Honeyed Pasture take off all the thoughts of what we've been

get over here u red loser
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It was the first time he dared wander from Silvertip— honestly, it didn't even cross his mind that @Phocion would be upset over it. He still could not talk, and getting around was... difficult. Not impossible; certainly he was well enough to travel to the immediately surrounding territories, at least for a bit. He had been lucky, and the care of his companions had helped speed his recovery somewhat.
Still, he could not speak. Cortland found himself taking more comfort in his friend's stories, and in the stars. Once they had only been fascinating in the way all beautiful things were— it was different, now. How could it not be different, seeing the night sky reflected so intensely in the pale priest's eyes? Tonight, he wandered from the mountain with his eyes skyward; perhaps if he could understand them, he could understand Phocion. The man of stardust and silk-spun stories scarcely left his mind, yet...
Coming to a stop in a familiar golden field, he realized he knew so little of him. An ugly, sharp feeling reared within him at the thought that he was perhaps not Phocion's closest friend at Silvertip. He thought then of Poet— of her elegance and gentle nature, of the familiarity between herself and the priest. He thought back to their meeting here, his insecurity laid out before her. The ugly feeling grew until he was forced to turn his gaze from the stars, bitter and confused. Never before had he felt so possessive over a friendship; Phocion could be friends with both of them couldn't he? For some reason, the thought stung— and at the same time, that wasn't it at all.

Backdated a day

Engel had been coming back from Moonspear, it seemed like a nice place. It had been a pleasant trip, nothing startling or upsetting along the way. As he was going along, he saw that there was a wolf with fur that seemed to look, as he would put it, a sun in the sky. Such a fur tone. Engel pushed those thoughts back, he wasn't like that anymore. 

Yet still, he approached them. "Well hey there. Would I happen to be close the coast?" he knew he was, but why not strike up conversation? He was in no rush.

The last thing he had expected was company— what was he even doing out here this late? Cortland glanced up, but whatever flash of irritability he had felt was forgotten at the sight of the other. He suddenly realized he had missed meeting new people— but, he had no words for the man. The Mayfair smiled warmly nonetheless, tail wagging as he allowed the red-furred wolf's approach. At his question, he tilted his head.
He... wasn't sure, actually. Cortland shrugged, drawing closer to sniff the small male over; something about the stranger spoke of a friendlier nature, so he was without apprehension. His eyes lit with curiosity over his coat— like Mona's, he thought, though his sister's fur was quite a bit prettier. His sister was actually quite a bit prettier in general— this guy was old. He studied him warmly nonetheless, flicking an ear in invitation for him to speak again. Hopefully he'd get the point. Probably not, but Cortland didn't have too many options.

Engel got no greeting, no response. He wondered why, then thought perhaps they were mute. Like that one wolf that showed him that bone. Though he also seemed confused? Perhaps he did not know. "Oh, I'm sure it's nea-" he paused as the other came over to sniff at him. He sniffed back, and noticed the scent of a pack? "Oh, you from a pack nearby?"

The male seemed to take his muteness in stride— but the second question gave Cortland pause. Would Phocion want others to know of their presence already? Ah... he wasn't here to ask, so, the sunset-furred boy only nodded. It wasn't as if he could give any of their secrets away— did they have secrets? Briefly he wondered if there would be any sacrifices; surely those would count as secrets...
Cortland grew bolder with his sniffing, having noted the pack scent on the other as well. He tilted his head again with an inquisitive stare, as if to return the question. Honestly, his thoughts were beginning to wander— it was so difficult to focus at times. Phocion crossed his mind again, though that was hardly a surprise to anyone. He sighed softly thinking about him, suddenly not at all seeing the red wolf. His presence was forgotten entirely for a few beats as Cortland considered his the priest.

"Really? Mine's by the coast, think it's near. Where bouts is yours?" he asked after the other titled his head. Not realized that the other was not exactly focusing on him. He was sure the coast was near, so this pack and Ironsea would be neighbors no doubt. Close neighbors, so he had to be on his best beavior for their sakes.

By the coast. He registered it barely, but the information wasn't quite important to him. Cortland gestured with his muzzle in the direction of the looming figure of Silvertip Mountain, thinking then that this conversation was boring. One-sided conversations typically were, though— he never had this problem with Phocion. It was worth noting, he thought, whatever it meant.
Again his thoughts had drifted back to the white priest. The Mayfair struggled to pull himself back to present, finding himself again fixing on the stranger's fur color in the next beat. He missed Mona. The thought ached quite suddenly and fiercely. He wasn't quite sure where it had come from, but now he could focus on little but the color red.

The mountain, was it? Engel turned his gaze up upon the mountain. The other was rather close, and he was trying to not think on just how close they were. "It's a nice mountain...but what are you doing out here? Alone, at night. Must be something you are here for, right?" He hadn't meant it to sound like flirting, but sometimes...well, it was just Engel being Engel.

