Sunbeam Lair ❝i am exhausted, i am exhausted— pillar of white in a blackout of knives.

Set for late morning on 4/12, before this
Part I. Paging @Redshank & @Goosie

So many times had she heard of Sunbeam Lair by word of mouth, and never had Aure been able to experience it for herself. On the cliffs, it'd been farther than she'd been willing, for once, to straggle from the kru; and though it'd been near enough to Diaspora, pregnancy and mothering had kept her. After a fortnight of restlessness, however, she was entirely unfettered for the whole day and meant to spend it pillaging this Lair.

When she'd made sure her budding children were safe and slumbering in the cradle of either Vonnaruil or her beloved, the silver'd strode out, all shivery with anticipation for everything she may find.

... And, oh, and did she find. And flit, and frenzy, like a frostmade zână; whirling towards the tousled and bursting underworld without an inkling or mind of what else could be lurking in its depths.

All and any misgivings of their settling in Diaspora went out her head, where green green green thrived in its stead. Whatever she found, she studied with rapture; and she admired all those other menders who had the nerve and gall to pluck anything from this trove. Aure wasn't sure if she could ever bring herself to, even if she suffered the fever from delivery again; had Mahler taken from this treasure? Had he wanted to? She didn't want to.

A novel 4 u

He had fled, like always. Like the coward that he was. Paranoia had gotten the best of him and Diaspora's claim began to feel less like a safe zone and more like a trap. Thorn. It was his fault. How the brute had even found out about his attempt on Rannoch's life all those months ago was a mystery - at least, Redshank hadn't stuck around long enough to find out. And then he had ratted him out. As much as he admired Stigmata, he feared the man, and even if the General forgave misdeeds of the past Redshank was an irrational, impulsive sort and he wasn't willing to find out. So he fled.

Only to return weeks later in a state no worse off than before, claiming a nearby underground lair as his haunt. The boy hated the coast, had enemies in the forests and vales, but he knew these mountains, so that is where he stayed, regardless of the distance to Diaspora. He knew the pack was nomadic; they would move and soon there would be distance between them once more.

In the meantime, Redshank would simply avoid them and play the waiting game (struggling all the while to simply survive). He wasn't great at being a lone wolf, despite seeming to prefer this way of living. His ribs showed, his fur was matted, and he was in a constant state of crazed panic - a state that proved useful sometimes. Like now.

He heard her before he saw her. The soft footfalls of an intruder alerting him to her presence. It was not this that brought fourth a snarl, however, but the scent that hit him. It should not have been a surprise for one to come wandering down here - seeing as he essentially lived in Diaspora's basement - but Redshank would react with hostility all the same. Abandoning a splintered bone he had been chewing on deep in the bowels of the cavern, the Cairn stalked towards the source of the smell, releasing a rumble of a growl to warn off the interloper before she could have a chance to make her way any deeper into the cave.

blog post 4 u

The splintering thrum of some beast is what stopped the wispy fae from forging further into the green depths. Whatever it was soon made itself known — Aure whirled, coming face to face with an unkempt hellion. One look gave her a start at the haggard, work appearance; another look told her how perturbed he looked to... Had he made the Lair his claim?

Aure didn’t usually leap for conclusions; but spoiled rotten by a life spent with Vonn, and time spent with Verx and their children, made her vault towards those conclusions all the same.

An impish veil overwhelmed her in the face of this rogue’s surly attitude. The greenseer drew herself up, feathered her tail about like an ivory banner, all as she preened, “I trust you’ve left anything valuable in decent condition on your stamp up here?” The silver hoped, indeed, that whoever was before her wouldn’t keep her from a refined plundering.

Then again, there was otherwise to look forward to. It was rather rare for Aure to be raring for something unpeaceable — but she was feeling adventurous this morning. All sorts, infectiously and indefinitely, it seemed. So, with a quirk of her snout, she took a daring step forward, for all her petite stature.

