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+--- Thread: Whitefish River do we get what we deserve (/showthread.php?tid=27461)
do we get what we deserve - Dirge - May 29, 2018
They moved inland from the coast, Dirge much less eager than @Nyx to put it behind him. It had only taken a few more miles before the world seemed familiar then. The pack so long ago that had been laying claim to the weeping forest was gone now and yet he moved with haste to cross beneath its full boughs. It wasn't hard to find the river from there; by then he had delved into a pace more leisurely than what had taken them far from the coastal avenue.
Summer rains washed them as much as the variation in the river's swath, the banks muddied and swollen as they were. The first break in the veil of scattered showers presented the rise of the plateau to their east, seeming as good as any point for a break. He had taken the lead for some time now, never quite straying too far away or ahead of his golden-haired sibling in present grasses ever tall enough to devour them whole.
As his steps slowed to their eventual stop, he scanned the horizon before them in mute interest. More clouds built off to their west, dark enough to promise that more rain would be swiftly on its way in due time; the rumble of distant thunder over the rise of eastern mountains affirmed they had managed a much tamer squall so far. When he was satisfied, which never took long at all in company, he rounded his gaze to Nyx with the cant of his head.
"You've mud on your face still," as did he, as did the rest of their autumnal bearing coats. It was impossible not to so close to the lazy swirl of waters far deeper than they looked, but it seemed a better fit than asking how she was doing. He wanted to, no doubt about it, but the obvious answers were, well, obvious. She still had a pulse, she still drew breath, and she had kept up with him so far. What more could anyone ask of another?
He offered her a thin smile; the world was quiet here in spite of changing skies and patchy sunbeams yet not covered. "This seems a decent enough place to try and dry out before we go out with the wash again, unless you object," because maybe this wasn't quite far enough to place some things at ease.
RE: do we get what we deserve - Nyx - June 21, 2018
The further they trailed from the coast, the more refreshed Nyx began to feel. Rise of evergreen forest and mountain alike were a welcome sight, a comfort following a bitter two seasons on the sands that Grimnismal had once claimed. Both Ingram and Lycaon had rooted her there, grounded her with their wit and charm despite her drive to wander. She tried not to dwell on them, but when silence fell between the Ostrega siblings, Nyx could not stop her mind trailing to thoughts of her previous companions. Where had Ingram gone? Was Lycaon surviving, raising their sole pup in her absence? Would they despise her?
Dirge spoke, alerting her to mud on her face, and she shook her head in attempt to escape the torment of her memory. A raven-tipped lobe swivelled forward and she responded with a disinterested huff, before she lifted her dull gaze to look upon her brother's features. He smiled for her then, rousing new guilt for her sourness toward him, and she offered a thin one of her own - though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm good here," she answered simply, lowering her hindquarters to the ground to confirm.
RE: do we get what we deserve - Dirge - June 21, 2018
Like the murky waters of the river, her gaze seemed to speak of deeper depths; it lacked the fire he was used to. It was still there but dim, solely apparent for appearances when she was not consumed by caliginous concerns which as of late was expectedly often. It was that gaze met and looked past to the way they had come, her huff met with a quiet snort of his own—a resolute, cheeky be that way, then. She was good with here, at least, wherever here was on their way.
But he found he wanted to tell her to let it go. Wash her feet and be done with it. Dirge understood and simultaneously did not understand the gravity of her guilt or the way it weighed her down. He at least had the smarts not to rattle the words out, that relative uncertainty in how to approach the topic rendered and kept him silent. Better to sweep it under the rug and ignore the elephant in the room; time and distance seemed to be the only pancaea he knew.
As she reclined, he shook out the dampness of his coat. It was more than just a shake to fling mud and water off—he did it more to ease the tension bearing down unseen and unheard. It did little to aid him, and the discontent pallor lent to her affected him still. So he drew his gaze back out across the river to the budding thunderheads and in his derision found them ill-favored yet fitting.
"Any suggestions where to go next? I can live without seeing the sand again myself but here the possibilities are endless," and actually, he missed the sea already. Skirting along its shores once or twice had only whet his appetite for the uncommon locale and this go around had not quite offered him his fill. But Nyx was unquestionably more important and Dirge would sweep his want under that rug with her grief too.