He supposed the questions weren't odd; Cortland had wondered himself at the other's nighttime wandering. The Mayfair nodded, tilting his head again. There was something he was here for, actually. But— he wasn't quite sure he was ready to share. It was such a small thing, stargazing, but it embarrassed him still. He might never understand the night sky the way Phocion did— and perhaps it was obvious.
So he kept his gaze on the red stranger, lips curving into a curious smile. He flicked an ear again, hoping for some explanation for his company's presence. Perhaps the other had a more interesting answer— it did not cross his mind that the question had been an invitation. He only gazed warmly at the male, true to his nature in that he remained entirely oblivious to the finer details of intimacy.

Engel tilted his head. Though he received no answer, and it seemed like the other was wondering the same. He was about to say he was heading back to his pack. The way it came out...ell, he could have done better. "Oh, I was on the way back to my pack...but thought I might stop off for company." And there appeared that same usual grin. "May I ask what it is you are looking for? Any way you can say?"

The grin intrigued him, as did the other's words. Cortland pondered for a few beats, then shrugged with his own playful grin and shook his head. Guess, his expression dared the other, eyes glittering warmly. The conversation was suddenly much more interesting to him. Perhaps the stranger would guess accurately— or perhaps Cortland could find some amusement in his attempts. He made no move to put distance between them, instead lingering, waiting for the red male's response.

He just could not help himself as he dared a step closer. "Would it happen to be...something?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. "Or maybe, someone" he then said, tilting the other way. "Night time, it is awfully quiet and lonely." He dared to get close enough that if he leaned forward, he could simply touch the other.

As the stranger's words washed over him, time seemed to slow for a moment. "Ladies, and some men, too," — the words floated through his mind in that split second, Phocion's voice almost clearer to him than the red male's now. It clicked. This— this was not a game to be played. He was frozen in place, so shocked he was unable to even tense as the male drew nearer to touch him.
He was so old. Cortland allowed none of these emotions to show on his face— that would have been rude, after all, and the red-furred stranger had been so nice. He nodded and tried to smile again, a soft, nervous laugh escaping him as he felt the warmth of the unfamiliar contact. Oh no, gross. Quite suddenly he recalled Ava, and yet another click resounded through his mind; less shocking, perhaps, than it might have been another time. All he could think now was that the past experience had been preferable, honestly— at least Ava had been a friend, had not been so— old.
How was he going to get out of this? He knew at once that he would— somehow. But... Cortland had no experience with rejecting others. Certainly not without a voice. For the moment he was still, pondering, his tail still swishing; he gave no sign of his discomfort for now. The moment would come, he was sure of it.

Engel saw no discomfort, thinking that perhaps his actions were welcomed. He leaned forth, just touching with his nose. Then pulled back. "And who is that someone? Company? Comfort?" That grin never left his face, not at any point through the conversation. "Something...more?"

Cortland was starting to feel— weird about it, now. The stranger was getting kind of skeevy, honestly. He couldn't even talk— how did the male know he wasn't some kind of invalid? That thought put him right on the Nope Train straight to Fuck-This-Shitville. But for some reason, he was frozen. What could he say?
Oh, wait. He glanced over the stranger, expression still entirely unbothered. What could he do? Growl and show teeth? Lift his hackles? All displays of aggression— perhaps he could simply move out of his reach, but would that be seen as coy? This game was far too complex for the Mayfair. He only wanted to get out of this without ruining a potential friendship— he liked the male well enough, but he was just so... old!

tags for reference

He'd been patrolling, hoping Cortland was in the care of Poet, but when he returned to their rendezvous site, the golden Mayfair was gone. This immediately sent alarm coursing through his veins; the last time his friend had disappeared, Phocion had found him unconscious, having fallen from the side of a cliff. Trying to swallow the mounting dread rising like bile in his throat, he let @Poet know where he was headed and followed Cortland's scent trail, pawsteps coming faster and faster as he descended the mountain.

The pasture was flat enough that one could see for a long while, though the grass was long. Still, before long, he caught sight of Cortland's gilded pelt, and a ruddy wolf near him. Too near. Coming to a perplexed halt, Phocion watched them from afar, a strange feeling curdling in his stomach as he did so. He thought the other was a vaguely familiar shape, but he couldn't say for sure.

What was Cortland doing? Leaving home without word, still injured, still speechless, but going out of his way to converse with strangers? There was anger, now, mixed with the worry, and Phocion took a step forward, as to intrude--but then stopped, collecting himself. This might be a potential recruit. Cortland might have taken it upon himself to find new wolves for the tribe.

Watch and wait, he told himself, licking dry lips and fixing his icy gaze upon the pair.

The other did nothing, but Engel assumed he was playing hard to get. He took another step so that his nose nudged through the fur. He wasn't even feeling stupid, if he knew it was the wrong thing to do however he would have. "Is that a yes? Is it company you are looking for?" he was asking, more of a whisper now. He even dared to preen his teeth through the others coat.

The second touch sent a shudder through him; not the pleasant kind. He was oblivious to Phocion's presence, but the priest entered his mind then nonetheless. Cortland swallowed hard listening to the stranger, nausea rising in his throat now. Gross gross gross. The feeling of teeth in his fur was ultimately too much. His skin crawled, and his friend's face flashed through his mind unbidden.
No, It came out louder than he had intended. The Mayfair took fast, shaky steps back, putting distance rapidly between them. His ears pinned to his skull, eyes suddenly wide with shame, shock, guilt. The next words came out soft, lilting and trembling with the effort of speech. S—sssssorry... no.

