Noctisardor Bypass gyonplei

earthen rivulet was exactly how it sounded: a muddy little trickle of water that could hardly even be called a creek by anyone looking at it. and yet, its slick banks provided a bellyslide for the romp of resident otters who now called to each other with their high, clicking voices.
hunger moved the young mother into position. birds were far more her specialty, but heda passed no opportunity to hunt these days.
@Anselm's stern face flashed unbidden through her mind.

The recent spring rains left the earth sodden, bringing with it a thousand new scents to analyze. Anselm paused from inspecting a clod of dirt, a chorus of disapproving clicks announcing nearby otters had spotted a predator. 

Not him, surely. Anselm inched closer to the mudbacked banks, freezing as he caught scent of Heda. 

He had yet to spot her.

too late she had maneuvered herself, for the romp had seen some part of her, the gleam of white fur or the sheen of her red hackles.
heda launched herself from the brief cover, burning through the reserves of her speed as she lunged for the nearest animal, a defiant creature who snapped bravely at the air just before her own jaws opened for its pelt.
they tangled, landing in a whirl of mud and fur and pained squeals of angered terror as the rest of the otters raced into the water with desperate speed.

Commotion in the reeds to his right. Anselm stood at attention, fur rippling as the reeds shook and clattered, followed by panicked screams and the guttural noise of tent flesh. 

He moved close carefully, catching a quick glimpse of white fur. Anselm waited by the fringe, not wanting to imperil a hunt until he was certain it was over.

from a distance, the otterclan watched as heda dispatched their kin and panted on the bank with the effort. it shouldn't have cost her so much, she thought with some frustration, and now more than a little worry that she wasn't recovering the way she should.
with no time or energy to spare for that thought, heda sighed. she had just bent to pick up the limp body when senses tensed from eyes upon her. she raised her head with some curiosity and more wariness, golden eyes darkened for a moment.

He heard the chatter of otters move away, and a silence followed punctuated only by heavy pants. Focusing on this, Anselm broke from the reeds and found Heda laid next to a freshly killed meal.

His mind jolted back to their last close meet; how her mud-drenched silhouette had inspired something forbidden in him. What was it about him that was so convoluted? Even he didn’t know.

He wanted to slink away unnoticed, but it was then he stepped on the brittle arm of a branch. His presence was just broadcast by an hideously loud crack.

she tensed and turned, and found anselm's silhouette there, caught among the shadows of rivenwood's woodland. 
their last meeting had ended in silence, which she felt she should keep. it may have well been the only way to ever keep peace between them.
and so she slung the sodden body over her shoulder, and regarded him with a neutral expression, and started to walk off down the side of the rivulet, in the direction of dawnleaf.
despite herself, heda's ears flicked backward to see if anselm would follow.

He’d been spotted. He resented the way she tensed, but knew only she was to blame. The silence that spanned between them remained unbroken, something he willingly kept for fear of sowing ruin to their fragile peace.

She slung the otter to her backside and rose, stalking down the ochre bank towards Dawnleaf.

And against his best instincts, Anselm followed.

for a few minutes, she only walked in silence, wondering if he would at least join her on the path back to the den. "we're going to move them soon, to a rendezvous deeper in the bypass," she murmured, pitching her voice to carry.
that was safe, right? talking vaguely of all the children while they couldn't see each other's faces? she supposed she would take it.
a silence followed, but this time heda did not perceive it as being a heavy pall so much as a waiting air, and perhaps not even waiting, just gravid with the expectation of more silence or a grunted response.
and in all of that, it was still better.

He should have turned away then, their rendezvous short and unbroken by strife. He risked it all by following. 

Heda’s voice carried back. She spoke of the children — their children. Anselm felt his stomach drop to see how differently they thought. To be brought back to reality was like a kick from a moose; he settled in step behind her with an acknowledging grunt. 

It felt lacking. It was lacking. He felt the air with a tentative nose, apprehensive of how fragile things were between them. How easily it was for him to fuck up anything. 

He could ask ‘how are they doing’ to break the ice, but that put a spotlight on how he was barely present in their lives. Father of the fucking year here. He could ask anything else, but it would show how little he knew of the woman he’d bedded — and how horrible and selfish he was to joyously spread his seed within her. 

He looked to the ground as he composed his thoughts. Vhere are you thinking?

"you know that huge tree? we used to call it the grandfather. but now druid suggested sequoia's site, after our mother. the kids can gather there." 
anselm continued behind her, and after a heartbeat or two heda started to feel the strain of being the one to speak more. 
were things ever going to be — normal — between them? she would even settle for something like normal.
her ears flicked forward and she set her eyes on the emerging trees which marked dawnleaf.

Grandfather Tree. Anselm did not know his grandfather, so he liked the second name better. He could picture the grand sentinel himself, its threadbare leaves budding with fresh life on every limb.

He continued behind her, noting her ears faced forward now. For a time, they walked in silence again. Anselm sensed the strain too. He'd never been good with words, would never be good with words -- and here he was, needing them most.

A long exhale -- it was the first of many tells Anselm had that he was trying to compose something to say. He stopped walking, made to say something, shook his head and began walking again. He wanted them to be normal too -- but something in Anselm wasn't normal, and he suspected something in Heda wasn't either. They were two misfits, somehow twined together.

Finally the silence broke. Vhat vas Sequoia like?

"she was kind. she took my brother and i in right next to her own pups after our own mom disappeared." if heda searched very hard, she could find a vestige of praimfaya, tucked away far within her memories.
she wanted to ask in turn what sort of father mahler had managed to be after he'd abandoned rivenwood, but that was both too bitter and too dangerous to ask.
he had paused, exhaled, walked again. heda thought he struggled with what to say but then again, maybe he only struggled with wanting to be near her. and so she spoke no more.
heda stopped before they reached the den, turning to present not her gaze but a hesitant profile to anselm. "do you want to come in and see them?"

Kindness was not an epithet Anselm would use to describe his mother. He loved Wylla — possibly putting his impression of her above all else. She had been kind to him, and loved him — but even he could recognize where he and his family fell short.

He didn’t know Heda’s real mother had disappeared. This opened a new realization for him that tasted bitter. He was broken. Heda was moreso.

They neared the den now. His steps slowed naturally. This was Heda’s realm, and he an outsider in it. Being close somehow felt like infringing, as if he were a trespasser in her own territory.

His ears flipped forward as she invited him in. Anselm struggled to hide his anticipation and guilt, but at last answered. Yes.

"all right." her lashes fluttered in surprise, but she offered a warm curve to her mouth, an encouraging light genuinely lighting her eyes for a moment. "go on in. i'll bring this later,"' she told him. "once they see it, they'll forget all of us," the den mother explained, stepping back.
for a moment her eyes were upon anselm, and then she was turning away, presumably as the man took a moment before he ducked into the dawnleaf den.

He couldn’t pinpoint what it was about the den that made him nervous. It wasn’t the claustrophobia or the fragility of puppies - it was something unnameable that made him feel as if he did not belong here. 

With Heda’s encouragement Anselm inched close. They were all asleep - tiny toes and noses twitching as they chased butterflies in far away dreams. He glanced back to Heda but she was looking away; he turned back to the bundle of puppies and tried to sort out who was who. 

He realized with a sting of shame that if they woke, they’d probably be afraid of him. After some inspection he righted himself and pushed backwards, exciting the den. Giving Heda a brief glance, Anselm cleared his throat and spoke quietly - I vill be outside.