King Elk Forest -- even if you were upside-down, i would be beside you

@Mato <3

The yearling wandered without aim through the trees of her new homeland, taking in the deep earthen scent of the King Elk that was now hidden under a veil of wolf-scent.  It seemed to her as if Tindómë was growing day by day; when she had returned to the Vale they were four strong with the Roman and the Singing-Sunlight, and now she knew they were bigger (through gossip and scent) although she had not met most of the new recruits.

Yet there was one presence whose absence was notable — the ashen boy man she had grown so fond of.  Much like his pack, Mato's growth had been explosive and she wondered how much he had changed since she last saw him.  She also wondered when he was to return to them.  The girl was unsure of herself without him there; not only was her position in Tindómë up in the air, she was uncomfortable divulging the details of her personal life to anyone else.. and this time, the Counselor needed counseling.

And that was another thing!  She'd decided on her trades, her purpose, no longer wavering and undecided.. and for a pack based entirely on them, she figured it was important for him to know.  The fawn sighed, mulling things over.  He would come back to them, she knew, but it would never be soon enough.

♥!

Morwinyon did not dally long. As soon as he was able he turned and headed home, unable to fail to notice that it was the first time he’d thought of the King Elk Forest as his home. Yet, it undeniably was, regardless of how a short time he’s spent there. Tindómë grows, it’s roots planting deep in the earth of the forest they work to claim and Mato couldn’t be more proud. Not necessarily of himself, but of the others and their contributions to the process. From assisting in the founding of the Vale he had some knowledge of the general processes but there was quite a difference between aiding and being in charge of it as the foundling pack’s leader. The druid had not expected it to be easy, or truly, as smooth as it has thus gone. He is young and green and he had expected more of a fuss about his age; but if any had concerns about his ability to lead none had brought it forth to him. That went without that saying that he would probably be insulted if they did but the empyrean did not like to hide behind a mask and if there were concerns he would rather have them brought to him upfront. Insulted or not, he expected it and would only want to assuage any doubts the best that he could. He trusted those that have been recruited to the cause to come to him if they do harbor any such things.

His steps slow as he steps over the threshold of the forest’s borders, taking a deep breath of the musky, albeit warm aroma of the forest mingled and strong with the scent of the wolves of Tindómë. His chin lifts as he moves through his territory in a way more regal than it was meant to be arrogant ( though like the feline he basically is {albeit in wolven form} Mato can be terribly vain at times ). The empyrean does not realize that he seeks a specific scent trail until it tickles his black, leathery nostrils and he can hear the rhythm of her footfalls upon the earth. Subconsciously, he realizes, it is his Aerlinn he seeks immediately upon his return to the King Elk; and soon enough she comes into his view as he shrugs through the thick underbrush. Lucent, apple green gaze softens as it touches upon her, taking her in for a moment as the moonlit king admires her from the shadows of the trees and thickened underbrush though he emerges seconds within shrugging through it with a soft chuff in the hopes of garnering her attention.

A noise breaks her from her thoughts of the ashen man and when she looks up she realizes it is him, Tindómë's Morwinyon returned to his domain and she stares thinking that perhaps she is hallucinating his presence.  The fawn melts as she catches his (very real!) gaze; although she knew she needed to speak with him she did not realize how much she had truly missed him, and now she felt it bubbling up from the core of her being.  Her feelings spilled out in physical form as her tail thrummed against her hocks, ears pinned back against the delicate curvature of her skull.  She closed the distance between them with haste and let out a soft whine in response to his greeting.  

It took all of her strength not to succumb to her desire to touch him, to feel his presence and entwine their scents, because although she would have embraced anyone she missed so deeply that way the starlit emperor seemed to take such intimate physical contact more seriously than the fae.  He had never shied away from her touch yet he had only sought it out once; if he wanted her embrace she was there but if he did not she would be content to be near him.

In the back of her mind, she wonders what her packmates might think of this; they already suspected the feelings she had for him (whatever they were) and perhaps even Mato himself was catching on.  Yet in this moment she did not care, overwhelmed by her prince's return.

