Moonspear i hope you dance

New faces had arrived at the Moonspear. Their presence, along with Glaukos, helped along his decision to disperse. With Alaric at her side in leadership, @Treepie would succeed.

Given all that, he still felt incredibly sheepish as he called for his daughter.

Sure, he'd never given her some kind of oath to stay forever and ever—but that kind of promise came automatically with being a parent. And since he was her only parent still around. . .

What had Bronco thought in his time apart from his son? How had Towhee let go of her many children?

Killdeer stood in the center of the rendezvous, firm-legged but his guts turned to water. He couldn't get out of his head the sight of Tiuttuk's face, when she'd stumbled upon his and his grandmother's conversation. He couldn't bear to twist the knife further.

Nearly a month had passed since she’d quite literally stumbled across her father’s plans. It was enough time to fully process… and let herself be lured into a false sense of security that he might not leave, after all.

The sound of his summons pierced that illusion—delusion, perhaps—and Treepie’s first instinct was to refuse to heed his call. In fact, she emerged from her ulaq and began walking deliberately in the direction opposite the rendezvous site.

She didn’t get very far before she realized she wasn’t behaving like an adult, nor a leader. She slowed to a halt, let out a gusty sigh, then turned. Pie walked very slowly, though she did make her way to where her taataa stood waiting.

When her yellow eyes took in the look on his face, she felt a flicker of sympathy. It quickly morphed into sorrow, with a decidedly jagged edge. Tiuttuk’s throat tightened as she gazed at him, bracing herself in stoic silence.

The piebald wolves soon stood face to face, both caught by emotion and reluctant to speak. He eventually broke the silence, clearing his throat before speaking.

Hey, kiddo, Killdeer managed, then smiled— Or should I say, 'Hello, Emprex?' I never formally congratulated you on your promotion—I'm so proud of you.

He stepped forward to lay a kiss on her forehead, lingering there for a moment before pulling back again. He saw so much Redhawk within her pelt, and knew she had a heart to match. Yet her heart belonged here, upon the Moonspear, and he would never try to sway her elsewhere.

How are you doing? he asked, gingerly probing the way forward.

#300 for taataa.

She frowned slightly at his opening words, though she caught herself and schooled her expression. He meant well. And he deserved to be happy. Tiuttuk reminded herself of these things, even as she stiffened under his touch. She couldn’t help it, nor the pinched look on her face as he drew back.

I don’t—I can’t do small talk, taataa, Pie said. It wasn’t spite but the sudden rolling of her stomach that compelled her. Tell me. Just tell me if you’re staying or going.

Only then would she be able to start dealing with her feelings on the matter. Anticipating news she didn’t want to hear, Pie sipped in a breath as her heart pounded hard enough that her entire body quivered with the force of it.

congrats on #300!!

She was like her mother that way—straight to business. As much as he dreaded the next part of the conversation, he was kind of grateful that she had the strength to forge right on ahead.

I'm going, Killdeer answered, keeping it simple. He tried his best to meet her gaze, even though the emotions flitting across her face were liable to break his heart all over again. Amalia, too. I didn't want us to go until things were more settled, here—but now with the new wolves, and you in leadership, I think it's time.

He sat, keeping his conversation with Towhee at the forefront of his mind to stave off the guilt. Still, it seeped in through the cracks, and he forced his next words through the lump in his throat.

I won't be far, Treepie, he said softly. There'll be just a forest between us. And you will always be welcome at Redhawk Caldera—to visit, or to stay.

He put her out of her misery. Treepie’s legs trembled so much, she sank to her haunches. She wanted to tune out the rest, though she forced herself to listen to her taataa. She felt a little dismayed upon hearing that her promotion had prompted this final decision, though his reminder about the caldera’s proximity smoothed that jagged edge somewhat.

Okay, she said.

Nothing else came out of her mouth for a moment as Treepie tried to marshal her thoughts. Losing Killdeer was one thing, though something that hurt nearly as much was losing out the chance to help rear younger siblings. She remembered that her anaa had taken that from her too, though she knew her parents’ decisions weren’t about her or her potential as an older sister.

Okay, she repeated, with a blustering breath. I mean, it’s not okay—I’m not okay—but I think maybe it’ll be okay eventually, Treepie told him with naked honesty.

He wished she was okay. Perhaps, though, it was enough that she'd be okay in time.

Okay, Killdeer replied, and then smirked. That word doesn't even sound real now—oh-kay, he drew it out, chuckling. If you're okay—will be okay, anyway—then I'm okay.

He let out a breath and looked at her for a long moment, pain and joy shimmering all at once in his gaze. You are your mother's daughter, the man remarked. You are so strong, Treepie—and you know what you want. I'm really proud of you.

Killdeer knew he couldn't bear to leave if he had any doubt that she would be, you know, okay. Eventually.

She could only offer a tight, fleeting smile at her father’s quips. She couldn’t do jokes any more than she could do small talk right now. Pie’s face settled back into an expression of grim disquiet as he lauded her for her similarities to Sialuk. Although she appreciated the accolades, she could only look away, blinking silver from her eyes.

Okay, she blurted softly, not sure what else to say other than, I need time, taataa.

Go, her suddenly pained expression seemed to beg. Not to be confused with, Go away. Tiuttuk hoped he understood that. She hoped her taataa knew she was proud of him too. That she loved him fiercely. Which was what made this so damn difficult for her.

God, she really was her mother's daughter. The lack of dialogue was strangling him; he found himself struggling, not for words, but for holding back the words he wanted to say. But he knew that would be counterproductive at this point.

I know, kiddo, Killdeer told her, sighing. I'll give you that. Anything you need—I promise.

Well, except for him staying by her side. That, apparently, was a no-go.

He resorted instead to drawing close and resting his muzzle against her head again, taking in her scent. He allowed himself to breathe, breathe deep, and perhaps his heart, for now, beat with hers.

I love you, Treepie, he murmured.

He didn’t seem to pick up on the beseeching look in her eye, the unspoken message her taut expression conveyed. Treepie couldn’t help the way she stiffened when he drew closer, murmuring his affections. She couldn’t bear it any longer. If he wasn’t going to go, then she would.

She could only shoot him an apologetic grimace as she slipped away. Pie was loath to hurt him, yet she had to look after herself, especially now that both her parents were in the wind. She puffed out a breath as she climbed back toward her ulaq, her heart breaking afresh as she refused to look back.