Honeyed Pasture she got me going crazy

Takes place directly after this thread, but I am bumping it up to present day so everything takes place after this thread. Hopefully that is not too confusing. @Deirdre would be nice since our last thread was some time ago, but anybody would be lovely. This thread takes place near the borders of Donnelaith but is still technically in the Honeyed Pasture neutral territory.

Unbeknownst to Szymon, the proverbial hornets’ nest had already been soundly kicked. Following his successful hunt with Grayday, the youngest Cairn wished to pay tribute to the jewel of these woods to thank her for her kindness to him. He’d left the spotted skin tucked a safe distance away from Donnelaith, bringing only a sizeable haunch of fresh venison — the wolves of the wood had not hunted with him, but he would willingly share the spoils of his victory. He had been half-mad when he’d first met Deirdre, and wished the dryad to see him as he now was — triumphant and confident, filled with renewed purpose due to his infatuation with Doe and his fealty to Skellige.

He kept his distance from the territory borders, still standing on the very edge of the pastureland, and lifted his voice in a brief, guttural howl. He called for Deirdre, for his general invitation to hunt had yielded no reply from the forest wolves, and remained on his paws, his lean muscles settling into an easy readiness should he be ambushed in any way. Though he had no reason to expect such from these peace loving wolves — “Donnelaith has always helped those in need,” Deirdre had said — one could never be too careful. Szymon was aware of the famine and its implications, which was why he had brought the meat instead of keeping all of it for the Blackrock caches — but his good deed could certainly go awry at any given moment. It only took one hotheaded wolf to turn conversation into altercation.

putting this after she's kicked out.

She had diverted to the Plateau but she was desperate to see Deirdre, to have the girl hear it from her lips that she was gone. She started south, along the woods but came back towards the lands to say her final words in the area. She would not come for months, no doubt, and could not impress upon her children such a long trip while they were so young. The scent of a male caught her attention, the scent of meat also. What was more concerning though was that he called for Deirdre, her ears lifting as she gave a little cant of her head in question.

"Hello," She greeted evenly, given the recent tumultuous turn of her life - she could still be civil, and she could still be welcoming. She was more concerned for her young cousin than anything, if she was honest and she desperately hoped that Deirdre would come along. It would give her a chance for closure.

Deirdre?

Turning to regard with anxious eagerness the approach of the white wolf, Szymon reflected that Deirdre was the first and only white wolf he’d ever been happy to see — he could do without the machinations of his sisters, thank you very much — but the half-smile that just barely twitched at the corners of his kohl-lined lips settled moments later into a frown of consternation. The female who approached immediately gave him pause, for although the smell of her was rich with the woodland spice of Donnelaith, she was decidedly not Deirdre. Worse yet, her dove-grey eyes were eerily like Ksenia’s — and the agitated flicker of his tail reached fever pitch as she drew nearer to him. “Hello,” she said, her voice even and somewhat detached in its civility, and he willed his spine to relax, his lips and brow to remain smooth. She is not Ksenia, you fool, he thought to himself, wielding his bitterness like a weapon to cut the grip this stranger already possessed over him.

It was true. No matter how he tried, he could not see Ksenia’s long-legged lines and decidedly feminine curves in the androgynous body of this woman. She was lithe and willowy, tall enough, but Szymon’s sulphureous eyes mapped the differences: this female’s eyes were smoke in comparison to Ksenia’s cold pools of silvered ice; this female was thicker in the abdomen; this female was not etched in the stylized lines of Ksenia’s “beauty” — and perhaps in Szymon’s eyes, she was more beautiful for not looking like his bitch of a sister. Warily he nodded his head, still not completely certain he was not being tricked. It didn’t pay to underestimate any wolf, female or male. His greeting was a guttural growl, scraping the bottom of his bass register and billowing into a quiet chuff. He hoped Deirdre would come soon, but bent his head with careful slowness nevertheless, tearing off a sizable chunk of meat and tossing it toward the older female. Even if she did not want it, she likely knew someone who did — the wolves of the wilds, Szymon had found, were woefully ignorant of the Sea’s bounty.