Mato! The fawn's voice is soft, almost choked as it comes out but since he has been gone from her side for what feels like an eternity the relief at his return is palpable, her excitement bursting and flowing from her freely; the wolf an embodiment of a trickling brook.  You're home, she says as her voice resumes its steadiness, how have you been?  The words all come out at once, unbridled — you'rehomehowhaveyoubeen?

The druid observes her, taking note of the palpable joy she emits at seeing him, umbra dipped ears twitching at the whine she gives as she draws nearer. Yet, she does not touch him. Her presence brings him unbridled delight of his own — and clearly in his own way he has missed her for she is the first that he instinctively seeks out. The empyrean reaches out to her, extending his muzzle to brush it against her’s and press his black, leathery nose against the junction of her ear where it meets her skull, if she allows the touch. “Aerlinn,” The druid breathes her name in a low purl and seeks to boldly smooth his tongue over that same ear before he moves press and rub the length of his body against her’s — a very feline gesture in and of itself. A mingling of scents, an experiment to see if she will allow this brazen touch and if she does how she reacts to it ( is it welcome or will she bare her teeth at him? ); a sate to the contact she, herself, does not make. She leaves it to him, he assumes, and though these feelings are all horribly new to the empyrean he does not intend to leave them undiscovered. A smirk, playful and a little bit coy tugs at the edges of his lips as he circles her and moves to stand, once more, before her fixing her in his bright, apple green gaze that twinkles with the barest hint of mischief.

She speaks and her revelation of him being home blurs into her inquiry, coming out in a single word and for a moment the druid blinks before slowly picking apart the individual words to grasp what it was she had asked him. “Well. I enjoy traveling,” He admits, but this is no surprise to him because he likes to see the full, unbridled beauty of the earth and all that she can create. All the magic and the beauty and the desolation of harsher territories. “but I am glad to be home.” He admits. Glad to be back to the fledgling Tindómë; and if he was being entirely honest with himself he was glad to be back with her once more. “And you? How have you been? Anything exciting happen in my absence?” He inquires, returning the question, adding a little bit more to it.

Oh!  He moves towards her so brazenly she has little time to register it before he is on her and she is melting into him.  Her tongue flits out to meet his muzzle then he caresses her ear, breathing into it the name he gave her and she lets out another, almost pathetic whine before he runs down the length of her body to turn every fiber he touches into an electric overload.  She wonders where the nervous boy under the stars went, who had gingerly touched her cheek but she knows that he is a man now; shifting, changing before her eyes.

He moves from her to circle her, predatory in an enticing way and her tail flags upwards, ears moving forward as she is utterly enveloped by this new Mato. Even though she had just spoken it seemed that she had to grasp for words now, something quite uncharacteristic for the elegant fawn.  She had enjoyed traveling with him but had not as much enjoyed the long trek itself — she did not like the heavy feeling it gave her or the distance it brought from everyone else.  I am glad you are home.  She wished to know if his departure from the Vale had been any more civil than hers but he offers no more and she is not curious enough to ask.

He asks her how she has been and again she is unsure of how to answer, offering instead, Tindómë is growing every day, it seems as if every time I wake up there are new scents to mingle with.  She realizes this may not sate him so she quickly follows it up. I am well.  I have a brother, back in the Vale.  That did not go as well.  That man — that beast —  had been exceptionally cruel to her and if they did not share the same scent, the same markings, if he had not spoken of her with such calculated and devious intimacy she might have spurned him, thinking he had been lying to her about their kinship.  

Such a bizarre feeling, to be so vehemently disliked. It was all she would offer him verbally but if the druid wanted to know more, she would not protest.

