Blackfeather Woods and she came to Troy with a dowry; death

looking for @Relmyna and maybe @Astara ( but as always there's no obligation~ ); but this is open to anyone so feel free to hop in at any point if you want! i'm not real sure where this fits into his chaotic timeline so i'm going to say this is forward dated a few days. ♥

it turned out that ghosting a pack was indisputably better than trying to rehearse what he's going to say to tell them that he's branching off to do his own thing. ghosting was a coward's way of leaving and yeah he was a coward as a kid. all big talk and a selective backbone. he wasn't that cocky, big-mouthed punk anymore. a man had replaced him a long time ago. besides not looking like a coward this time he owed them. he loved relmyna and cared for astara too much to leave them hanging without a word. ...and he'll make good on his promises: he'll talk to moonspear and redhawks about it as a parting gift ...but by severing the tie before he does those things he hopes to eliminate the guilt gnawing at his chest like a hungry animal and it'll allow him to recruit without feeling like he's betraying the dark woods.

he's tired — he came straight down from the coast without much sleep. a few stolen hours here and there at most. it would be his routine for a while, he knows. the rotting corpses of their borders bring with it a bittersweet comfort. a comfort that now feels like it no longer belongs to him. he realizes his departure might be the blade of the guillotine let loose ...but the daedra worked in mysterious ways. if it was meant to flourish then they would see it so. with or without him.

he draws in a deep breath of the frigid air, shaking his pelage free of the light dusting of snow that's accumulated along his back and tips his head back, letting out a call.

<3<3<3

the nightcub had noticed wintersbane's absence -- in a band of so few members, how could one not? astara's social circle was narrowing by the day -- until at last, it seemed all that remained of the kingdom she had been born into was a few choice, loyal stragglers. while she spoke no words, astara understood consequence -- and being a beast of nature, understood that as the world continued its evolution around her hostile sun, each day brought with it new changes and challenges to face.

the howl that split through the eldritch forest was foreboding; astara believed as she heard its melancholy note that she detected a hint of dread to it. and yet, the forest sprite obeyed its summons, and drew alongside wintersbane with a knowing coldness. studying him, she realized he did not smell of them any longer -- and carried with his pelt the scent of strange lands well beyond her small realm.

the forest was dying — relmyna found herself fading also. as the days in blackfeather set and rose again, she found herself on some colder mornings stiff, unable to move well until pain thawed from around her hips. the ignominy of growing old was worth the opportunity to lead, she supposed. 
already slight, flesh had wasted from her bones, and it was a thin spectre that wended through the woodland to answer wintersbane's call. he had been gone, and the undertone of his summons held something she would rather not know. but the listener went all the same, all the same, and saw first his proud, silver-ruffed form, and the more delicate form of her nightcub alongside him.
it was jarring to look upon astara and see with new eyes not a child, but a woman's budding form. young, yes, but it was not the youth of puphood that greeted her seafoam eyes. gaze lingered upon her daughter with a fond ache; she turned it then upon wintersbane, whom she approached with affection writ into the lines of her body, a welcoming curve to her torn lips.

astara is the first to appear, melting out from the shadows as if she was birthed from them. he thought the tension he feels in the junction of his shoulders might abate but they only tighten with foreboding anticipation as she draws up alongside him. he spares her a long glimpse, thinking that she has outgrown her nickname of earmuncher. she is not a child any longer. instead, she stands at his side a young woman growing into her own. he does not dare hope that his decision will not be looked upon as a betrayal. he knew, from previous experience, that the wolves of the woods didn't appreciate those who left.

or perhaps, his inner voice argues, that was the decree of a young woman who was, at the time, no more a child than the young lost boys she'd taken under her wing herself.

regardless, he is here and his decision is made, so purely resolute in his mind that he's been guided by mephala herself, driven by nightmares and his own selfish desires. at the sound of another set of footfalls approaching wintersbane looks up from shadow-cloaked daughter to the dark priestess herself. his breath catches in his throat — tight with unfettered guilt. the tundrian watches the listener approach him with affection in her steps and a welcoming smile upon her lips that makes him feel as if someone's cracked open his rib cage, as if some beast has it's jagged and piercing teeth around his heart and it's biting with the intention to crush.

he didn't deserve it. he didn't deserve her affection and he sure as hell didn't deserve that welcoming smile.

hate me, he wants to plead of her and astara both. hate me. look at me like i'm the scourge of the earth. put a kill order on my head. look at me like i'm the devil and you cannot get away from me fast enough.

