Herbalists' Cache that fooled themselves
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He wasn't actually old enough to be wandering outside the territory by himself— not that he cared, really. The rules had never seemed very solid to him, as he had never been much of a troublemaker; why bother with it if it had never been relevant? River wasn't necessarily oblivious to the trouble he could get in. He just sort of figured he was cute enough to get out of it.
His first steps over the border were tentative, as if something might jump out and eat him any moment. When it became apparent that wasn't true, he grew more bold. The forest he had stepped into might not have been anything special, but to him, it was the best thing ever. He took off running through the trees, tail waving joyfully— in that moment, he was certain nothing could make him regret this decision.
Winterbourne's voice is low and raspy due to a throat injury during his childhood, and it can sometimes be difficult to understand him.
to stab my youth with desperate knives
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#2
*pretends my timelines make sense*

maybe cowardice is his second skin -- leaving swiftcurrent creek feels like opening the world back up. (more kindly: maybe he's got commitment issues, you think?) he doesn't say... anything to constantine, just repeats his favorite disappearing act. thelxiope... he doesn't say goodbye to her, either, although that one is an act of self preservation. there'd been a moment where he saw something with her, something genuine, something he wanted. but the fruit never came to flower.

so he goes.

where he'll go next is still uncertain -- there's the glacier and -- that situation, vaguely. there's.. wherever samaantine goes, perhaps it's his turn to play the annoying remora. there's... well. the weather is warm and he has time to wander, perhaps. this in mind samothes cheerfully skirts the borders of the creek's neighbors to the north (who he recalls from their time in the forest, too -- funny thing), up until he spies the tiny form of a child sprinting happily into the unknown.

oh god dammit.

for all his self-determined cruelty, he seems to have a hard time witnessing children come to harm. also, children have got to stop making a run for it in his presence. with a long suffering sigh the messeda takes off after the boy, shouting, "you there! stop running!" as he goes.
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A sharp voice cut through his bliss after what seemed like only moments, and he immediately became aware of someone running after him. It didn’t really scare him, though it likely should have. Without thinking, he turned abruptly to meet the stranger— and crashed right into him with a yelp.
He was dazed for a few moments, letting himself fall limp and plop on the ground with a confused expression. It wore off quickly, though, and he wasted no time in fixing the stranger with an inquisitive stare. Who are you? He asked, not unfriendly but blunt nonetheless.
Winterbourne's voice is low and raspy due to a throat injury during his childhood, and it can sometimes be difficult to understand him.