There is a swell beneath the druid’s breast as Aerlinn states that she is glad he is home, placing emphasis upon herself. He cannot precisely identify the particular emotion ( or mixture thereof ) so he does not dwell very long upon it. Mato’s umbra dipped ears cup forth, attentive, as she informs him that Tindómë grows by the day. It is pleasing news but brings with it the concerns of it’s own. Concerns that he will assess and see pacified during a later time. For the moment, Morwinyon’s time belongs to Seabreeze and the empyrean does not deign to end their reunion any time soon. “Oh?” The druid inquires, settling back against his haunches as she informs him that she has a brother. A brother that has taken residence in the Vale. That is nice, he thinks, seconds before she finishes with that the meeting did not go well. A deep inhale is drawn as he contemplates this particular piece of information, attempting to decide where he wishes to pry or not. She is not outwardly forthcoming and this makes him wonder if she will tell him if he asks. But should he ask? Is it any of his business? He thinks of his relationship with Nova, and then Ivy and Benjamin — the latter two he is not terribly close with at all — and cannot help but wonder if they would have a similar dismissal of him.

Perhaps it his his selective superiority complex but their feelings are not anything the druid has ever considered. In this, he is extremely selfish ( for in truth he had not considered anyone’s feelings when he’d left the Fen ). “You do not have to tell me if you do not wish to,” The starlit king assures her, though he leaves his assuring words subtly open as invitation should she desire to get the lingering vestiges of her unwelcome encounter off of her chest.

The ashen prince is merciful enough to allow her silence on the matter.  Perhaps some other time.  She does not wish for their reunion to have those connotations associated with them, so instead she offers him something else. I do have news.

She meets his gaze, sure of her self for the first time not surrounded by darkness and sea, proclaiming: I have decided on my trades, I have felt assurance from deep within.  She toys with it for a second, leaving it there; hanging, open and naked in the air before her flews pulled up in a playful, inviting smile.  I will pursue the trade of Counselor, with all three of my specialties lying under the trade.  Advisor.  Mediator.  Therapist.  She felt as if the words rung true to her own character and her posture changed subtly — confidently! — and although she perhaps sought his approval she somehow knew that she would get it; had she not gotten it before even when she wavered?

I have been pursuing them in your absence.  She had been maintaining the other duties of pack formation as well, marking borders and filling the cache, but there were only certain opportunities to counsel someone, the trade not as easily achieved as some of the others were.  Seabreeze hoped that with this head-start, she'd be able to meet Tindómë's requirements; she simply could not imagine him chasing her from his borders. Are you to tell me nothing of interest happened on your journeys?

since mato's timeline is an absolute mess i'm going to say that he met with sebastian on his way to the vale (even though that's not exactly consistent to that thread b/c i said he hadn't came into contact with nova ....but oh well!) xD *messes up the timeline even more*

Aerlinn dismisses his subtle invitation to share and the druid offers her a dip of acknowledgement to her wishes and does not pry; though a twitch of his left ear and slight rise of his brow is given as she announces that she does have news to share. She has decided on her trades, she speaks. Counselor. It fits her, the imperial thinks with a gleam of approval in his candescent gaze. The truth was, though, it would not have mattered what trade(s) she decided on: that choice belonged to her and regardless Mato would never scoff. They are all useful, all important to a pack: that was one of the whole ideals behind Tindómë after all. So that all trades get their due recognition and that the latter of hierarchy is one determined by one own’s ambitions and will to put forth the effort.

“It suits you,” The druid surmises aloud in a soft hum, eyes grazing over her as a maestro studies a painting: not to look for flaws but to simply admire. She lifts with a confidence that he had not detected before and the Morwinyon notices. “Good.” The empyrean is pleased to hear it. He does not want to have to chase anyone from the pack but if he cannot be consistent with his laws then …he would have a big issue. An issue that was avoidable and one that, mind, he would rather avoid all together. Even if it makes him cruel for craving impartiality; but being seen as a leader who is inconsistent ( especially when he preaches equality and has designed his ranks to cull favoritism ) is measurably worse.

