor the sharp crack of her tone; being chastised even lightly by her Banrion did not set her spirits to qualms. She was too happy in these stolen moments, these dreams somehow were more real and vivid than any other she'd have of Lotte. Usually it was just flashes of silver-kissed fur and her head tucked beneath an expanse of black, it was feeling and this? This was everything. "You made me your wife - clearly your judgement is clouded, Rakastettu." But Hemlock was beaminng even in her tease and shifted her touch to snake her muzzle against Lotte's and trace the edge of her jaw. 

Hemlock snorted in her agreement; their pregnancies and the whole 'moving across the world thing' had been horrendous. She did not think it was Lotte's fault that she had such a hard time of things. It was just...well, it just what it was. She had survived, relatively speaking, so she had to be settled in that truth. "Coelacanth, one of the island wolves." She had not known her name before but now it was more common knowledge - they'd met when she had only known her as the dark spritely wolf along the coast. "She and her mate gave us refuge when Droman and Reed were born and then took us in again after winter had started breaking." And she was grateful, so grateful, so she would do everything she could to show that gratitude - not unlike she'd done for Lotte. 

Of course that had been a spark that had lead to a wildfire in the way that she felt for the woman. She knew it would not happen again - this was her destined love. She had savored what Palisander and Lotte had given and she knew she wouldn't be greedy. She would not expect more. She would not seek more either. "Hopefully things will stay calmer this time." Although she wasn't sure, she hoped for peace for the process. She didn't know how much more trauma she could take. 

“Coelacanth, one of the island wolves.”

Shock flashed across the soturi’s face and was chased with a wash of regret. “The ouroboros,” she murmured cryptically. Her tone was grave as she elaborated. “Shortly before your return to the bleeding forest,” or maybe at the same time, because who the heck remembers what happened in what order, “I sold her innocence to the wolves of Blackfeather Woods. I did it for the Family — to keep them from killing Olive, Dakarai, and every Teaghlaigh wolf in their wake. If I had to do it again tomorrow, I would. In my womb were our babies: Mallaidh, Roarke, Eirlys, and Ceallach. For them, and for you and Arturo and Chusi, I would do it again.” Her argent eyes were steely and implacable, but before Hemlock the mask shattered. Her shoulders slumped infinitesimally, so subtly few wolves would notice, and she sighed, shaking her head.

“I swore to her uncle that I would care for her — we met in passing, two bards on the road. I failed, in that. Somehow, you are righting my wrong — and maybe that is right, because we are one.” She nuzzled her mate wearily, nibbling one flame-kissed ear.

 

Hemlock studied Lotte's face, seeing the slight shift of her posture, the way that she almost bowed into herself. Hemlock's posture changed in turn as she became a rock for Lotte, pressing her forehead against her mate's as she licked her nose. "She has never held Teaghlaigh against me - for a time, Arturo was even on the island with us." No, the dark woman had a heart that was as large and loud as could be to make up for the silence she was dictated to. Hemlock smiled gently at the notion that they were one and thus Hemlock continued on what Lotte could not. "I want to make this as peaceful as I can for her. I believe this will be her first whelping." Hemlock was nervous though, almost afraid of the after more than the process. After all, Lotte had perished after their children were born - months later, but still! - and then their family had perished after Hemlock's. 

She kissed over Lotte's cheeks, motions gentle as could be. "I feel as though when this last flower dies I will be able to follow you." She admitted, green eyes shifting over the flowers - only hovering over the one stone one for a moment before turning back to face Lotte. She had the expectation that was the meaning of it all - how soon that would be, she did not know, but, as long as she had the missions she gave herself, she would hold fast. "Our children are almost all grown. Next month is Reed and Droman's Mitexi - they will be adults in the eyes of the tribe." Hemlock explained. 

Per the conversation in #phone-a-friend, there is no formal policy on dream appearances, so I believe I have tacit permission to finish out these threads. ^^

“No, she would not,” Lotte murmured quietly, thinking for a moment of the girl she’d wronged and then shoving away the thought to focus on what was important. Her time with Hemlock was so limited — if her mate should awaken in the trueworld or fall asleep within the dream realm, their visit would come to an abrupt end. Lotte had no control over this, just as she’d had no control over the abrupt end of her own life. She pressed her lips shut to forestall her own protests regarding the unfairness of time and allowed her eyes to flutter closed as Hemlock’s tongue sketched indecipherable hieroglyphs of love across her cheeks.

When at last Lotte could control her emotions long enough to look upon her dear one, they affixed upon the viridian gaze. She didn’t dare look at the flowers, but she saw them reflected in Hemlock’s viridian eyes. She could make no comment on the validity of Hemlock’s poignant, morbid musings and spoke of life instead: “I call you my fireflower, but maybe that is not completely right,” she softly intoned. “I have seen fire. When bards sing of it — when I sing of it — we talk about its beauty and light; but when I think of it, I remember only its bite.” She sighed. “I know now that you are my sunrise and sunset, and I am your night. You are after me and before me, and entwined with us is Arturo, the fierce, bright glow of midday.” Her smile was sad, but no less fond.

Her interest was piqued and her heartache eased when Hemlock spoke of Reed and Droman’s Mitexi — she pouted slightly, having never seen or experienced any of her children turning a year old. “Is there a celebration?” she wanted to know. “Tell me about them,” she begged. “Make me see them.” She was every bit the little spoon in this moment, but it was more of an act to make Hemlock smile than anything else as she snuggled insistently up against her mate and made wide eyes at her like a child begging to be told a bedtime story.