Noctisardor Bypass Whenever all my friends ask, all I say is

being extremely vague

He was not here to stay this time. He told himself this, would force himself to leave. He was not healed yet.

And he wanted to consult with other healers. And he wanted to get his stashes of seaweed wondering if the red would help or hurt. He wasn't sure.

He thought of the moonwoman wolf on the mountain, the other of the spear who had smelled like herbs. But he did not know if his skill would be enough this time.

He would come back permanently someday, but not today. For now he was simply shoring up the herbs, and tinctures. Pulling the weeds from the garden. It hurt him to see it so broken, but he shouldn't be surprised.

Etienne went to work. Singing a sea shanty under his breath, then a love song softly crooned in creole. He realized with a small laugh his paws were wider, as were his sides. So he didn't fit into the furrows as well. He was healthy weight and size now.

But his small laugh was short lived at the current place and time dawned on him.

He hated him. He hated him down to the scars on his ears, the smarmy expression on his face, down to every last shaft of black fur that bladed his rangy hide. Anselm could not say what authored such contempt when he thought of Amadeo. Maybe it was the first time they met - how the man had been so -- what was the word?

Prickly. As if Anselm himself didn't coin that phrase!

He stormed to Sequoia's tree, watching the puppies with detachment typical of his parenting style as of late. But a voice -- a distinctly familiar voice -- began to pass through the trees. Anselm got up with a start, fur on end as he stalked towards the edge of the river where the gardens were.

He froze as he saw the shape of the man he was not ready to see. Not yet. Bound between the urge to sink teeth into Etienne's haunches in reprisal for all the hurt he'd inspired in Anselm, and the urge to just turn away and wash his hands forever, Anselm stood in limbo.

Etienne didn't know much about the wolf Amadeo. He pointedly ignored him. Had since the beginning. He was not in his small circle.

Etienne had assumed wrongly that no one knew he was here. Heda and Druid wouldn't tell anyone. And hardly anyone ever came this way. It had been his own little recluse spot. So he felt safe that he could work here. Forgetting that voices carried and his was distinct.

But all too soon he felt the prickling of fur. He tilted his head and looked around, not looking behind him yet. He stood askance, his voice quiet, ears perked forward. And slowly turned his head to meet the gaze of the one wolf he had been hoping to avoid. We'll he had hoped to avoid all of them. But the gods as always laughed and laughed and threw things at him in quick succession. 

Golden eyes stuttered and he felt panic rising in his chest. He wasn't ready, he wasn't ready. Why was he a fool. Why did he care so much? Why had he checked on them.

He spoke softly bondye yo ri.

Then he cleared his throat. Anselm.

Anselm wrestled with what to do. His heart was flush with sudden fury to be the last to know Etienne had returned. Or was this a temporary thing — and if so, why? Ava was gone, the pups were old enough now that there was no need for nannies. Why was he here, and more specifically, in the garden?

Anger’s great force crushed his tongue like a wave, weighing it down against the sharp edges of his jaws. Anselm stared at Etienne for several beats, his face growing darker with each passing second. 

Etienne looked healthier. His fur had luster to it and his topline filled in. Sapphique must agree with him - something that inspired a thorny emotion in Anselm. 

Just as he thought his anger might well into a vicious tide and strike down on Etienne, his fury broke and was replaced by a far more crippling emotion. 

Anselm said nothing. He hoped the hardness of his expression communicated enough. Without another word, Anselm stalked back the way he came with his fur still quills along his spine.

Etienne was unsure. Nothing was said. Just a sick tension that seeped into his bones like mire. There was a darkness in those sunset depths and yet Etienne wondered briefly with space and contemplation. If Anselm was so angry, what it meant. Because had he not cared in some semblance he would not be angry. So Eti did something he had hardly ever really done.

He gathered his will and his wile. He dug deeply for the wells of strength he had. Because Etienne knew the wolf he was and wanted to be and he followed. A bark resounding out.

Anselm! There was no question in his words. A strike that was true. He pulled himself to his medium height and stood waiting. His own fur rising along the edges of his ruff.

If Anselm would turn he'd pull his families love deep inside and he'd stare at the broad shoulders and dear face. He could love him from afar and move on. It would just take time. Otherwise he'd speak to his back.

I won't apologize for leavin'. I needed too. But I will applogize for not tellin' you. For abandonin' you. It was not my intention, but it 'appened none the less. So I'm sorry. And it's okay if you don't forgive me. Per'aps it is deserved, but I am sorry Anselm.

That was all the seaborn really had to say. So he blinked and dipped his head. And turned to leave. He'd not force his company on the mountain born.

If nothing else he owed the man that apology.