How quickly he was riled by her presence, but she watched with wary eyes as he struggled to settle himself and she gave him time to do so. She had no great rush after all, no curfew, no duties, the woman could do as she pleased as she made her way down to the Creek. It would be a long trek given the distance, but, Casmir had made the trip multiple times and she would not reject his offer of comfort. She hoped that his Alpha was just as welcoming and understanding. Otherwise, she had no idea what she would do. Rowan couldn't put all her eggs in one basket - trusting in one wolf had put her in the position she was in currently. 

Rowan was caught off guard as the male not only responded with a sound but threw a chunk of meat her direction. She couldn't be that far along, not after the meager recovery period after the famine (probably half of why she'd hit her heat when she did), she was just starting to look like she'd filled out again. Maybe a slight bulge to her sides, but nothing a stranger should have paid attention to. She looked down to the chunk of meat and then back to the male. 

"Thank you." She said quietly, retrieving the bit of meat and letting it rest between her feet. She didn't know if she wanted to eat right then, or later - but she wanted to talk to him before she did anything and she hoped that Deirdre would come soon. "I'm Rowan Mayfair."

He can’t tell she’s pregnant, don’t wory! Just different in build than Ksenia. ♥ I wasn’t sure if it came across that way. [nuzzles]

What the dove-winged female did with his gift was of no concern to Szymon, who merely wished to appease the creature he had received in place of the limpid-eyed dryad so that she would leave him be. His feeling was that of a man who finds out rather unfortunately that, not only is his proverbial bus late, but this new, conversational arrival happens to be waiting for the same one. His throat worked reflexively as he carefully licked the blood from his scarred lips; perhaps he could ask this female to deliver the meat for him so that he would not have to awkwardly linger. Yet as he drew breath in a careful, measured pull, she introduced herself. “I’m Rowan Mayfair,” she said, and the familiar surname caught his attention so raptly he betrayed it with physical action — his tattered ears swiveled automatically toward her as a flicker of recognition sparked his golden eyes.

Possessing the Mayfair name was not enough in itself to vouch for Rowan’s trustworthiness — Ksenia, too, was a Cairn — but it was certainly worth exploring and calling attention to. “Th-Th-Then,” he gritted out, hating the weak position common speech always seemed to put him in, “D-Deir — d-d-dre — you m-must know h-her.” He watched carefully this unknown woman of the wood, his tail flicking agitatedly, wondering what he could possibly refer to Lasher’s daughter as. She was special to him in a completely different way than she was to Skellige, but he could not truly call the girl a friend. She was light and purity in a world that Szymon knew to be roughhewn and razor-edged; she could draw from him words that normally remained hidden and locked behind the chokehold of his anxiety; but she was not a creature he could set any form of ownership on. Not like Doe — he wanted to be back within the safety of her embrace very badly — but comforting in her own way.

Perhaps, he thought in a sudden stormwind of anxiety, Deirdre would not come. What would he do then? Hesitantly, the youngest Cairn fumbled through the motions of Normal Social Interaction as politely as he could — though he almost wished for Rowan to attack him so he could find purchase in her flesh with his fangs. That, at least, he understood — for he was a monster. Against all the others’ loftily placed bets, he had earned the right to that title. “I am Szymon,” he told her, his bass timbre marginally smoothing out with the familiar phrase. “S-Szymon Cairn.”

after her meeting with her brother, deirdre had sought, initially, aria--but a call redirected her course, and she in turn howled to the voice: i am here, it stated, informing the man of her short distance away and of her imminent arrival.

just a placeholder, so to speak! she'll be comin'...

I know, she's just self conscious XD - she's feeling like everyone has this radar right now!

 

She was patient with the man even for his stuttered speech - it gave her time to process, to think, and for that she was eternally grateful. It was not a conscious choice for him and this she knew - but still, it soothed her a bit when she felt roughed by the world around her. Rowan's ears shifted forward as he spoke the name of Deirdre - she had no claims to the girl and yet she still felt her heart stammer a bit. She longed to tell the girl herself that she had been cast from the pack but it would not come to be. "I know her, yes." She said softly. After a moment, he offered his name, and she took it with the feeling that it was precious; perhaps not offered often. 

The stutter was not so prominent when he spoke his own name but she could almost feel the caution in him - she wished to soothe his concerns but she was in no place to council the feelings of another when hers threatened her control constantly. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Szymon." She said as gently as she could. For a moment she was quiet, regarding him with the aire of equal parts suspicion and curiosity. She did not feel he would attack her - why offer her meat, unless it was a ploy? She was not sure what he would want, either, but she was pleased for the peace of the quiet for a moment. 

