truthfully,

he has no real idea what he's looking for. it's not that his decision to leave okeanos was impulsive--no, the idea had been there for some time, at first manifesting in his dreams. he'd dreamt of walking off a cliff, but not falling, keeping one paw in front of the other on the air so long as he hadn't looked down. when the fear finally reached him, he'd looked down and seen a great, clay red river, and woke immediately.

atwood ignored this dream for some time, until the urge finally moved from the unconscious to his conscious. he'd asked okeanos a number of questions about his birth home, about his parents. okeanos' answers were thoughtful and thorough and yet he still felt a yearning. so, no, not an impulse but a thread he needs to follow, leading him back here. 

but here, that is, this imposing vale opening before him, that he can't account for (perhaps it is a genetic memory, or perhaps his spirit just knows the significance of the vale, the hidden familial histories embedded in the soil). it's not elysium. elysium he remembers in pieces, the bright flash of flowers, the comforting weight of willow branches overhead, blood and a mangled body--he could find it if he tried, but not yet. instead, he tilts his head and calls out, his voice trembling despite his best efforts.

he's not left to linger. a woman with a distinctly rounded belly approaches--it occurs to him that it's spring, and that it must be, therefore, close to the time he was born (birth and breeding are not something he's given much thought to, truthfully).

it's less interesting than what she says. he straightens slightly, unsure how to conduct himself, then murmurs, "my name is atwood," echoing her. "i'm looking for," hm, "somewhere to stay." this isn't what he'd anticipated saying, but it's true--he needs somewhere safe, he knows better than to try and strike it out on his own. and the vale is compelling, what little he's seen of it yet. he ducks his head slightly, unsure if that's enough, and admits, "i don't know if i have anything to offer. i've been...away for a while. but i can take care of myself, at least, and i'll try whatever i'm asked to do."

something about her soothes him: she has the same gentle bearing as his mothers, all fine-boned, kind creatures that they were in his memories. under her gaze he relaxes, feeling a sharp pang of nostalgia as he does. strange, he hadn't thought that he'd missed elysium or the idea of his childhood beyond thinking, ah, well, a shame how that ended.

"we-ell," atwood drawls, reflective, "i've been with my brother, mainly, and he's a star-gazer, and to my knowledge, most of my family does - did - medicinal arts of various kinds. i know a little bit from him, um, but..." injury makes him uncomfortable, brings to mind moments he can't make sense of entirely, yet. he hums. "something like that, anyway. i'm not sure i'm built for fighting," atwood adds, flashing a tentative grin.

when he mentions stars, she lights up. feeling somewhat pleased, he nods and says, "of course. i don't know much, but, there's something so, so soothing about them. that they're always there and always moving without us." sometimes, on hard nights, the brothers would come up with new stories about random groupings of stars they saw. sometimes it'd make okeanos sad, though atwood never thought to ask him about it. 

reiko mentions a sister pack in answer to his self-deprecating joke. atwood's ears twitch. "do you know of a pack named elysium?" he bursts, before he can stop himself. in the space following the words he finds he doesn't know what he wants the answer to be. both yes and no come with their own complications, none of which he feels particularly ready for.

ah. well. it's the answer he'd expected, if nothing else. he nods and swallows, ignoring the pang of emotion that threatens to overcome him. "i--yes. i was born there. i've been, um, away for a long time. but," he mumbles, "it's fine.

um--oh, i haven't--what's this pack's name?" he'd offered himself before even asking, he realizes, abashed.