Jade Fern Grove hauntings

knowing full well that he had been scarce, aloof, unavailable, merrick coursed all of ursus in search of his rook. when he found her gimletpurple gaze, he fell toward the earth, groveled with low whines into the dust, hoping @Astara would relent even for the span of two hours. their children, turned out-of-doors — their presence would not be needed here.
merrick pranced and coaxed, a puppyish bark rising in his throat as he urged the corvid from their borders. only then did he submit to whatever maulings the woman might offer, bearing her chastisement if it came with a good humour.
the grove was thick with wet green ferns and brushed with rain, but merrick remembered the places in it, and trailed his plume through the trees with a territorial step.

as of late astara had spent more time with her children than her crow; if this was how nature willed it, she hated it. still, she fell to the rank-and-file life of motherhood with little resentment -- for it was not her children she had grown to watch coldly, but her crow.

he had been scarce. moreso than she. often overcome with jealousy, astara wondered whose bed he was visiting those hours he was gone -- which woman was it he was plowing, while she was being suckled to death by his children?

astara received merrick generously enough, though her gaze was guarded. it did the heaviness of her spirit some good to see him bucking and prancing like a colt -- yet any time he came close to coaxing a grin from his blackbird, she was suddenly reminded of wolves like nyra and ikkalrok -- wolves very much different than her, and wolves she was terrified he was engaging in relations with.

watching much as aventus was prone to do, astara moved carefully through the verdant glade. she was unaware of its hidden beauty, and very much focused on the harrowing thought her lover had found other women to love.

"you're not with me," merrick suddenly declared aloud. he had stopped dead atop a patch of moss, the stones beneath which lingered a long-forgotten cache. single lantern-eye burned with a pouting nature toward the woman, and he recalled how she had been once before.
but he had not slaked any of his malicious thirsts with women. was that not why she worried? he knew the tense nature of her taut body, its beauty having never left her. merrick leant toward her with a cluck; he sought to kiss the neck of his vexed corvid. no need to tell her of ulysses. nor donovan. he desired no other she-wolf; the mad prince had but one queen.

he had always been so clever.

astara stopped as merrick wheeled about. he was right, too, as he stood atop that mossy escarpment. astara was not with him; she was very much in her own world, fretting and seething as a tangle of thoughts whispered in paranoid frenzy about her.

her gaze seemed to clear as she looked upon him fully, absorbing the keen burn of his single gaze.

it was best she did not know -- and how stupid she was to only suspect women. all the same, astara had never scented a woman's presence on his pelt, and had always thought very little of the others.

even now it did not occur to the blackbird her rook swam in both ponds. she could banish those ugly thoughts of jealousy and insecurity for a time, but they would come back eventually. now, not even a romp in the woods with her bear was free from such needling thoughts, which prickled her like thorns the longer she weighed upon them.

astara canted her head and stepped forward, waiting -- for what, she knew not.

ravenwolf drew a step, and merrick felt himself snared in the hallway of her knowing gaze. 
did she know all things, and truly?
the admission came to merrick's tongue, but he could not more fit words to the idea than he could to speak it. and what good would it do? vexed deep within himself that he had done this to them, he thought wildly ahead.
and all the same merrick suddenly felt his hunger light for her, as if the absence of the bear-cubs had allowed him to visibly recall the woman in his mind.
moving again, moving through the the rich forest-green shadows; here the stone plinth where gannet had taught him about the stars, here where he had once stood with arbiter, and here, where —
an overgrown den, ivy snaking the stones walls and falling in tangled grey-emerald swathes before the mouth of the cave he had once shared with nunataq.
"this was the last place i existed before you." merrick stared toward the doorway, and then his eye found his beloved once more. "you see it is empty. dead. as it should be. you are my life now."

the forest around them seemed weighted, as did merrick's tongue.

astara could sense her rook was conflicted -- she nearly leaned in with anticipation, her tail curled in a sickle. what, what? what's got your tongue, who -- who is it, who has got your cock, merrick..?

was it nyra?

not ikkalrok, for she was dead.

rosina...? a flare of ugly jealousy lit in astara's gut.

she blinked slowly, observing the place merrick spoke of. it was nothing like the woods she had grown up in. these forests were old and disquieting.

and, how many women had merrick bedded here, before her? how many since?

astara fixed merrick with a distrusting gaze. why had he brought her here?

