Swiftcurrent Creek I'm dying to live in a world I don't belong

Seeking @Wren but AW

He had come to realize in the terms of the creek that if one was going to wait for the perfect time to present an opportunity, or for the stars to align and present a moment of clarity, then nothing would ever get done or acknowledged.

Wren’s request and desire to elevate herself had not been forgotten by the man—and while he had hoped to do so under better times, it would be now or never.

So, the day lingered with the crisp scent of falling leaves, the sun offering its light from behind a cloud or two. What should have felt lighthearted only felt heavy as he sought out the Gamma, believing she would likely be closer to the borders then anywhere else.

!!!!!!

It felt as if Wren had been underwater, as of late. She ached without her lover; an agony that never seemed to cease, never left her mind for more than a fleeting second. And the coldness in Gunnar's eyes, stone circle and creek torn asunder, the implication that she had sought to murder and without any reason—
Often did she think of leaving, of finding her woman and shedding this coil. Often did she lie awake at night, a flurry of fears that creep up her spine and into the walls of her body. Kvarsheim Moss Eshe Akavir Arric Mae Silvertongue
It had been too much, too much; and she feared that all she had loved was now destroyed after she had worked so hard to get herself here, and—
When Akavir found her, she had been seated just beyond the reach of the border, head rested between her wrists. She does not speak to him, not at first; merely acknowledges him with a thrum of her willowy tail and gazes upon him with burning, glassy eyes.

It was not lost upon him that she had held more defiance and will gor life after her battle with the presumed rogue wolf--albeit, now recognized as a wolf of Kvarsheim-- and for a moment... a solid moment, he felt a distaste at the way Silvertongue had so recklessly abandoned her lover.

He never thought it possible to find anger to the feisty River clan wolf. That was, until she had broken Wren. Wren, who fought so hard to prove herself. 

Before, you wanted the Beta position. He offered in way of a quiet greeting, carrying himself closer to her, though remaining respectfully back. Is that something you still want?

A beta position. Now? After what he knew? After what she did?
Wren thought to damn near laugh in his face.
But she doesn't. Instead, she gives a sidelong glance; the whites of her eyes now reddened and bursting. She stays silent for this long moment, and she almost wishes to send him off with a hardened, forlorn growl. Instead, instead; there comes a sigh breathed from dry nostrils. Yes.
But.
I don't deserve it. and she didn't; she didn't, not when she had almost killed an ally. Someone who was meant to be a friend. She didn't, not when so rarely she felt lucid; so rarely she felt whole, so rarely she felt like a breathing being.
How could she be trusted?
How could she be loved?
How could she continue to burden this pack — this planet — with her presence?

Broken before him—the insistence she did not deserve the title and he found himself considering. “And why do you think that?”

He blinked, lifting his gaze up to look to the distance, as if allowing her time to reconsider her thoughts. His jaw clenched—muscles coiled, as he knew she might not wish to hear all he had to say—but he would do so anyhow. He couldn’t stand to see her like this. “If it’s about Gunnar’s accusations… I don’t care who the man was or where he was from. Or the woman. You did exactly what I would have—and what I still would, even knowing his identity now. They tried to interfere in a high stress situation where not only we lost one of our long term and respected members, but her pup needed warmth and nourishment quickly. If the situation were reversed, I’d be willing to bet a deer hide Gunnar would be livid with us, still.”

Then—his eyes drifted back to her, his obsidian fur brushed by the cool autumn air as it swept past. “And if this is about Silvertongue.” Even her name from his lips stirred too many emotions—all of them ending with a sickened twist of his stomach. “She never should have done this to you. This… this is on her and her need to sort out her emotions and thoughts. Cutting you out the way she did it…” A sharp exhale. “It’s nothing you deserved. It’s nothing you did. Or didn’t do.”

It had been everything and nothing all at once.
Gunnar.
We almost-- we might've lost an ally because of me, Akavir. Because we nearly killed each other. And it didn't solve anything, that fight. Moss is still dead, and now the entirety of Kvarsheim probably fuckin' hates me. Us. her breath shudders.
He looked at me like I was a monster. A-and I don't-- yeah, I mean, you're right, I did what anyone would do. But it haunts me. He made it sound like it was his dyin' wish to have my head on a stick. And how do I live with that? How do you live with knowing, knowing the people you're supposed to be allied with hate you? She thought of Crowfeather then, of his coldness—
Crowfeather. Silvertongue.
A drawn out pause.
When her voice crawls from her throat, all fire seems to have vanished, and what remains is a pitiful croon. I love her, Akavir, she hadn't wanted to cry; not again, not anymore. I love her. I love her.

Wren’s truth wasn’t something he had felt he had witnessed—Gunnar had come to thier borders with a guarded will for a verbal battle and certainly with disdain. The man who had acted a patriarch to the valley itself had failed in this moment—of that, Akavir had felt certain, when the man had sparred with his tongue, and then tried to backtrack when called out upon it.

Still—Wren’s guilt and lacking self-esteem seemed to play a role in her perception of the entire situation, though Akavir kept this close to his heart for now. Gunnar might have come to them with simmering anger, but the Mayfair would not agree it had been likened to a death wish for the creek’s Gamma.

“We did lose an ally, Wren. But it wasn't because of you. We lost them as an ally when their wolf lunged at our own, and sided with a stranger who ripped the tail off a newborn pup. Gunnar lost an ally when he pretended to believe in fair trial when it came to Germanicus and his inactions against Moss, and yet can’t see past the actions of his own wolves and comes demanding retribution.”