<3

The sharp click of his claws against the cavern floor echoed off the walls, overshadowed only by the aggravated rumbling coming from his throat. As he rounded the corner he saw her, an ethereal being who stood out like a beam of light in amongst the darkness of the cave. He was taken aback slightly, wondering how a pack of brutes and grizzled warriors had managed to persuade a petite dove such as herself (scarred though she was, he noted) to join them. The answer to his pondering came as she opened her mouth.

Redshank's lip lifted at the woman's impudent display, tail raising to match her own — a tattered, torn rag to her perfectly preened porcelain flag. Though as she tossed her snout into the air, the boy lowered his own, features pulled into an ugly snarl. "There is nothin' in here," he replied darkly. And it was true, unless she was looking for half-eaten bones and scraps. Redshank hadn't really taken the opportunity to explore much of the caves, his mind almost solely focused on the thought of food and how to get said food.

"Get out." Her challenging step forward was responded to in kind.

””THE WORDS THET CAME OUT OFNEHR MOUTHF” cackling bc shes Never like this im

Somewhere in the green-keen recesses of her memory, wary words from winter broke through the frenzied foliage: Sparring is rigorous shit. In the face of such an order, Aure would heed it — she’d return to Diaspora and come back another day. Usually, she would’ve been the epitome of whatever had gone through this male’s mind. Usually, her words wouldn’t be so excitable and bold. 

Usually was before she had children to think of and a male to come home to — no, they were home. Ever since her Isilmë and Dragomir and Vercingetorix had entered her life, life itself had been unusual. So was this; and so was Aurëwen on the offense. But they needed more stock, where Takiyok and Stigmata’s bairns and Mahler’s stores were concerned.

Whoever this was, he wouldn’t keep her from getting what she needed. The only warning Aure gave was a flick of her tail-tip;

and then she rushed for him  ( used the light behind her to her advantage ),  swooping low — sailed up, snapped the air at his nose — and shoved a crude, thin shoulder into his cocoa chest  ( all in one jagged, sharp maneuver ).

She gave no indication that she would heed his demand, instead looking upon him with ice-cold eyes, meeting his challenge. Redshank took in a sharp breath, ready to berate her once more and command that she leave before suddenly her form became a pale blur.

Needle sharp teeth caught the tip of his nose and he let out a strangled, startled yelp. His reeling combined with the surprisingly forceful shove of her bony shoulder into his chest caused the boy to lurch backwards, staggering sideways as he fought to stay on all fours. Despite his permanently hostile nature, the Cairn rarely got into true brawls and found himself at a loss when subjected to one. Especially one instigated so suddenly. So recklessly.

"Bitch," came his usual growling taunt, muttered under his breath as he found his footing and threw himself back at her, jaws wide and teeth seeking her already marred features.

He staggered, huffing, puffing — and then came rushing. There was no thought in her mind for what might happen, should things sour; should his fangs find her throat and end her. Aurëwen only knew the exhilarating, morbid dance for this morning, and it was with a simpering of “Bastard” that she countered:

No more mars would mark themselves upon her façade; if she were deft enough, she drove her hinds into the earth, veering sharply to the other side. Felt the nick of pain flourish in her shoulder, but she only comma’d further down.

Her own fangs snipped and snapped at the rogue’s ankles; seeking to startle and fend him back. She wouldn’t risk latching on, or staying in one place very long, though. A socking to the eyeball wasn’t what she was after — but if she could just get him out of her damn way! —

His teeth did not hit heir mark, instead only finding a wispy furred shoulder in its place. Whether he had snagged fur or flesh he couldn't tell, but he just knew that it wasn't enough. He wanted to rip and tear and make an example out of this woman who so brazenly, so boldly, decided to encroach on his domain. He remembered Stigmata proclaiming that his pack would claim every inch of the Sunspire Mountains; and it seemed his delusions of grandeur were passed onto even new recruits.

Having moved nimbly to one side, the woman then went for his unprotected hindquarters. There was a white hot flash of pain as she struck at the vulnerable tendons of the lower part of his hind legs, though thankfully didn't seem to want to break them completely. He was briefly reminded of when Terance had his leg in a similar position and Rannoch's command of break it.

