It felt as if Wren had been underwater, as of late. She ached without her lover; an agony that never seemed to cease, never left her mind for more than a fleeting second. And the coldness in Gunnar's eyes, stone circle and creek torn asunder, the implication that she had sought to murder and without any reason—
Often did she think of leaving, of finding her woman and shedding this coil. Often did she lie awake at night, a flurry of fears that creep up her spine and into the walls of her body. Kvarsheim Moss Eshe Akavir Arric Mae Silvertongue
It had been too much, too much; and she feared that all she had loved was now destroyed after she had worked so hard to get herself here, and—
When Akavir found her, she had been seated just beyond the reach of the border, head rested between her wrists. She does not speak to him, not at first; merely acknowledges him with a thrum of her willowy tail and gazes upon him with burning, glassy eyes.

A beta position. Now? After what he knew? After what she did?
Wren thought to damn near laugh in his face.
But she doesn't. Instead, she gives a sidelong glance; the whites of her eyes now reddened and bursting. She stays silent for this long moment, and she almost wishes to send him off with a hardened, forlorn growl. Instead, instead; there comes a sigh breathed from dry nostrils. Yes.
But.
I don't deserve it. and she didn't; she didn't, not when she had almost killed an ally. Someone who was meant to be a friend. She didn't, not when so rarely she felt lucid; so rarely she felt whole, so rarely she felt like a breathing being.
How could she be trusted?
How could she be loved?
How could she continue to burden this pack — this planet — with her presence?

It had been everything and nothing all at once.
Gunnar.
We almost-- we might've lost an ally because of me, Akavir. Because we nearly killed each other. And it didn't solve anything, that fight. Moss is still dead, and now the entirety of Kvarsheim probably fuckin' hates me. Us. her breath shudders.
He looked at me like I was a monster. A-and I don't-- yeah, I mean, you're right, I did what anyone would do. But it haunts me. He made it sound like it was his dyin' wish to have my head on a stick. And how do I live with that? How do you live with knowing, knowing the people you're supposed to be allied with hate you? She thought of Crowfeather then, of his coldness—
Crowfeather. Silvertongue.
A drawn out pause.
When her voice crawls from her throat, all fire seems to have vanished, and what remains is a pitiful croon. I love her, Akavir, she hadn't wanted to cry; not again, not anymore. I love her. I love her.

He was right. She knew this. And yet she cannot seem to fully convince herself. Her presence here in this pack, in this valley, was nothing more than a hindrance. And she had dragged him and his pack with her, dragged Silvertongue, too, into this — mess.
No more, no more; not ever again.
She dislodges the breath stuck in her throat. I'm gonna leave for a while, Akavir. A long while. Don't wait on me. I need to-- remove the burden from your shoulders. Remove myself from this suffering. I need time.
The thousand yard stare does not break.
But I want you to know that I loved you, in some way that was perhaps without definition, and in some way, she still did. and that-- that I'm sorry. For this. For everything. she shuffles to her feet unsteadily and for one last time, her eyes find his, the pools of pale gold; the scars that drag beneath obsidian fur, the dark face she once thought she had loved.
She would miss him. He would not, she thought; but perhaps that was for the better. You are better off without me.
If not stopped, she would hobble away from Swiftcurrent's border for what would presumably be the final time.

Just don't leave.
It shattered her all over again to hear it, to hear his plea; her entire body crumples and she sinks down yet again as the tears she had fought so hard began to erupt. I'm sorry, God, she hadn't wanted to do this. Hadn't wanted it to come to this, hadn't wanted — she swallows hard as she turns yet again to face him. I need-- I don't want to burden you anymore, Akavir. You and Arric, you don't-- you don't need this, you don't need me just coming in and fucking everything up. I-I'm not good enough. For you. For, for this, for being a beta, for Silver, for-- for being here. I'm not.
She was not enough.
She had not been enough when she had laid with Akavir that night in that cavern. She had not been enough when Marcus had made promises never fulfilled. She had not been enough when Colt scattered her to the wind. She had not been enough when she had defended her home, her family, from a man that now cost her pack an ally.
She had not been enough for Silvertongue.
She had not been enough for her father.
And now there was nothing left.
I don't want to let you down. And I know, I know I promised you I wouldn't, so, so... I gotta do this. I need to go. Because it'll only get worse if I stay. she draws in a shallow breath. She cannot look at him anymore. I'm sorry.

When I'm ready, I'll come home. I promise.
A promise she did not know if she could keep.
She swallows her cries, wipes the tears with the back of her wrist, and she leans in to hug him. Her arms find a place around his neck, paws tucked at the space between his shoulders. She did not know if she would ever get to do this again.
I'll see you later, Akavir. not goodbye; not goodbye, because she did not know if she could bring herself to say it.