He felt tired. Very, very tired. But there was a simmering resentment that stirred him now, and the simple fact that after everything—Gunnar had come to their borders and re-opened the mental wounds of both Mae and Wren so brazenly.

But the true trouble of his fellow companion did not necessarily rest with their turbulence with the stone pack. And as she professed her love for Silvertongue, he felt a searing pain in his chest—he knew how that felt. To love the woman who refused to love back.

Quieted for a moment—his eyes searching hers—“I think she loves you, too, Wren… I just don’t know if she knows how to properly show it yet.”

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: implied suicidal ideation

He was right. She knew this. And yet she cannot seem to fully convince herself. Her presence here in this pack, in this valley, was nothing more than a hindrance. And she had dragged him and his pack with her, dragged Silvertongue, too, into this — mess.
No more, no more; not ever again.
She dislodges the breath stuck in her throat. I'm gonna leave for a while, Akavir. A long while. Don't wait on me. I need to-- remove the burden from your shoulders. Remove myself from this suffering. I need time.
The thousand yard stare does not break.
But I want you to know that I loved you, in some way that was perhaps without definition, and in some way, she still did. and that-- that I'm sorry. For this. For everything. she shuffles to her feet unsteadily and for one last time, her eyes find his, the pools of pale gold; the scars that drag beneath obsidian fur, the dark face she once thought she had loved.
She would miss him. He would not, she thought; but perhaps that was for the better. You are better off without me.
If not stopped, she would hobble away from Swiftcurrent's border for what would presumably be the final time.

I’m gonna leave for awhile, Akavir. A long while.

Perplexed—he studied her. He had been ready to hand her the title of Beta, as she had wanted. Had told him she wished to remain here—to build them. An ambassador. Family.

And now she was leaving.

Perplexion gave way to anger. This was it—she was simply giving up on them all. He lifted a paw, wiping it down his brow—scrubbing at his face with one gruff swoop as he took in this information.

A proclamation of love—but one that only stirred more confusion than anything. Loved as a friend? As more? Anytime she had spoken of her attraction to him, she had always placed Silvertongue there as well, with words more passionate of her feelings for the woman, that it had felt as if she confused their own friendship.

“Take some time, then,” he responded gruffly, trying to swallow the emotion in his voice now. His eyes were intense upon her—a shake in his very core, as he felt looming dread that she truly had no intention of returning. Why did she look at him that way? “But come back. Come home. This is your family, Wren… If you need space, I get it, but don’t…” He shook his head—

—how could she feel this was an answer to anything? “Just don’t leave.”

Just don't leave.
It shattered her all over again to hear it, to hear his plea; her entire body crumples and she sinks down yet again as the tears she had fought so hard began to erupt. I'm sorry, God, she hadn't wanted to do this. Hadn't wanted it to come to this, hadn't wanted — she swallows hard as she turns yet again to face him. I need-- I don't want to burden you anymore, Akavir. You and Arric, you don't-- you don't need this, you don't need me just coming in and fucking everything up. I-I'm not good enough. For you. For, for this, for being a beta, for Silver, for-- for being here. I'm not.
She was not enough.
She had not been enough when she had laid with Akavir that night in that cavern. She had not been enough when Marcus had made promises never fulfilled. She had not been enough when Colt scattered her to the wind. She had not been enough when she had defended her home, her family, from a man that now cost her pack an ally.
She had not been enough for Silvertongue.
She had not been enough for her father.
And now there was nothing left.
I don't want to let you down. And I know, I know I promised you I wouldn't, so, so... I gotta do this. I need to go. Because it'll only get worse if I stay. she draws in a shallow breath. She cannot look at him anymore. I'm sorry.

His jaw worked—tense. The tension headache was becoming a familiar pain to him—and he squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, though the tears that fell from her eyes was branded a branded imagine in his mind, regardless.

“You’re not a burden, Wren,” he noted, his voice remaining hoarse, his eyes closed before opening them. “If I didn’t think you were good enough, or worth it… I wouldn’t be here asking you to make sure you come home.” Home, where she belonged.

But how could he make her understand that? So embedded within her trauma was that she wasn’t worthy—how could he possibly make her understand that this was the furthest thing from the truth?

‘I don’t want to let you down.’ His teeth grit together again—this time, his eyes looking sharply away—biting his tongue before he informed her that by doing this, it was exactly what she was doing.

“Are you even coming back?”

‘Don’t wait on me.’

When I'm ready, I'll come home. I promise.
A promise she did not know if she could keep.
She swallows her cries, wipes the tears with the back of her wrist, and she leans in to hug him. Her arms find a place around his neck, paws tucked at the space between his shoulders. She did not know if she would ever get to do this again.
I'll see you later, Akavir. not goodbye; not goodbye, because she did not know if she could bring herself to say it.

He didn’t believe her.

The moment those words—another promise—left her lips, he knew he could not take them at face value.

She moves to hug him—he’s stiff, at first. His heart hurts—his head hurts. Slowly, he lifts his own forelimbs, pulling her closer, burying his muzzle to the side of her cheek and nape. A moment passes—two—more.

He doesn’t want to let go, because he believes it will be the end of it. And all he can hope for now, is that whatever path she takes in this moment… it’s not one where her life ends, and she somehow… some way… finds a way to find herself and bury her feelings of worthlessness in the past.

“Yeah. Sure,” he rasps, pulling away from her now, looking to her but not truly looking to her. “See you, Wren.”