With renewed terror, Redshank snarled, whirling and attempting to throw his full (albeit meagre) body weight into her side to catch her off balance.

god just have a slappy fight u bONY BABIEUS

What the vagrant deemed meager in weight was moreso an earth-quaking deal in favor for Aurëwen; having not accounted for the whirl, the scraggly male crashed into her side, tearing the breath from her all the same. Breathless as she was, she wouldn’t be the only one taking the fall.

With a filthy, slathering, open-mouthed snarl of her own, Aure wrenched the male along with her and, kicking limbs tangled up and entwined, the dark-light contenders tumbled right on down the moss-limned crags of the Lair. Down and down, heels over head, until they landed in a writhing, slobbery mess amongst precious ferns and flora.

Undoubtedly disoriented but still raring, Aure shoved whatever of the male she could away from her; peddling away and hauling ass up to get her footing. Wishing fur all in a disarray, properly frothing at the fangs; the cut into her shoulder shallow but stinging.

they're just

He felt her feather light form give way beneath his weight, but any sense of victory he may have felt was just as quickly torn away. He heard first her vicious snarl before the sting of teeth met the skin of his hindquarter and he was pulled down along the very path he had come up through to meet her. There was no telling who had the upper hand during their fall, nor who would come out on top at the end of it.

As they came to a rolling, unceremonious stop in amongst the foliage of the cavern, Redshank's tongue quickly snaked out to lap at the blood that had appeared on his teeth. His own, he realised with a start. Unbeknownst to him, the woman's claws and the jutting rocks alike had pierced skin, leaving smatterings of blood upon the lair's walls.

He had ended up on his back, stars filling his vision as his assailant recovered and scrabbled to disentangle from him. Redshank let out a slurred growl, rolling back onto one side and watching the now unkempt woman face him, looking the part of a rabid snow fox. The boy stumbled to his feet, wishing for the world to stop spinning. "Get—" he started again, before an explosion of pain erupted from behind his ear and he lurched to one side, eyes squeezed shut.

The ‘rabid snow fox’ wanted to lob a snarling, girlish seethe of “No, YOU get!” just before vertigo caught up to the both of them; as it was though, she staggered as the rogue flinched and swayed, himself. So her paltry threat instead slurred out as “ffshNaw-yOUGRHT” while stumbling off to the side in a clumsy and clattering side-trot. Regardless of the licheny Lair whirling about her, Aurëwen continued to snip and goad the ruffled male before her.

Her breathing was ragged, wheezed, as she growled, ”G-get your ass over he-here sso...” lifting a quivering paw, as if to step forward, ”Ssso I can kcik your aSS! I’ll kickf your ass to... to ze moutniand,” and promptly staggered and kissed the good green moss face-first. Little did either of them — she, at least — know that, while they recovered, the pair now held a very, very concerned audience from afar.

rEeEeE’s for @Goosie

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Pulse fluttered a million beats a minute as the scene unfolded before her — the sound in her head, all so reminiscent, of a lone sparrow wings’ beating against the perilous grasp of an unforgiving mouth. Be still, her frenzied heart. How could a girl fight the battle both before her and inside; of tender, potent, mothering flesh versus the hide of such a primal, although tattered, he-beast; truly, of nature against nurture? Maybe it was the deep, petrified albeit rotted roots of previous familial bonds that struck her confused, where love was always met with sordid hate and the two words were all too much intertwined with each-other. This pale wraith before her, a stranger, but all too reminiscent of an older sister from many moons ago — a broken dove who inhaled anger and in return exchanged these feelings in the form of bairns of her own. This raped and wretched mother, always filled to the brim with rage and children. The dark baron, the shadow of every patriarch her sorry eyes had laid their sight on —

But that was then, and this is now, this is not the same, but it’s too familiar, I can’t tell the difference—!

And so this catastrophic mixture of blood-tinged, matted fur and budding motherhood before her was just too much to pull herself away from; too recognizable, her young brain suffering to pull itself from the depths of her disillusioned thoughts of a broken childhood, such an overwhelming sensation deja vu—

“Stop—!”

