The trees were pale and beautiful. That was what Reverie found herself able to focus on, when the fog finally cleared.
@Lestan was at her side, but his presence was too real, too intelligent and questioning to acknowledge right now.
She stopped, as she had several times. But this time her attention was on the trees and their pristine white cloaks.
I bet you never need raindancers here,
She commented softly, when the weight of speaking didn't seem so daunting.
Maybe I should be a rogue instead.
She shot Lestan a mischievous glance, though her weariness dulled the playful vibe somewhat.
I... I don't remember all of what happened. But it was probably the same thing that always happens. I'm sorry,
She was somber now. Her experience with Bjarna had given her the confidence to deliver this apology without wilting, at least. Bjarna hadn't abandoned her then, and Lestan was still here, and neither of them had seemed angry at all. It was weird. But she was getting used to it quickly, in part because she wanted it so terribly.
It wasn't that no one had
ever been kind to her. Her siblings had been nothing but good to her, as far as she could remember. But that was because they were her siblings, and she'd always been certain that one day they would get tired of her too. And no one outside of her family had any obligation to her; no one would want to deal with someone like her. At least, that was what her parents always said. But she was starting to wonder.
lestan mayfair felt that he had learned several things about reverie in the silent hours that followed their departure from the creek.
the first was that she was a fey creature, ethereal and almost doelike. she moved with an unconscious grace, even though her step was unfocused. and during the times she turned to look at him, lestan had looked back with a quiet solemnity.
but she had not spoken, moving in a haze of that which was unseen and unsaid.
the second was that she was older than he had thought. they were well-matched in height, but the easy tone of his muscles and her absence of anything besides a willow-stem slimness made reverie seem smaller. younger.
it was in those moments where her eyes were on him and the words did not come that lestan realized for how much longer she had lived with this malady, and that her suffering might be gentler than others, but it still felt as though she were imprisoned sometimes in her own mind, her own skin.
the third was that the mayfair was smitten. it was natural to him, to fall helplessly in love every moment he lived upon this earth. but this — it connected to the glen, to donnelaith, to the unwolf things which had danced and sung in a glade of their own making.
he smiled when she at last spoke. "you'd make a fine rogue. what's a raindancer?" but then lestan shook his head at her apology. "maybe you remember the best parts, reverie. we've been walking a while." he looked around at the frosted trees. "are you hungry?"
He smiled at her, and the world was brighter for a moment.
Maybe you remember the best parts; it was simple, but it held her attention. It stood out to her even more than the small shock of Lestan's ignorance of raindancers. In some ways she had suspected the latter all along; that this land was blessed by Mother Rain and never needed to beg for her mercy.
But it was his gentle optimism, his casual compassion toward this brief glimpse of the bleak and insurmountable reality of her life, that struck her as so impossible. It was as if, with every action he took and every careful word he spoke to her, he answered that burning question that haunted her day and night. There is nothing wrong with you.
She thought again that she could listen to him speak forever, noticing for the first time that his voice had a foreign lilt to it. Oh, I... yes, I think so,
She wasn't sure if she was hungry, actually, but thought that maybe he was; maybe he meant for them to hunt together. Oh — but she still hadn't explained about raindancers! Raindancers are important back home, in The Gilded Sea. When the signs are just right, we gather and dance, to call to Mother Rain. We try to embody the flames so she sees that we need her help. But this... this weird water is already everywhere. I can't imagine fire in this place.
She cast another glance around, slightly in awe, trying not to think too hard about the mentions of fire. If she just didn't think about it too much, it wasn't quite so difficult to talk about.
reverie brushed away her hunger as if it were no more than a cobweb. she went on talking about raindancers and lestan continued to listen, though the few moments that he did look away from her were spent flicking across the drifts for tracks.
lestan pictured the raindancers, the wolves asking for water from an unforgiving heat. and he saw her as well, dancing as poignantly as she moved, a vessel for the holy one of her gilded sea.
"i was born on loch teine, in spring. fire lake," lestan translated, "named so because when the moon was high or the sun was up, the waters turned to golden fire in that light."
the mayfair's life had been full of such: spirits and stories and witches, and as he spoke, his brow furrowed slightly, and he looked at reverie as if perhaps once up a time he might have known her.