"I was hoping to find Deirdre, too." Rowan admitted after a few moments, her eyes flitting to the trees to see if she would come or not. 

Tattered ears swiveled upon Szymon’s skull as Deirdre’s voice called reassuringly to him, but in the next moment they thrust forward attentively, cupping to focus on Rowan Mayfair’s response to his bland conjecture. The knowledge that Deirdre was coming — and soon, if the nearness of her call had been any indication — soothed the boy’s jangling nerves. He regarded Rowan carefully as he shaped his sharp, angular musculature into a patently nonchalant sitting position. “I am f-f-fond of D-D-Deirdre,” he said frankly, his bass timbre slightly less strangled in the face of the witch’s forthcoming arrival. “Sh-She is — ” What was she, exactly? Szymon knew her to be the intended of Skellige, but he would not speak of his brother’s affairs; she had treated him with kindness, but he did not know whether he could rightly call her friend. “S-S-Special,” he decided.

Rowan’s voice was low and gentle, pleasing to Szymon’s ears, though he was not at all certain what he had done to deserve such kindness. It made him wary, as did most things, but this was not betrayed outwardly — it was simply an integral part of who he was. “If y-y-your n-need of her is p-private, I will g-g-go once th-this has b-b-been d-delivered,” he told her, gesturing toward the large haunch of meat at his paws. He had come to deliver meat to the girl — food for her pack from his first ungulate kill — but he did not have any pressing topics of conversation. He merely wished to see her, to know that she was well, and to give her this token of his affection and gratitude.

Deirdre's cry made Rowan's heart pound - she wondered if the pale child had heard the news of her dismissal already, or, how Aria and Constantine were planning on handling those affairs. She would not meddle, though, and had no interest in getting involved since clearly there was no trust there. She would not put her trust in those wolves ever again. A soft smile grew on her features when the scarred wolf spoke of Deirdre. She was special. "She is a sweet wolf." Rowan offered gently. "She is good." And the pack that she was in did not appreciate her, treating her as if she was a child still. She was growing every day, both mentally and physically, and they would not be able to hold her back much longer. 

"No, you do not need to leave." Rowan offered quietly, a tooth briefly toying with the edge of her lips. "I...I was going to tell her goodbye." Rowan explained. "I am no longer a member of Donnelaith." The pale female said as quietly and evenly as she could, not wanting to break and lose her composure in front of the stranger. 

I apologize for the neverending stream of lackluster posts. ♥

Szymon was quiet in the wake of Rowan’s gentle affirmations; there was nothing he could say to add to that branch of the conversation. Deirdre was good and sweet — completely unlike the titan who courted her and his ruffian of a brother — and perhaps Rowan would be disappointed or combative if she knew the exact nature of Szymon and Deirdre’s acquaintanceship. The salt white Cairn boy lacked the willpower to engage her in such a way and kept his silence even after the pale wolf gave him permission to linger, worrying briefly at her ink-lined lips. What she said unlocked his teeth and tongue in a single syllable: “What?” Suspicion clouded his fierce eyes almost immediately. He wondered why the female would leave Donnelaith, being a Mayfair like Deirdre. It was unfortunate for Rowan that Szymon’s experience with his siblings, particularly his traitorous bitch of a sister, had put a bad taste in his mouth for shared surnames and pale wolves. Noting that she seemed somehow fragile despite the painstaking dignity of her tone and bearing, Szymon tried to quell the note of immediate mistrust in his own guttural timbre: “Why?” he questioned bluntly. “Y-You are one of T-T-Taltos’ b-brood, are you n-not?” Admittedly, Szymon didn’t know much about the Mayfairs, but it was his [incorrect] assumption that Rowan was Deirdre’s sister.

you have nothing to apologize for!

 

The woman instantly felt his anger and she did not balk in it, no matter the response that might have risen up in her. She tampered it back down, choosing neutrality in favor of a smoother ride for her children. While they grew it would be her responsibility to keep them safe and to do so meant she could not risk herself or her emotions anymore. "I am not," She admitted. "I carry his final litter." Rowan said, her head lifting a bit; there was no shame in her to be found. "I am a threat to the Alpha." Rowan said, near hissing the word - despite all of her attempts to keep herself level headed. 