—and the word broke from her feeble throat, eerily practiced, before her fragmented mind could even fathom beginning to catch up. Her call into the material world was enough to sober her from the delirium she was heading into, and as swiftly as she’d slipped, the pale dove came about her senses once more — such mental whiplash! — and just in time, to see the now increasing mess she had just bumbled herself into. What now, you birdbrain? She stood, the image of a decrepit, trembling on all fours at the mouth of the lair, a stifled breath crawling from her thumping chest as panicked eyes flitted between the two combatants — What are you going to do now?!

A nimble step towards the darkness ensued, brow knit with a certain fervour as she spoke on behalf of the blanched fae, this stranger who never once asked for her assistance, but her need to heal and care for all too insistent to ignore: “She — she is with child, you mustn’t be so foolish to think one could cripple a mother without certain consequence—“

This was all the girl knew to be true, her sole reason for being here; the scent of a new matriarch had been too much of a curiosity for her not to follow.

Her voice was weak, laughable, against the previously fast-paced density of the atmosphere, all of her hopes wagered against the possibility that this brute could be tricked into a weakly-spun lie of the two femmes already knowing each other... one lonesome would never go up against the pack. Are you mad?! Oath's voice rung ever-present in her ears — and oh when she finds out! Of what she had just done, of the beings she may have just potentially challenged, oh the huntress was going to skin her alive and eat her entrails.

The dove let her words hang awkwardly in the air, a proposition to one, a firm statement to the other; all the while mahogany eyes continued to dart nervously between the plush green at her pawpads and the gaze of the mother.

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It seemed they had both damaged something — at least temporarily — within their heads from the fall. Redshank barely caught the woman's slurred threat as he battled against the pounding sensation that radiated from his skull. He didn't dare open his eyes out of fear it would increase the pain tenfold, but he did note the rustle of the cavern's foliage before there was a soft thump against the earth, indicating his combatant had fallen. He took another step back, releasing a sound that was halfway between a groan and a growl, before a third, unfamiliar sound forced him to at least peak open one eye.

“Stop—!”

The world continued to spin and tilt as he gazed around the cave, and it took a few moments for Redshank to locate the source of the timid command. She was a diminutive thing, one who would have hardly been registered as a threat in any other circumstance. Here, though, there was the very real possibility that she was part of Diaspora, an ally to this crazed bitch now sprawled before him. That she could call for the rest of the pack was a fact that was not lost on him, despite his current, dazed state.

She spoke more in that soft, unsure voice, a threat that was met with a hard (albeit slightly unfocused) glare from the Cairn. His eyes flicked to the woman. With child? He thought he had smelt a curious, milky fragrance to her scent, and his suspicions had been correct. Not that it mattered, really. That her pups would be left motherless had he killed her was of no consequence to the boy, too blinded by rage.

The stranger's interruption had caused a moment of silence to replace the savage snarls and clashing of jaws that had been echoing from the den just moments ago. And seemingly, it had brought Redshank back to his senses, and to reason. Despite the shrinking size of both women (and the apparent meek hesitance of the newcomer), he knew it would be a wasted effort trying to continue to fend them both off. His gaze lingered on the scarred woman, her pale fur now streaked with red (though it was hard to tell whose blood was whose).

"You're lucky," he hissed lowly between gritted teeth before stumbling forwards with unexpected speed. He ran haggardly, but aimed straight for the spotted, cream-coloured female, his intent on fleeing the cave clear. If she hadn't the sense to move out of the way, Redshank would have no qualms about knocking her frail form to the ground.

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The high pitched yelp cut through the atmosphere like the sharpest knife — it was such an unexpected and harsh noice against the tranquility of her surroundings. The pressure against her hindquarters took her breath away, both metaphorically and physically, the brute charging into her side just enough to push her diaphragm into an unnatural position that it was hard for her to breathe. I should have expected this. She should have been prepared for this. To move out the way. How could she have dared force herself into such a situation and have expected to crawl out unscathed —

The yowl dwindled down to a quiet whimper as the dove found herself on her side, desperately trying to grasp at the greenery before her paw pads in an attempt to bring herself back to her feet; whilst her accuser bolted off into the distance, never once looking back. The pain was sharp, deep, but manageable, as she drove her weight onto her right side whilst hoisting herself up onto all fours. No breaks. Guess he was right, she was lucky.