he knows how to process hatred. he can live with hatred. he's felt it's familiar sting so many times before. vaati. neo. nyx. mallaidh. it would certainly hurt less. he could use snark and his satirical sense of humor to deflect it. this leaves him fumbling and uncertain how to safeguard himself against the crushing guilt. it'd been building and now it comes to it's crown.

i'm leaving. all practiced words are thrown out the window as he goes for just 'ripping off the goddamn bandaid'. the words hurt to say and there is no relief in getting them out into the frost chilled air. instead, he feels measurably worse; like his head is on the chopping block and he's waiting for the moment the ax strikes and severs the rope holding the guillotine blade precariously above his head.

her dam is next to arrive. astara studied her quietly, noticing the toll age had exacted upon her mother. it was no secret the forest was thinning -- both in numbers and in strength -- and she had noticed of late that the hale vigor that once accompanied both her mother and kove was slowly waning.

and she and averna were ever growing -- perhaps they were sucking the spirit from the forest, and growing from its tired bones.

she did not understand wintersbanes' words, but she knew from the solemn tone and the tension in his shoulders that something heavy had been imparted then. inquiringly, the dark raptor set on her haunches and glanced to relmyna, ready to extract whatever meaning she could from the listener's reaction.

wintersbane stood before them, beneath relmyna's soft gaze and astara's more appraising look, and at the sound of his gruff baritone, the listener closed her eyes.
she had known this day would come; the wood was fading, and it was not a place for an aspiring and fierce creature such as he. such as her lover, the woman's mind whispered, but she would not think of that now, for fear her spirit would cling to him, and boil with resentment at the departure of yet another she had come to love.
she could not hate him for this; she could not follow the edict of blackfeather and promise death if he returned. wintersbane had served the woodland faithfully, savagely — he had been pious before the gods, and whatever endeavour he set upon now would be blessed by them.
this relmyna knew.
the gaze that shone toward his once more shimmered with unshed tears, but she was not aggrieved, nor was she wounded. hers was an emotion reserved for those who wished the wolves of their heart to thrive, and was wintersbane not one of these?
go with my blessing, the listener mouthed — the first and the only time she would act with such finality as mouthpiece of the gods.

she didn't hate him, he could see this plainly. she didn't look necessarily pained nor angry at his decision; and just as he'd thought before he thinks now hate would be easier. he should've been relieved. instead, he is still shackled with guilt and an unforetold feeling of foreboding. relmyna tells him to go with her blessing and he looks at her for a long moment, as if he is trying to memorize her. perhaps he is. it is worse yet because he desperately wants her and her daughters to join him and yet he knows it is selfish of him to ask. selfish because he very much suspects that she intends to live out the rest of her life in these woods.

wintersbane has always and would always be selfish — it's his nature. you could come with me. an offer; but one that even as he speaks suspects heavily will not be taken. still, he makes it all the same.

astara felt stricken to see her dam's eyes close -- in what? grief? her gaze sharply fell to wintersbane, as if accusing him of causing her mother such torment.

yet when relmyna opened her eyes, while their turquoise depth was brimmed with shimmering tears, they did not fall. astara stirred uncomfortably, instinctively flanking her mother's side as if to protect her from any further conflict.

from posture alone she could decipher the messages exchanged here: her mother seemed deeply rooted, as much a part of blackfeather as the black trees that sprouted from the soil -- while wintersbane seemed like the wind; present, but ever roving -- and soon to be pulled out from the dark bosk entirely.

she stifled a sigh, her gaze no warmer than before. wintersbane might have had relmyna's blessing, but the girl's were harder to comeby, and she felt only a sense of quiet resentment to see her mother bravely accept what she felt was simply disappointment and exhaustion.

last for me <3

his offer was expected, but disappointed relmyna all the same. how could he think she could depart the sacred woods, wherein she had been given new life and her children? it was no small part of her heart that loved wintersbane, but blackfeather drummed in her blood as did nothing before.
and she was old, yes, too old and too weary to follow the ambitious silver-ruffed young creature. relmyna wanted only to see him succeed in his endeavours, but she could not help him accomplish these things. the listener reached to kiss her daughter's cheek, seeking to assure astara that while the sundering of her heart was true, she did not suffer.
seafoam eyes returned to wintersbane, and with a sudden sense of pride, relmyna lifted her chin. this is my home, came her silent mouthing. decision made; it was final. her last breaths must be taken here.
fondly she drank in the details of his handsome, youthful visage, the ice-eyes that held her with anguish, perhaps. guilt. he would go on to do great things in the wilds where he made his home. she herself gazed upon wintersbane until she could no longer; relmyna turned and sought the shadows of the dying packland, fading noiselessly between the trees.
her heart knew it would be the last time she saw the man she had only begun to love.