Phocion flinched as the other wolf ran his muzzle over Cortland's pelt, but he didn't move until he saw the Mayfair's ears pin back against his skull. A growl bubbling in his throat, the white priest launched himself through the tall grass, bursting onto the scene with teeth bared. It was then that he recognized the male, and went suddenly slack-jawed, posture falling--but only slightly.

"You," he blurted, eyes sharp on the other's face. "Uh, Engel, right?" He remembered the red man, to whom he'd once told the story of Fengari and Iliana. That didn't excuse him from whatever harm he had been inflicting upon Cortland, though, and his face grew dark again, staring daggers at Engel. "What were you doing to him?" Phocion demanded, shoving his muzzle in gesture over to Cortland.

He hadn't heard the words bubble out of his friend's lips. He would have been utterly gobsmacked if he had, but for now, Cortland was a silent russet shadow at his side.

Engel flinched back. Had someone else talked? Then he realized, he had talked. "I-I am-" Then another had come, teeth bared and he was backing up quick. He knew this wolf, and he felt bad. Really bad. "I am so sor...I thought...I'm sorry, really I am." And he was, but sometimes with Engel words weren't enough. "I...I should go" he quickly said, going to turn away. He felt awkward and bad for making theo ther awkward.

Many things happened at once, then; the stranger started to stutter an apology, and Cortland immediately felt bad, but— Phocion was suddenly there. Phoci— It was barely more than a whisper, cut off by both the priest and the stranger— Engel, it seemed. Overwhelmed, Cortland fixed his gaze on the ground for a few beats, ears still flat against his skull.
When Engel mentioned leaving, the Mayfair's tail tucked between his legs and his expression fell further. He hadn't wanted it to be like that. Sorry, This time it was a whisper, almost choked in the way all his words would be now— then it hit him. Words. Words. Cortland swallowed hard, eyes going to Phocion immediately; his own expression was unreadable.

Engel began to apologize, and turn away, and the growl returned to his throat. No. They would get to the bottom of this. "Stay, Engel," he commanded, in tones heavier than his small frame would suggest. It was only in the silence after his order that he heard another tiny "Sorry," and his ears pricked--and then he looked wildly at Cortland, eyes large and blue as robin's eggs.

"Cortland!" Phocion gasped, thoroughly bewildered at hearing words from the Mayfair for the first time in--what, a moon? Two? It felt like forever, and suddenly, his world revolved around those two hushed syllables. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he blinked them hastily away, Cortland a gold blur in his vision. "Cortland. My god. Don't be sorry. Don't be--"

He looked over at Engel, then, swallowing as he tried to keep his emotions at bay. "You are not off the hook," he said firmly, though there was a quaver in his voice. "What did you do to him?" Whatever it was, it had drawn speech from Cortland's maw--and while Engel would surely suffer the consequences of any wrongdoing, Phocion supposed he must be grateful to the red man, in some small way.

Engel paused. He knew that tone. He had heard it many times. And so he stayed, but he dared not to look over at them. He could hear them, and his heart was thumping. He dared not look, knowing that something sad was going on near. Then he was addressed once more, and still he did not dare look. "I...I pushed too far...I let something take hold and I...I am sorry. I had not meant for it." If he had shown his face, it would be guilt ridden. "I went too far, I am sorry. I found myself flirting, I took a step further..."

It was still a bit too much to handle for Cortland. He pressed instinctively against Phocion, ears flushing guiltily as he listened to the priest's harsh words. Before he could say anything, try to defend the red male— he had stopped, after all!— Engel was speaking for himself. He frowned slightly at how the other described it. It had been weird, but he hadn't been that pushy...
Okay, maybe he had. Still, Cortland felt guilty. S—s'ok, He forced out, glancing to his friend desperately as if trying to convince him of this. He pressed closer, then, waiting for Phocion's reaction; after the last episode of Cortland's Sex Misadventures, he didn't expect it would be anything good. Perhaps he'd just— never leave Silvertip again. Ever.

Phocion's attention was caught between Cortland's mumbled words--words!--and Engel's apologies, his mind vacillating between joy and vexation. He shook his head, finally, at the Mayfair, giving him a gentle lick to the cheek before turning his face to Engel, face stern, but less angry than it had been.

Once upon a time, Phocion had been an incorrigible flirt. Constantly crossing the line, taking things too far. His mouth had been the biggest part of him, and it ran, and ran, and ran. But he'd grown out of it, eventually--not without much help from his newfound faith, of course. It seemed that Engel had not had the same experience, and while he was inclined to look down his nose at someone so sexually forward. . .he could, at least, be understanding. And he had apologized, anyway.

"Learn to be more careful," the white priest advised, tone losing its heat from before. "Read the signs. Else you run into situations like this." Phocion dipped his nose, letting a small sigh slip through his nostrils. "You are forgiven."

He then gave the russet man a long look, head slightly tilted. "You are far from where I saw you last," he remarked. "Where are you staying, lately?"