"we danced around the lake, though not just for rain, for anything." his laughter was soft and quick and easy. "and this," lestan said of the banks around them, "is snow. hold a mouthful and see it turn back to water." he chuckled and ducked his head a bit shyly, sharpening when he found a single goat's trail leading into the shadows. "you were a raindancer then?"
Fire lake. Mother Rain and Father Fire, joined as one; Loch Teine, in the language taught to Lestan by his mother. She wondered if he would teach her, if she asked. A language of dancers and beauty, a fire that didn't burn. Oh,
She breathed, wide-eyed; enchanted. There was so much more to the world than she had ever realized, and Lestan —
Lestan was a dancer, and that delighted her beyond words. He laughed, and she was nearly taken by the urge to ask him to dance with her, a sudden and forceful and childish wish. But it was stupid! She blushed fiercely, her own sudden shyness on full display. There would be no rain here, and dancing… it wasn't something you did with just anyone. Maybe he wasn't just anyone, but she definitely was.
Snow; he introduced the weird water to her with its proper name, and she was grateful for that. It's very pretty,
She added quietly. He seemed to have found something — oh, right, hunting! She'd forgotten, but he seemed to remember enough for both of them; he didn't struggle at all with focusing on so many things. Or if he did, it didn't show.
He asked if she'd been a raindancer, never missing a beat, and just like that she was distracted again. Lestan, a dancer. She tried to picture it. Yes. It's been a long time, though…
If she'd been fully paying attention, she might have sounded sad. But she was thinking about Lestan, dancing, and wondering if maybe she could ask him after all.
"it is, and there's all kinds of names for it. all sorts of snow. the soft stuff that first falls, or the thicker flakes, now. or the way it's all packed together with ice on the top." lestan stopped and paused and looked around, all around he and her, at the glittering piles of snow and the way it draped upon the canopies, and the way the ice glimmered in odd, eldritch designs upon the trunks of the trees.
he too, wanted to dance; he too wondered if she might run and laugh with him, a moment. but not now, not now. lestan looked at her as long as he dared. "maybe you will allow me the honor of watching. one day."
he covered his nerves with a snicker and a stooping down; he motioned to two broken twigs. "it has a limp. and it's alone. usually goats stay in a herd. the snow must have separated this one." on he crouched, motioning reverie with him, showing her the stronger trail, the uneven marks, the bits of fur, moving faster and faster and low to his belly, now fully focused on their hunt.
and then; he thought of the blood! suppose it — took her away again? lestan stopped. "have you hunted before, reverie? like this, i mean."
She watched him, spellbound and heart aflutter. He was explaining about snow, and then he was saying that he would like to watch her dance, and then —
Oh. He wanted to watch her dance. And he was looking at her in a way no one had ever looked at her before. She couldn't quite decipher the expression, but it sent another flush of warmth through her nonetheless. That moment could have lasted forever and she would have been content, but it was only a moment, and ended as they all do. Quickly, quietly into the next. They were meant to be hunting.
She didn't want to hunt, but she would have done anything to keep Lestan here, speaking to her in that tone, looking at her with that softness in his eyes. He was speaking of hunting now, and goats, and showing her the signs. She mirrored his stance as she followed and showed great interest in each thing he pointed out to her, though none of it was surprising or foreign to her. She simply hadn't been paying attention. Now she was, and it was fascinating only because Lestan was showing her.
I've hunted goats before,
She answered him simply, misunderstanding his question entirely. Her eyes were on him now. Supporting roles, mostly. I can hunt well enough, but I...
Oh, she was so stupid! She turned her gaze back to the trail, ashamed. It's - stupid. I don't like killing them. Anything. I will, though.
She usually didn't think about that part. Not until it was there, happening, in the moment. But her parents had taught her to stop crying about it, mostly. It hadn't been easy. And now Lestan knew, and surely he would think her the most stupid wolf to ever exist. They were predators, after all.
But death looked the same for them all, when it came for them. And she knew death too intimately to feel anything but grief for it.
in the soft light kissed by snow, her eyes seemed more luminous. reverie explained that she understood the basics of hunting, but as he suspected, the fatal blow was not hers to strike.
he thought how the goat would fight and spray its blood across the pristine snow, and decided in a sudden rush of old mayfair gentlemanliness that he would not allow her to see it.
not today. "well," he began, and maybe a bit sheepishly to boot, "why don't you let me go ahead? i'll — handle it and then call you when it's over." the accent thickened a little then in lestan's resolution. he truly did not want her so affected.