Seabreeze lulls him from his contemplations, as she inquires about his journeys. He almost tells her that, no, he has nothing much to note but pauses himself before the words can follow through and spill from betwixt his lips. That would not be expressly true. “I reunited with my father. I informed him I was leaving the Vale and I spoke of Tindómë. I am to visit him at the Caldera once we are founded and settled,” Mato’s thoughts flicker to Nova but even as she pops into his mind he knows he will not ask her to go along. She had expressed hatred for that place, after all. If Sebastian wishes to see her, perhaps Mato could convince them to meet half way. “If you’d like to, perhaps you could join me?” Mato inquires and lowers his gaze for a moment, as if the druid is suddenly seized by bashfulness. “I would like for you to meet my father, and likewise for him to meet you.” But, Mato would not push. It is an invitation, after all, and she has the right to decline it if she thinks he is rushing by taking her to meet his remaining parent.

Even though she expected his acceptance, Seabreeze was still pleased when his words of approval washed over her.  She didn't fully understand why she wanted to tell him, except that he did value trades so much to base his pack around them.  She could not imagine him angry or upset with her and did not wish to experience it, so shed be doing everything in her power to deserve her title.

The girl can feel his hesitance when she asks of his travels and almost attempts to assuage him before he tells her that he too met up with some of his kin.  I would love to come with you, Mato,  She wonders why he was suddenly so bashful again because had she and Mattias gotten along she'd've liked them to meet, but does not inquire as to not embarrass him further, though I have no idea where the Caldera is.  She wonders if she ever told him that the Vale was the first pack she had ever come across, that his face was the second she'd ever seen in the Teekons, aside from Rannoch's.

Do you get along with him?

“It’s not too terribly far,” Mato speaks factual and gestures to the looming mountains that separate the Hinterlands from the rest of the Wilds that are but a ripple in the horizon from the King Elk Forest. “The Caldera is all but just over those mountains there.” Not too terribly far, no, but not exactly a trek he can afford to make regularly. Once Tindómë is officially formed it will be harder for him to get away. His trips will have to be few and far in-between and if they could prove to be beneficial to the pack than all the better; but he turns his thoughts from such things for the moment. He had made a promise that he will fulfill and Seabreeze has agreed to go with him. Though there is still the worry of Nova and if he should tell Sebastian about her or not — something, the druid thinks, to discuss with his sister at a later date. “We were close,” Mato admits with a nod. Past tense only because the distance between them makes it hard to keep that closeness and as Sebastian admitted he’s become something of a recluse. Mato had that moment himself for a few months: getting so lost in the stars that he could have withered and died ( became stardust ) and would not have been bothered ( but not in a depressive way; just in a way that he almost forgot that he could not live off of stars and air alone: that he was corporeal ). He merely needed something to remind him that he is explicably tethered to the earth: that he is her guardian. Seabreeze and Tindómë both work as excellent tethers to the corporeal realm. “it is harder to stay close now with the distance between us and busy with our own lives.” The empyrean admits but as far as he is aware: that is simply the fact of life for parents and their children.

If you have nothing else to add, you can post and archive or I can edit a better ending in. :)

She must admit to herself that she is relieved when he tells her that the Caldera is only past the mountain range that cradles the King Elk.  She had genuinely enjoyed traveling with Mato but only because she was traveling with Mato, and her paws were only beginning to recover from the trip from the Vale to the Elk and back.

The ashen emperor seems unbothered by the distance between himself and his father so she offers no comfort other than a soft mmm.. in his direction.  She supposed she would've had nothing helpful to say anyway; she had not experienced the distance that grew between a blossoming child and a parent in her lifetime.

Unless the prince offers more conversation she is content to linger in the silence between their words (it is here she seems most comfortable anyway), leaning into him and pressing the soft, wet leather of her nose into his muzzle.  

They fall to a silence, but it a silence that the druid finds comfortable. In truth, he is happy just to be in her presence along, whether they exchange words or not. “Join me on a patrol?” He inquires softly with a slight gesture with his muzzle in the direction of the nearest section of border. Mato is tired from his travels ( and thus would not mind some rest ) but he knows his duties as Morwinyon even though they are not yet “official” by any measure of the word. Foundling leader or not, the druid assumes that these habits are good to get into now. Regardless of whether she accepts or declines his invitation the empyrean nevertheless loops back to the borders to walk a patrol, pausing here and there through-out to strengthen the borders in places where it is needed, losing himself easily in the menial but oh-so-important task.