Despite her own troubles, her concerned gaze never left the female in front of her, the dove's voice reaching out to the child-bearer whilst her material frame timidly began to follow: “A-are you o-o— Are you ok-k-ay?

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At Redshank’s threat, the ivory had only smushed one scarred cheek into the earth and gave him a paltry sneer; too worn out to even rise to her paws. It was a fine, yet hesitant decision, too; but then he was fleeing, as he ought to have been in the first place. The yelp made her crane her neck, and she glowered after the sniveling ogre without remorse. As horrendous as this fight had been — if you could even call such a mess a fight — she had been the victor. What was done was done, and she was finally free to forage, so there was no shame felt  ( oh honey, she had a big storm comin’. )

A voice, timid and everlastingly frazzled, suddenly sounded above her, and Aurëwen looked to see whoever’d turned the tides of battle, “Mm, I am...” thin tail giving a laborous thumping on moss, “I’d like to say I am okay. With that ghoul gone, I am feeling stupendous. Thank you, ah...” The silver trailed off, not knowing the name of her speckled savior(?), and began to wobble up onto pale paws.

After a time, she seemed to find her balance, shook her pelt out, and soon looked upon the yearling before her. Any vertigo from before now seemed faint in her demeanor; but the smile she gave was a bit dopey, and aside from a scratched shoulder, she seemed otherwise fine.

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"Uh, G-Goose — my name is Goose," the dove fumbled, unprepared to answer despite the fact that she herself had posed the leading question. Mahogany hues remained upon the ivory, her gaze stringing along after her movements as she shook herself down, offering up a kindly smile of what she assumed to be unspoken reassurance.

The yearling returned her pleasantries with a bashful grin, adrenaline evidently still crashing its way through her not-so-seasoned system whilst she moved towards the wounded shoulder, gait clumsy and unrefined in itself. She hardly paid that any mind though — her attention, instead, solely focused on scraping up whatever she could to patch up the injury, and luckily she was in the perfect place to do it.

"Uh," Whipping her cranium around — in what could only be described as, albeit unintentional, an entirely childish manner — oversized ears flopping in tow, the dove eye's scoured her dim surroundings for what could be used to help sort this pickle they were in. A disinfectant, a painkiller, anything would help if the girl was able to slow her racing thoughts for an entire moment and properly focus. Growing overly conscious of the time she was taking on a task that would usually be resolved in mere moments, the dove attempted to make conversation in order to ease the awkward tension she could feel beginning to emanate from within herself: "Did you, uh, did you know that beast?"

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Silver, scarred brows rose at that introduction; but she merely gave a dip of her own head, and introduced herself with a murmur of ”You may call me Aure.” And then, seeing this yearling fumble over watch she was unsure of to forage, Aurëwen decided to take initiative on this for her.  ( It was all she could do to help, after all. )  She could scarcely reach the mar on her shoulder, and therefor was unable to tend to herself.

Once she’d scourged up what she needed — well, what Goosie needed to properly tend to her with — the reckless mother situated herself in a prim sit at the yearling’s side. Her gestures were lofty, by experience or remnants of vertigo  ( or both )  she considered the inquiry turned her way. Tail crescented to and fro behind her, brows lowering with listless thought.

”As for knowing that beast...” the silver mused, eyes roaming the Lair before alighting again on Goosie’s creamed face, ”No. I did not know him at all. He barred my way to what should be available to others — to myself, too.” And what would’ve happened, hadn’t she struck first? This mule-headed, sprightly nature would lead her to be much less entertained in spirit; but she hadn’t the care to predict the near future, or to ruminate over what could have gone wrong in all this.

Instead, she let herself linger in Goosie’s presence; interjecting with the proper procedures where she could, and listening merrily to whatever else feathered from the dove’s mouth. For now, everything seemed to be well.

agreed to fade this one out, oof