"i don't mind at all, reverie," he added before she could decline, thinking that she would feel him put out by this offer. wasn't it more for him, after all? not a show of strength or brawn, but simply because lestan felt a starfall of blood would reflect in her eyes and drag her off, back to that place behind her gaze.
For the first time, she felt that Lestan was treating her differently. He was being kind, but even so, she wasn't sure how she felt about it. What kind of wolf avoided hunting? What did that make her? Lestan was okay with it, but she didn't know if she was. It was hard to separate her desires from her fears, intertwined as they were. Did she really want to be normal, or did she only think that because her parents had wanted it?
It was becoming quite clear that they were the only ones who had ever cared if she was or not. Bjarna didn't; Lestan didn't; her siblings never had.
Are you sure you won't get hurt?
She asked after a moment. She had seen what goats could do; they weren't exactly fearsome, but they could defend themselves. And she wasn't going to be a healer, not anymore. If Lestan got hurt, she would be no help at all.
lestan wasn't sure of himself now, after that. "no," he said honestly. and then the honesty became his own revelation, spilling out beneath the elf-light in her somehow knowing eyes. "i don't like killing either," he admitted, a swallow bouncing his throat. "i never have, and you d-don't, so, i thought! maybe i would just do it."
was it the full truth? a half-truth? or something between? perhaps it was more. suddenly the mayfair realized he did not want to leave her behind in the snow, he wanted only to beg that reverie allow him to do That Part and the rest — "i guess hunting is — a bit like dancing, isn't it?" he asked, finding her eyes with awkwardness crinkling his gaze into a brave smile.
He wasn't sure; he didn't like killing either; she realized he was trying to protect her, and that she felt safe with him. There had to be a better way than this. He compared hunting to dancing, and she could only smile at his sweetness.
It is,
She brushed his cheek with her own in a quick gesture of affection. But if you don't like killing either... we don't have to. Not all of the plants are gone. Have you ever had berries?
Reverie was realizing that she really didn't want the goat's blood and pain to color her time with Lestan. She didn't want him in danger. She didn't want to see the blood on him. She didn't want to see it on herself.
There's always a gentler way, I think,
She added after a moment, thinking of how Lestan had spoken so kindly to her at Swiftcurrent Creek. He could have chased her away, as the Riverclan wolves had. He should have, really. But he hadn't.
reverie touched him and it sent lestan into a bit of a silent tailspin. he was able to recover from galloping, wicked heart and smile at her a little. "i get attached to them, you know. the animals. whenever i settle into a new place, i go at once to track the herds. i — name then. remember them."
foolish! stupid! what sort of wolf became attached to its prey?
but he knew he would find no judgement in reverie's eyes. the mayfair realized he had come to rely on that.
"there's always a gentler way," he repeated, cornflower eyes alight. "show me these berries," lestan urged, grinning.
he surrendered the goat trail as soon as he had found it.
We could fade with your next post or keep going <3 these two are way too cute
He understood her in a way no one ever had before, she felt. He saw that life was life in all its forms; he named the other animals, watched them, thought of them. And she thought that she might have done the same in The Gilded Sea, had her parents allowed it.
That's beautiful, Lestan. Maybe you could show me some of them, sometime. The ones you've named,
She let her gaze linger on him a moment longer, then started to scan their surroundings for plant life.
Our best bet is Mayflower berries, I think. My father always said they'd grow no matter how cold it is. I don't know if he meant this cold, but I guess we'll find out.
She led their search for the berries, which were found closer than she had anticipated. The goat had come this way for a reason, and though they would not cross paths today, it seemed they would be having the same sort of dinner. One that didn't involve any blood, thankfully.
lets fade, then we can have an updated one soon :D <3
lestan mayfair was relieved. he went off gladly with reverie, remarking on the similarity between the names of such fruit and his own title. he filled his belly and laughed until his throat hurt.
no blood, no death.
he was reluctant to part ways with her, but did so with gaiety in his heart. swiftcurrent creek loomed ahead; he thought it so lovely and feral, and now he carried inside himself the budding desire to turn it into a home, for perhaps.
one day —!