The Heartwood see myself as a ghost

aw <3

Under the mighty winter sun lay the argent motionless as the canopy around her. She slept for a long while, awoken by the cold breeze. Ever wandering, her body craved something—something she couldn't quite name. Somehow, she had found herself here again, in a place she had visited many years ago. And she had dreams—dreams of another life. A beautiful life, but one that wasn’t hers to claim.

When Agana left this place back then, she returned to her ancestral lands, only to find they no longer existed. Everyone was gone; a sea of smoke now shrouded what remained of her home. Splintered trees, abandoned houses, poisoned water—nothing was recognizable. For a time, she stayed, alone, haunted by memories. But one day, she left. And for years, she didn’t return, though there was nowhere else for her to go. She had nothing left—no family, no child. Sometimes she dreamed of the life she could have had if she hadn’t been a coward.

And now, after months of searching for the courage to return, the argent was still too afraid to ask the question burning in her chest. She had tried before, and it hadn’t gone well. When she finally reunited with her dearest companion, Agana had run—weak, a coward, unable to face the consequences of her actions. The argent had hurt her, so deeply, though she never intended to. In the end, they chose to remain just that—friends. It stung to call her that, but that’s all they were. Nothing more. What she felt was wrong, unacceptable. She couldn’t allow such feelings to take root in her heart.

But none of it mattered, because she was alone still. And now, in the chill of morning beneath a familiar sun, she couldn’t shake the foreign thought gnawing at her mind—a thought she should have shared long ago.

the winter sun poured through the bare branches above, painting the ground in muted golds and silvers. his single golden eye scanned the terrain with a practiced sharpness, ever watchful, ever wary.

it was then he saw her—a figure of argent amidst the stark winter scene, motionless, yet brimming with a quiet weight that drew his attention. his pace slowed, and the air around him seemed to thicken as he approached, his massive frame cutting a sharp silhouette against the trees.

he stopped a short distance away, broad shoulders rolling as he lifted his chin slightly. a low grunt escaped him, neither unfriendly nor welcoming, just enough to break the silence and make his presence known. his golden eye lingered on her for a moment longer, curiosity flickering beneath his otherwise guarded expression.

lost? his tone was rough, practical, but there was no edge to it. it wasn’t an accusation, just an observation, a simple inquiry from a man who rarely wasted words.

thank you for joining! <3

When she thought herself alone, the presence of another shook the trees. Tufted ears turned towards the sound, but her body remained still. Lowering her head, golden gaze glanced sideways at the fire man. Tall and ancient as the fire that ravaged this forest so many moons ago.

„Yes,” from myself. Her voice was slightly shaky and cold, a lingering sorrow covering her entire being. Without thinking, the answer came by itself.

The argent wasn’t truly lost. At least, not geographically. Her sole purpose for the long journey was to get back to the land she once called home. She was home, wasn’t she? Familiar trees, scents, skies. It was where she build her own life, where she loved, wept, whelped. Agana knew where the duck resides, but wasn’t quite ready to meet her gaze. Her lover was lost to history, her son the same. Even if she knew nothing of their fates, wishful thinking sees them in paradise. Then what else was lost?

„Do you know the way to Moonglow?” An inquiry, knowing only the name of her home. The argent turned to face the man, awaiting. It was the last thing that remained her; to right a wrong.

answer from the stone frosted woman came swiftly. she was lost. sólhárr hummed at her response, nodding his head whilst scanning her from head to toe. she wasn't short, but she wasn't exactly toned either. a brow raised—

moonglow, he repeated over his tongue. my wife is from moonglow— i am ninauga to her.

ouroboros spine was their sister territory. sólhárr knew their reaches well, as if it had been his domain. he had his wife to thank for this, and maybe the woman would be appreciative that she'd stumbled across him.

what do you seek from moonwolves?

A wife of Moonglow? Did he know the duck aswell? The man continued in a language unknown to her, a tongue she had not heard in a while. Distant memories invaded her mind, flashbacks, nothing concrete. A seal, kikuyat, the northern lights. Agana cocked her head, curiosity getting the better of her. „Ninauga?” Confusion in her tone, „What tongue did you speak?” The argent struggled to remember something, but alas failed.

„A woman,” she began, so vague yet so specific at the same time, „An ivory woman,” broad characteristics without having to disclose the reason or more. An ivory woman with jade eyes; was she the same as she remembered? Was she still alive?

The duck wanted to become a wife. It was her mission, her purpose, to please a man, become her husband, bear his children. Could she have this title, as a woman herself? Was she going to be fulfilled, knowing she could never give her the life she dreamed of? The argent could not know.

her curiosity was evident, and though his expression remained carved in stone, there was something softer beneath the surface—a flicker of understanding.

ninauga he began, his voice low, deliberate, means son-in-law in the tongue of the moonwoman. her people speak it—moonglow speaks it. he paused, watching for her reaction, measuring her understanding. the way her head cocked, the curiosity laced in her tone, spoke volumes. she was searching, though whether it was for clarity or for something deeper, he couldn't yet tell.

she still lives, he added simply, the weight of those words carrying unspoken depth. the moonwoman, @Kukutux. she leads her people, as she always has. there was no need for embellishment; the truth was enough.

his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, studying the argent woman who seemed tied to memories of something—or someone—lost. you knew her, didn’t you? the question was rough-edged, like the man himself, but not unkind. it was clear she carried a history that had led her here, though not one to pry, couldn’t help but notice the threads of her story unraveling before him.

tag for mention