"what is your problem?" merrick hissed in frustration as his raven did not relax, or appear quelled by their venture. single eye narrowed into a blazing slice of balefire. "you're always on my jock about something."
did she know about donovan? ulysses? lips quirked, frowned. why would she care if she did know? merrick was ignorant in many ways, and happy to be so, happy to operate within his own limitations, but no children could ever come of his unions. and theirs had apportioned two brats. 
outside of her, women appealed in no way to merrick.
hs gaze softened, dropped. "i know you don't trust me anymore. i wanted to get away with you. that's it. just ... we haven't been alone ..." voice feathered to nothing; he had never needed to speak to her, for in her face every expression was a missive.

merrick's hiss caused the blackbird to startle, her gaze narrowing in response.

how could he take that tone with her? how could he accuse her of the problem, when it was his fault they were here? hurt pooled in astara's indigo gaze, dark in contrast to the burn of merrick's furious single eye: it bore into her like lanternfire.

he had humiliated her in front of his friends, his court, her packmates -- (did he truly think so little of her?)
he had slept with ikkalrok, producing two wretched shits that now suckled at her own breast -- (did he truly think so little of her?)
his unconstant, unloving dick had created a wedge between her children, hers -- (did he even fucking care?)

and now she must shoulder it all, wordless and subservient like she was some cow meant to bend to the yoke

but, astara was no mule. astara was a wolf -- a killer --

her tail curled above her haunches imperiously. if only she had known about the men merrick flounced around with -- it would have made so much sense -- but astara's tunnel-vision focus was flawed, and she missed her mark with astounding stupidity. her insecurity blinded her in the most ironic way that she could not see the forest for the trees, could not see that the absence of female scent on his pelt did not absolve him from the male scents that often littered his fur -- if only she knew!

astara's expression did not soften, even as merrick's voice softly trailed to an end. his outburst had only served to harden her heart, and now, smoke kindled darkly from under her glare as she thought of how arrogant he was -- how he wouldn't even fucking say sorry for fucking other women.

arrogant, in love, flush with his deep anger and great hatred of the stone walls rising knifelike between them. merrick let out his breath in a rush, moved past her to kick an old gnawed bone into the den where he had once slept. she was aware of something; he pinned his tongue between his teethtips and then his ragged ears twitched back and back.
paws gripped the earth; his head swam, and inexplicably now a hot tear raced down his cheek. no mention for it; neither grief nor anger inspired the droplet. it simply existed, cutting a darkened path along his scar-laden cheek.
"you are the woman i love," merrick said simply. his lopsided stare had come to bear on her again, and in it was a naked plea never directed toward another living thing aside from the blackbird. she knew his weak flesh. she knew the lusts that drove him beyond sight and mind. 
but he had no taste for a feminine body that did not belong in all ways to the dark she-wolf.
it remained, now, if she would still scourge him for what he had done before.
"forgive me. i don't know how else to ... be."

astara was stupid to only think it was women, but she did not know that. her paranoia was well-founded, but it did not spring solely from merrick's actions. in truth, she had little evidence her bear was a flagrant cheater -- it was the emptiness of her own guarded heart that made her insecure and volatile.

her bear kicked at a bone, coming back to her with his tongue between his teeth. something was there -- something intangible and yet briefly visible like a peek of brilliant sky through dark clouds. what was it, what did it mean? astara watched him warily, the walls slowly melting as she saw him pin her with a naked stare she had never seen before.

was it in her head? was she just some bitter old bat, driven by her own hate and jealousy? was it her own insecurities that had her thrusting distrust on her bear -- did he not deserve jealousy's hateful knife?

the blackbird quailed then, and the stony palisades between them came toppling down. that she had been the progenitor of such strife and unrest in her crow cut her deeper than any betrayal on merrick's end could. she nosed him desperately, unaware of the confession that lingered just out of reach.

she came to him, and merrick drew in the razored breath lodged against the tissue of his throat. a low, muted sound trembling in his throat as her nudges came; he pressed himself against them, meshed their pelts in shades of russet and cream charcoal into the crowblack of her own;
closer and closer, kissings and fumblings returned a thousandfold;
in the cool green shadows of the grove merrick felt himself torn between desire and the pure lance of bloodstained love that cut its way through her heart.
no words now; tongue severed from the possibility of them; merrick thrust his crown against her shoulderblade and choked upon the edge of a sob, that they should come together now after such mistrust.

im sorry i suck and let this get so behind
for a beautiful moment, they could be one again.

astara wondered if that would ever be enough.

he drew to her with a pepper of soft kisses; she turned her cheek up to him, eyes closed and seemingly soft. this moment was the moment she ought to remember, cherish -- even when the choking murmurs of insecurity put her under stranglehold again.

she kissed him fiercely, fur on edge with razored excitement. she nipped him passionately, insistently -- drawing him to some private abode where they could, for that beautiful moment, labor as one under a burning and indiscriminate sun.

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