How ironic in the weeks to come that she would find she had been dismissed for nothing. Aria would abandon the forest. 

“Forest” is such a pretty word. [burrows into]

Szymon’s tattered ears slicked back against his narrow skull at the unpleasant, catlike hiss that fell from the woman’s lips. He looked at her as befit his status as a battle-hardened warrior, his golden eyes stripping the fur from her flesh to take careful stock of the musculature that cloaked her tall, long-legged framework. She looked innocuous enough, but he knew from firsthand experience that appearances could be deceiving. Still, he surmised from the raw emotion that broke fissures in her cool tone and the need for her to wish Deirdre goodbye that the decree of her exile was new — and, recalling Skellige’s banishment, could not harden his heart against her.

Szymon, gentlest of the Cairn children, could not find it within himself to condemn the woman. Though he understood the leader’s reason for exiling her — threats of any kind must be eradicated, after all — he regretted that she was being forced out in such a vulnerable state. Too, he did not wish for Deirdre to feel sorrow or pain, which she inevitably would at the sudden parting. He cast about for something to say but came up repeatedly with nothing; his mouth was filled with the sand and ash of futile platitudes that would splinter his wooden tongue. Turning his gaze toward Donnelaith and then back to the gray-eyed female, “Where w-will you g-g-go?” he asked baldly. “If you n-need an escort, I will k-k-kill for you.” His bass timbre was devoid of its former ire and the promise of death was spoken with little to no inflection. Killing was the tried and true Cairn solution to most problems.

His concern was well placed and it was an echoed sentiment that the woman had fretted over time and time again. Where would she go? What would she do? She still didn't know. Rowan gave a small smile as he spoke again, offering to escort her, to kill for her. "My sweet," She hummed out, but gave a gentle shake of her head. "I wouldn't ask such a thing of you." She mused. How easily it would be for her to kill, but, she would not risk such a thing. "I will travel far from here to Silver Creek. Deirdre has a brother who offered me shelter." But it was not assured, he was not his pack leader after all and there was still a chance she would be turned away. 

"I will miss the forest and the sea." She admitted softly. "But the river runs to meet the sea, and I will feel the life force all the same." The witch mused. She had to remain positive for the sake of her children after all.

Tattered ears dancing askew with the weight of his displeasure, “I,” Szymon tartly informed the grey-eyed woman, “am n-not your s-s-sweet.” Shock was in his auriferous eyes, as if the mere thought of being either of those things — Rowan’s or sweet — was completely unbelievable. He was not a creature naturally given to manners or tact, but did his level best to rearrange his roughhewn features into an expression of neutrality as she continued to speak. It was good she had a home in mind, but he didn’t like the idea of the woman traveling a long distance without some form of guidance or protection. There was aught about the female that gave Szymon pause — that made him feel untutored and green — and he did not like or know how to cope with it. When she spoke of the Sea, a certain reverence gilding her even timbre, the black-banded Cairn found himself soothed.

“D-Does She s-s-speak to you?” he asked in a gentler tone, though its gruff overtone remained. “The Sea.” The very word seemed to ground him; he felt anew the solidness of the earth beneath his paws and knew himself to be a Cairn, beholden to no wolf, blessed incomparably by the ocean itself.

Perhaps a folly in the incorrect choice of wording, but, Rowan was not going to dwell on it. She gave a shrug of her shoulder as the male was quick to correct her, instead, choosing no other words for a moment. She owed little to the male and true enough, to address him personally in any way was an overstep. She'd meant no harm and didn't challenge his correction. It didn't matter. "I have loved the sea for a long time," She admitted. She had grown up so close to ocean, it was a delicacy of her people to reap its bounties and enjoy them. "I will miss the forest and it's spirits, but where I go - it is far from the coast." Rowan explained. 

"I appreciate your patience with me." She said after a few moments, certainly she seemed....disconnected from time to time, perhaps out of focus. It was hard to endure and figure it all out. 

Closing up old threads! Closing this one with permission.

Szymon, his ruffled feathers soothed by Rowan’s general agreeableness, remained for some time with the pale-eyed witch of the forest — soon to be bound to a faraway creek. Then, unable to tarry any longer in waiting for Deirdre, he made his apologies and farewells — stammering and stuttering though they were — and returned to Stavanger Bay with the fawn’s hide clutched tightly in his jaws to present to his Chosen One.