Hushed Willows I'll stake rare toothpicks in my dirt-filled heart

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Her despair and frustration were mounting as she parted from the silvered boy's company. He was of Moonglow, he knew Kukutux, that much she'd figured out from the scent of him — and too young for Reverie to truly be angry with him. But she wished he'd never come to the willows. She wished @Boone had been the one to find her in her distress.

It was her husband she searched for now, battling the nausea bubbling up in her swollen throat. Reverie was still limping heavily, still incapable of getting anywhere quickly in this state. She wanted to cry all over again. She wanted to curl up in her den and sleep, and forget this whole day. But first she had to find Blossom.

When he was not tending to his wife, Boone had begun to busy himself with tasks. Border marking, always strengthening the edges of their new claim; filling caches with small prey, things he could hunt on his own; gathering supplies, necessary things for the incoming winter. Frigidity had already fallen upon the mountains, frost clinging to the pines and to the guard hairs that ripple across his spine. A rough season was to be expected, he thought, and so the last thing he wanted was to be ill-prepared.
He is separating the hide from a beaver when Reverie happens upon him, teeth caught along the edge as he smooths it down flat with the motion of a heavy paw. He'd leave it along the ledge to dry out for a few days, if snow or sleet did not find them first. Hey, he drinks in the sight of her only momentarily before he realizes quickly that something is very, very wrong; his throat constricts. what-- what happened?

The sight of him filled her with a thousand emotions; foremost, relief. Reverie burst into tears again, stepping around the beaver to press herself into his arms even as she spoke. I - I can't find Blossom, Her voice broke. She left - I found her scent, but it's old, and - This is my fault. Reverie swallowed her self-loathing, knowing it would make nothing better.

We - we have to find her, It was an effort to stay calm. She doesn't - she never leaves for this long. What if - what if something happened to her? For the first time Reverie considered that the cat might have found Blossom, the same one that had hurt her. She started to tremble, still clinging to her husband.

Blossom.
Alright, alright, c'mere, near instantaneously, Boone's attention is ripped from the pelt at his feet and now rests upon his wife. His arms open in an invitation and she falls into his chest, temple against sternum. we'll find her, alright? It'll be okay. Maybe she just hasn't learned the boundaries of the territory yet. or, perhaps, it was a symptom of teenage rebellion, but he wasn't about to suggest it.
After a time, he pries himself from her grasp and motions for her to lead him where she last caught a sign of her presence. There was no time for panic, not now, not when his wife still hobbled with ribbons of resistant pain; not when his stepdaughter needed him.

She found some measure of comfort in his embrace, as she always did. Where she was frantic, scattered, he was calm and rational. Reverie slowly steadied her breaths, and when she parted from him she was a little less panicked. She took the lead, quickly frustrated all over again with her leg and the way it hung uselessly at her side. But she knew better than to try to bear any weight on it. That would only set her back in her healing, and possibly render the leg forever impaired. Already she knew it would not heal perfectly.

When they reached the southern edges of the territory, ascending now into a climb that would have been difficult even with all four legs functional, anxiety started to pull at her again. Reverie wasn't certain she could manage this. She cast a glance over her shoulder at Boone, and slowly fell back until they were side by side. For this part, she would have to rely on him. He was experienced with this kind of sharp, treacherous terrain — and Reverie was nervous, though she tried not to let it show too much.

His nose is pressed firmly to the cracked earth, muscles trembling beneath skin as he hoists himself over the rocks wedged between monstrous peaks. Reverie is unsure.
His flank brushes against her as if to say I've got you.
He takes the lead, then; pushing himself past her with the offering of his shoulder for her to lean on, should she need it. Between the spruces he searches for figures buried beneath brush, a clump of blonde fur, something, any sign — and when that does not work, his head tips skyward and from his throat a baying call is sent out into the world. Surely Blossom would have to answer, right?

Grateful for Boone's silent support, she leaned against his shoulder slightly and followed his lead. He called for @Blossom, as Reverie had done earlier — but they were closer now, she hoped. And there was another scent on the breeze, something vaguely familiar, something tinged with...

Reverie broke away from her husband to catch more of the scent. Blood? She breathed half to herself, and panic filled her all over again. She wanted to pursue the scent immediately. But if Blossom had heard the call... Reverie waffled, staring in the direction of the scent of blood.

Smeared with blood and plant matter, Blossom tried her best to save a life.

Her brain worked endless circles around itself as the days wore on, and she forwent sleep and food to help the girl who’d fallen in front of her. Dragging in herbs and water, doing her absolute best to make her keep breathing, keep dragging air into her lungs, keep working and working. Anything to not witness death in front of her eyes.

Feverishly, she worked. Even now, the call from Boone fell on deaf ears, Blossom’s shaking paws trying to sort through the bundles of leaves she had ripped from the earth in an attempt to find useful herbs. She had even ducked into a massive cave, somewhere on the slope, but a feeling so wrong swept over her quick, and she ran before whatever was in there could snag at her heels.

Blossom feverishly worked, trying her hardest to not let someone die.

Mae drifted in and out of consciousness, only vaguely aware of the golden girl and her efforts. Nothing quite roused her until the howls, though. She twitched at the sound of the first two, but the third was much closer, much louder. Mae sat up, eyes hazy. She didn't know that voice. She didn't know either of them. But maybe they could help.

She called back, a low note that died too soon in her throat, and leaned back against the ground with a small gasp.

A break in the trees reveals smears of scarlet and two bodies — still warm, still breathing. Children. Blossom.
And a girl he'd never seen before.
Oh, Jesus Christ, crouching, breathless, his neck cranes in search of his wife with a new surge of panic thrumming in his veins. get your herbs. We've got a problem here.

The breeze carried with it the faintest beginnings of a weak howl. Reverie abruptly felt cold all over. She glanced to her husband only for a moment before she pressed ahead, and then — and then —

Blossom, There was blood. There was so much blood, and her daughter, her daughter; Reverie went to her thoughtlessly, only distantly hearing Boone. She saw nothing but Blossom, golden fur stained red, the tears in her eyes. She should have been here. She should have been with her. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, it's okay, I'm here now, She whispered as she nosed through her fur, searching for wounds. There were none. The blood was not Blossom's, but Reverie's racing heart only stuttered briefly in relief.

Finally her eyes found the other girl, and then Boone, shell-shocked and scarcely there at all. Get your herbs, he'd said. Reverie nodded belatedly, numb as her legs moved and the part of her which had once been a healer creaked and shifted and reached for control. Oh... The blood, it was all hers, this torn shadow of a girl — and she knew her — Mae? Her voice cracked.

Mae. Jakoul's daughter. This was Jakoul's daughter.

She tore herself away, nodding again, half to herself. Okay. Okay, I - I'll - be back, just keep her warm, um - Blossom, sunshine, come with me, alright? Reverie pulled her daughter close again, trembling a little. She should have been here. She should have been with her. She should have —

Reverie took a breath, steadied herself, and led Blossom away.