Hushed Willows Balenciaga shades so they never see him cry

Bit of powerplay, just lmk if it should be changed! This is all welcome but please allow Carnelian to post first
@Astraeus @Dusty Rose @Abel

Tybault had spent more time with @Carnelian of late, often taking the boy to the borders. He imagined sometimes that this might have been his experience as an elder brother in The Gilded Sea, had he stayed. Perhaps one day he would teach Reverie's children in the same way. He didn't dare wonder about children of his own.

They were returning from their latest patrol, prepared to check in on Reverie and @Everett before they parted ways for the afternoon, when it became apparent that something was wrong. Tybault caught the scent first, drifting in on the wind. He paused and lifted his nose. It was coming from the wrong direction.

It was coming from the mountains.

Shit, He glanced to Carnelian. Shit. Let's go. And he ran.

Tybault saw the gilded silhouette of his sister first, standing tall at the peak of the hill which her den sat atop. He could see the fear in her posture, the bristling fur. Everett was nowhere to be seen, perhaps away hunting, perhaps tucked in the den with the children as their last line of defense. There was no time to wonder —

because the next thing he saw was the bear lumbering up the hill toward the whelping den.

Tybault was on its heels in an instant, snapping for the huge hind paws in an effort to redirect its course. The bear turned with an ear-shattering roar. Tybault only had enough time to wonder if he was about to die.

His time spent with Tybault was treasured, learning what it truly meant to be a protector of a pack. Sure, he felt inept at times—well, most of the time, if he were to be honest with himself—but he knew in time it would come.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have the time he thought he would before needing to use the skills bestowed upon him by Tybault.

His fur bristled at the sudden change in his Uncle, his own nose lifting to scent the breeze. 

Wrong, wrong, WRONG. It shouldn’t be here!

The curses that poured out from the male beside him caused his head to turn, finally laying eyes on the source of the intruding scent.

Eyes wide as he froze, he felt Tybault’s sudden disappearance from his side as he charged after the bear. He had heard Tybault’s call to action, but Carnelian’s paws would. Not. Move.

His mind turned to Peridot, to Reina, to Reverie, to the babies, and finally to all those in the pack. The bear would go after them all, he knew it. He must do something—anything!

He did not know the others well and had no idea if anyone else could or would help, but he called for them anyway. His howl was deep, urgent, bone chilling.

And, then, as if some invisible forced finally let him free, he raced the course Tybault took, flanking the bear opposite of his Uncle with snapping jaws and bared teeth as both males faced the opponent.

The coywolf was, as usual, up to something.

He'd been hanging around the den more and more, these days. Not near enough to bother Reverie with his presence, but near enough (and making a point to rub his face against every tree and roll in every patch of grass) to make a point to Tybault. He'd been waiting for another visit, truth be told — but not like this.

He didn't know the scent on the wind that day, but he knew by the rise of his hackles that it was nothing good.

Dusty Rose set off at a wary pace to investigate, coming nearer to the den than he might normally have felt comfortable. He arrived at Reverie's bristling back to behold one of the largest creatures he'd ever seen. At any other time, he might have turned tail and run for it. It would be safest for himself and Reverie both. They could outrun a bear, easy. Tybault and the kid would run it off — annoy it enough that it got sick of sticking around. Everything would be fine.

Even the kids, he thought, would be fine.

But it was the thought of them that triggered the change. Of one little singer's face in particular. It didn't matter if it would all be okay because fuck you, that's why. This was his hill and these were his tiny things and this was his land because it was where he kept all his sticks and his bones, alright?

The truth was, this wouldn't have happened if he hadn't spent the last couple weeks spreading his scent over every available surface. But he had, and now the instinct to defend his territory could not be ignored.

"You stupid fucken — "

He berated himself even as he charged forward, inwardly begging himself to leave the lumbering menace alone. But red interrupted his thoughts right around when the guttural, cackling snarl took up residence in his throat. He kept even with Reverie, fur puffed up like a cat's tail to make them look as big as possible.

A call unlike no other. Whatever Abel was doing in the moment (not much, per usual) could wait.

He moved faster with each passing moment, and by the time he neared Reverie's den he was practically flying. But all the momentum was lost at the sight of it all; fur and teeth and snarls, and —

Bear.

A beast only given form through his immaginations fueled by stories he'd heard in passing. Tales he'd attempt to force himself to forget in tear-filled nights. Finally, he could put the face of many nightmares to name.

Abel saw a familiar, ugly glow in one of its eyes. It froze him in body and mind.

never a consistent sentence lol my writing style dead at 67

the stag had been thoroughly rejected his entire life;

rejected from the alcove of his mother's womb, jilted soon after from any maternal touch whist he was still wet behind the ears;

rejected from the tight-knit austere family unit in the sawtooth;

rejected a prosperous childhood where maybe he would've taken up trade studying the stars and wildlife with a green thumb ...

so he'd settled with a single father and being a mildly malcontent adult in his prime.

his father had mentioned cultivating a family would come at the most inopportune time, when he would least expect it, so he deliberately encouraged his suffering to a point where it jigsawed to a scenic 1,286 piece set of self-loathing.

and sometimes, he was even thankful speaking was such a challenge for him now. it always shirked him, he loved when things were easy.

seeing @Abel again hadn't helped the shame he wanted to kick and abandon of the shoulder of the highway, and he brooded in the unseen corners of the forest as if he was a forestwraith himself.

he patrolled idly, these faeries so wet behind the ears themselves and soft-bellied, he doubted anything had come for them. maybe, their insistent felicity barred them from the angry whims of nature.

astraeus is always wrong.

the bear would roar, and soon rip and tear until it was done, and blank with uncertainty and penchant of running away in his adulthood, he had to determine if relative strangers and or self-loathing would will the strength to cleave another monster's flesh.