Whitebark Stream i'll take the sweat from your palms,

She returned here.

It was a safe haven in everything that had ever transpired in her short (albeit lively) time in the wilds. Every moment of frustration she had ended up here. Every time she needed a break, she stumbled here.

It was how she arrived today.

Tired from fruitless search.

Her jade gaze stared out at the walls of @Mahler's Rivenwood. Then off to the east where the Cuesta should lay. She wondered if the feline was still there. If Praimfaya was still there.

Of course not, her mind corrected. Mahler would have discovered both in his own searches. Which meant they had both dispersed somewhere else.

Poorly timed was a shift of branches or leaves in the distance. More than enough worry still pumped quick in her veins for her to shift defensively, hackles flared.

afternoon of the second day. he had left the pair with sequoia, searched for laurel, and then come down from rivenwood to search for praimfaya again. he would return to wylla and see ciri again, he hoped, but for now his focus was upon finding the young mother who had abruptly gone missing.
eventually his path followed the exquisite stream into the whitebark swathe, and as he had become accustomed to seeing, iana was there. she looked rather disheveled, and he stepped in worry to her side.
but he had no news, and selfishly hoped she had not discovered any fate of the commander near her own glacier.

You scared me.

She mumbled halfheartedly, taking him by her side with ease. In the silence she was consumed by thought. Unsure if it was better to tell him she had found nothing or better to say nothing at all.

Quickly she settled on the latter of the options. Figuring that perhaps he — they? — could use the hushed moment by the stream. In a bit, she would find it in her to speak.

If he didn't first.

a chuff in apology. he allowed the silence to billow until he could handle it no longer, the leap and loop of silkweave sheets against his ear. "the children vill stay vith sequoia until their mother returns. i vill bring meat and help to feed them all."
rambling. "they vere put on meat earlier this afternoon. thank you, again," the man said, then was quiet once more, eyes upon the water.

Words against her tongue that she could not free. Not yet. Not, at least, until he was done speaking.

How the children would stay at Sequioa's side and they had been put on meat. A thanks given to her that almost felt like it shouldn't have. Still manners gripped her.

You're welcome. Soft but as free flowing as the stream.

A pause as she collected herself and her breathing.

Tell me of them, Mahler.

Perhaps because her heart was overwhelmed when she thought of children without a mother. Perhaps because of her own delicate dance around the chance of motherhood this year.

"a boy, vorripa. vell, that is not quite his name, but, ach," he said in frustration of his own heavy accent. "a girl, skaigona. they are vild already. she plays vell vith the others, but he has yet to learn it." all said with some pride and no dearth of affection.
he drew a breath. rivenwood would raise them now, as much as they had raised astraeus. but mahler meant to be more diligent with this pair, having learned from his mistakes. easier to be father to many rather than papa to the same number, and fail each.
he did not like to think of them without praimfaya. "i should have seen it, her — restlessness."

Vorripa (muddled by an accent she did not mind) and Skaigona.

Wild, little things apparently. The girl more social than the boy.

She wondered about the other fine details. What did they look like? Just how big had they grown already? Things not meant to be asked that moment. Ears more tuned in with the other words he spoke.

Perhaps it did not show — and you cannot be blamed to not see things that aren't visible.

perhaps she was wrong. "easier to blame myself than admit i am not omnipotent." another joke, but one not so funny, or half as light. praimfaya weighed upon him, and more than that, the fate of rivenwood. he had meant to give her the reins of the pack, and transition himself toward retirement.
the cough welled in mahler.
when it passed, he cleared his throat, swallowing back the copperish taste of blood.
"it is getting vorse, the illness."
the first time he had admitted such, and it showed in the pattern of misery that came to his face now.

What could be said?

A tumble of apologies? An attempt to try and fix him a remedy right here?

All she knew was that her chest squeezed tight with her worry and emotions.

How so? She breathed soft, despite the heavy weight of her words. Baited breath as she awaited the words he would speak.

"blood."
his expression flickered into pain and regret, but mahler forced himself to linger in the mercy of iana's eyes.
"two veeks ago."
he did not think he needed to give further details. strife chased itself upon the field of his brow. "rivenvood and i are finally at peace." a lamentation in the self-deprecating smile he offered now.

Blood.

It was not necessarily a sealed fate, but it was certainly dreadful.

Two weeks ago.

How was it she felt dizzy on his behalf? Perhaps it was the tightness of worry in her chest, perhaps it was the fear that her skills were not enough to bring him back from whatever it was that plagued him so terribly.

I will come to you in the grove for privacy, She started with. Hushed with watery eyes. So full of emotion! I will bring with me all I can find for you. We will try to mend you so you are whole once more.

She refused to hear such words of being at peace. Both Mahler and his kingdom (regardless of if he wished to pass it along) still had much life to live.

mahler did not know what he might do with her tears, nor the intensity of her focus upon him. nor her pledge. he could not ask her to be away from duskfire, squandering her plantwork upon him.
but neither did the gargoyle believe he could keep her from it.
his voice was gruff as he spoke, simultaneously wishing to embrace her again, and filled with a relief that he would be alive for the woman who lay healing amid the ferns.
touching iana would only be for his own comfort;
he bent his head before her instead, unable to say aloud his thanks.