Swiftcurrent Creek Daddy always thought that he married beneath him

Out of morbid curiosity, she sauntered carefully toward the borders, to find the last tracks left behind by Eshe. Her scent seemed more powerful than it had before, and it made Cygnet bristle. It wasn't sickness, but it was something that made her feel uncomfortable all the same. She waited there for some time, taking a light break, as if waiting for the woman to reappear and explain what was going on. Nothing greeted her but silence. 

Evening drew near, and the sun tilted through the trees, stretching their shadows out toward the horizon. Keen to avoid both Arlette and Arric, she began to follow @Akavir's trail, wondering if he might know what it was like to feel shunned.

Eshe was gone and the Mayfair kept himself busy. Dusk caressed the creek in painted hues of gold and pink, soon to darken even more to purple and then the darkness of night.

Despite heartache or pain, the world continued on as if nothing had happened. This was the way it was, the way it always had been.

On his way to the borders once more, his muzzle swung in the direction of the whisper of paws upon the frozen ground--pale eyes falling over Cygnet.

He remained silent for a moment, studying the girl. Then, a crooning bark, he beckoned her to join him as he continued toward the borders.

She was not a baby any longer, and now was the time to begin to realize the power and purpose of a pack hierarchy.

She paused when he looked in her direction, but did not reject his attention with a scowl, as she might have done before. She studied him for a moment, as he studied her. She shifted her weight, a subtle indication of the pain spelled with a twinge of her lips. She noted his invitation with a light huff- but obeyed. 

She tried to hide the pain. But with Eshe gone and Arlette being given the cold shoulder, she had no access to, or knowledge of medications that could ease the pain. She uttered a heavy, loud sigh as she ambled along at his side.

The twinge was well hidden—but a careful eye caught the twitch of a lip and the way she turned. Perhaps, had he no knowledge of Arric and Cygnet’s spar, he wouldn’t have caught on as quick—

He eased his stride as dusk continued to darken their world. As if the creek weren’t black enough from within…

A sideways glance given to the girl—he almost praised her for being so much like her mother, and caught himself just before. She probably had no recognition or knowledge of Moss—all she had ever known was Bellatrix and Arlette, he imagined.

Instead: “I heard you gave Arric a run for his money.” He paused, gaze shifting forward once more. “You’re going to be quite the warrior with more practice.”

Akavir earned a toothy grimace when he acknowledged the spar, and complimented her. The expression might look somewhat pained, but it was the closest thing she could manage considering the fact that she had not trained herself in the art of smiling. It was only in the widening of her eyes and the smoothing of her brow that she showed any joy at all; a slight relaxation of features that were constantly tense, judicial. She uttered a soft breath- if it hadn't hurt so much, she might have growled in affirmation, but she was trying to spare herself the pain. 

She glanced toward him, as her features sank again back into the comfortable expression of light disgust. It occurred to her that she might offer him some consolation as well, all things considered. She breathed in and uttered a soft, low note- as close to a croon as she could come. She reached out, and touched his shoulder with a brush of her muzzle. 

She couldn't understand what he was going through- nor could she tell how he felt about it. Still, there existed a loss that she felt was worth acknowledging.

The girl was more like Moss than perhaps anyone knew—the moment a casual frown clouded over her features he was reminded with a sharp pang of regret and fondness of the guardian. She had deserved more out of life.

Cygnet caught him by surprise the moment she brushed her muzzle to him gently—stirring a softening of his features and a tilt of his muzzle as he offered his own chuff. “Thanks, little sister,” he murmured softly, his gaze drifting away to look at the horizon for a stolen moment in thought. Mae had been adamant that Cygnet would be like a sister to her—and while the girl was gone for now, it didn’t much change the sentiment in his eyes… the nickname rolling from his tongue much like it had during his fevered time when she had tried to attack his ankles and paws.

“No point in being sad about it. Eshe wasn't who we thought she was,” he offered her quietly. Maybe not the best emotional sentiment to pass to a child... but he was so damn tired of being hurt by those who kept leaving.

She stiffened, as if preparing to fend him off should he mistake her gesture as an invitation to fawn over her. His reply was curt, but meaningful. He called her ‘little sister’- perhaps the first nickname she had received (although she had heard it once before) that was intended to be kind. 

She considered Eshe for a moment when her name came up, and her gaze darkened. For the both of them, she felt slighted. They’d been fooled by her, and betrayal put a sour taste in her mouth. Vindictively, she sneezed and shook out her coat, allowing it to stand bristled before a moment before relaxing her muscles so the fur could flatten. 

If she truly wasn’t who they believed her to be, then they were better off without her.

There was a cloud on her features that darkened her in the was it had her mother before. She came by it honestly enough—he imagined not only was it an inherited trait, but something she witnessed on a daily basis with the creek wolves.

Still—she shook her pelt out—as if willing to move on, and he hummed a soft response in agreement before tilting his head up, eyes cast out to the horizon. “Take my mind off it, yeah? Show me how you hunt, maybe? Or track.”

He could use the distraction—and it was a way to see where Cygnet lay in her abilities as a youth, thus far. She was getting older—she would be contributing more to the pack… Especially if they did have pups on the way, somehow.

It wasn’t often that Cygnet was given a task. She had been so spurned in the pack hunt, to be kept on the sidelines, that she had avoided similar situations out of spite. 

Alavir actually wanted to see her work- she bristled in pleasant surprise and uttered a murmur of a growl in agreement. Her tail- what little there was of it anyway- waved once, and then she moved forward with a stalking lumber, head low and ears pricked.

With nothing left to be said, Akavir’s gaze swept from the horizon his ex-wife had disappeared to and placed his focus upon the pale spitfire before him. She seemed eager to do this—not shunting his company like his own children had. Thankfully, he managed to withhold his surprise at this—

—and with a wave of her tail, she began to stalk off—and trailing behind her, interest piqued at what Cygnet would be willing to share with him, he began the next purpose: training the youth of Swiftcurrent Creek… at least, their last one standing from the past year.