Wapun Meadow ❝a kiss cannot reach her through the incrusting ivory.

@Vercingetorix! 4/14.

Ever since her skirmish with the fiend from the Lair, Aurëwen had been brimming with vitality. In that time, her children had opened their eyes, took their first steps, and were coaxing their whimpers into howls — and it all augmented her fervor. These happenings made her frolicsome, so she left the children in Vonnaruil’s cheerful care, and went to exhaust herself in the meadow not too far from the claim.

The silver found said meadow, peaceable and comely; not quite bursting yet, but moreso budding with hesitant color, as if wary that winter hadn’t truly assuaged its clutches yet. Well, Wapun would see no such tentative mercy from her. Just as frenzied as she’d been at the Lair  ( and, possibly, the trait-sake for Isilmë’s troublesome nature ), Aurëwen threw herself into the glade with singular intent: exhaust herself in some way, or subject Diaspora to this overabundance of childish vigor.

For a while, she leapt and bounded after both hare and fox alike, snapping after white-tipped tails of either; and always reared short of a copse of aspens, grumbling after the scarlet-furred and the fleet-footed. She retreated from invading burrows with her scarred, now-muddied muzzle. And when she’d properly scared those creatures off, Aure set about giving the birds something to reckon with.

It was in this manner how her late afternoon melded into an early evening. But when even the finches and sparrows and whatever sort alike kept to their roosts, when Aurëwen had bedded down amongst wildflowers, she was thoroughly fatigued... but at the same time, not quite. The silver wanted a brawl, a something to tire her in the way chasing quarry couldn’t.

Until someone found her, Aure delegated that the flowers about her were suitable enough to occupy her endless energy, for now. Whoever had the fortune(?) of finding the pale female would hear her first: hear the little, chirruping growls and polleny-impatient sneezes. They’d see her tail feather, her long legs darting from the long, flowery grasses.

A wild and fey smile on her scarred face, Aure purred and keened and wriggled her wont, on her back, within the spring sea of the meadow. Truly happy, it seems, as evident by the airy, indulgent giggles that took flight from her ivory breast.

Aure might be happy and chipper today, but Vercingetorix was not. He came down from the mountain like a storm cloud, his eyes twin bolts of lightning cutting through the darkness. That's purple prose for "really fucking pissed," because he had learned of Aure's trip into the mountains, the fight that had ensued, and her (thank god) eventual return. But imagine if she hadn't come back.

Who attacked you? Verx demanded, looming over her rolling form. Or did you strike, first? Goddamn it, Aure, you can't just go away somewhere by yourself and get into fights--what if something worse had happened to you? Did you think? Did you think that that might cause problems back home, given that we have two fucking children who are depending on you?

He wanted to say more, but he cut himself short then, giving her time to respond while glaring down at her. He was angry, sure, but it came more out of fear than anything else. Fear of the unknown. Because if she died before these pups were weaned. . . Hell, if she died at all in their childhood. She was their mother; they needed her.

The voice she cherished so much made her halt in the midst of whatever it was she was doing; argent eyes flurried open, and for a moment, a gladdenness pealed across her face to see who it was. In the next heartbeat, though, Aure registered what was being said with a furrow of her silver brow and a blink; the chiding tone of anger made her shiver herself out of bits of meadow that clung to her.

When Vercingetorix finally quieted and kept himself restrained from another tangent, the ivory crescented onto her side and onto her still-tendered belly, eyes leveled with his stormful ones. “I was thinking, actually,” came her low, lilting musing, “I was thinking that Mahler would like his stores replenished; I was thinking of taking his word on what to treat your throat with; of what to get for Drago, should he eat soil again.”

A soft, gnarled little rumble arrived in her words, and her restless tail sickled about at her hocks in great swashes of porcelain. “Whoever he was wouldn’t let me pass, so, da, I attacked first. What would you have me do?” The wisping curve of her neck arced, as did the adamant clench to her jaw. “What sort of mother would I be if I have nothing to treat my family with, Verx?” At the end of the day though, the little detour had been for herself.

It was a bit of selfishness that remained from all the wandering she’d done, and how slow and stagnant all the bedrest had made her feel. The herbalist languished back on her side, then, resting her weight into an elbow as she continued to meet his gaze fairly. “I had help, after that rogue ran off. Even if I did not, I would’ve been able to tend to myself well enough.” Aure glimsped from him, then, to lave her tongue down and along a faint ache in her foreleg.

Verx let out an exasperated snort at her first response, shaking his head. It went on like a metronome, back and forth. At her soil remark, a nasty rejoinder bubbled up in his throat, but he kept it down. Probably for the best.

Oh, ok, so she had attacked first. Fucking fantastic. And she'd been lucky to have help out there. Luck is what she'd fallen into; others had been less lucky, and he knew it well.

What I would have you do is let Mahler fetch his own fucking herbs! Verx snapped. What I would have you do is stop worrying about my fucking throat! And maybe what I would have you do is have you home instead of out battling with strangers, so that Drago could have milk instead of, oh I dunno, eating fucking soil!

Whoops. There it was.

He felt uneasy for a moment, knowing he'd crossed a line, but he kept his eyes trained on her. I couldn't even find you up there; I had to follow your scent down here, he snarled. And now I'm going back up and I hope you come with, because neither I nor your brother have teats and the kids have gotta suckle, probably really fucking soon.

Vercingetorix didn't really know what all went into motherhood. All he could see right now was that Aure had shirked her biological duties, put herself in danger, and, even more aggravatingly, seemed blithely unaware of it all. There was no reasoning with that.

He turned and trotted away, beginning the trek up into the mountains again.

It was true: she was unaware of it all. She was unaware of what may have happened, had she no aid and no breath left in her, should the skirmish have gone awry. And, even now, she seemed so unaware of being so unaware. It was a stark fault of hers and where her common sense sorely lacked, and one which she only recognized in moments where she felt a bit helpless towards understanding it all.

So she took Verx’s tirade in silent observance, and even his Freudian slip. But when he spoke of what he, indeed, wanted her to do, a muscle flickered within her stubborn and slim jaw. Aure made herself rise, though, when Verx made his leave; mulling over his raving, and the reason for them to head back soon.

Feathers of inner flame ebbed through the taut muscles of her back, alighting every singular nerve with embers and making her terribly aware of the male who shepherded her from behind. A tremble coursed through her; something that wasn’t quite fury or frustration, but something inscrutable she couldn’t place.

Regardless, she halted resolutely where she was, looking over the boney jut of shoulder and hip to fix Verx with an edged, veiled stare. “I’m a featherbrained fool, sure, and no amount of apologies will change what happened — but I would never let that happen to Drago again.” Her own throat constricted, as if to continue, but she found herself speechless. With a snipping growl and a flare of her tail, she turned from him and resumed that stiff-legged stalk. Oh, that feeling it — it was shame.

The father of her children had every right to be furious with her; and she had no right to— oh, fuck it.

Aure stopped again, and this time, she faced Vercingetorix in full; head lowered and shoulders curved. “Nevermind Mahler, then. I will worry about your fucking throat! What if your breathing gets absolutely fucked when you are out on your patrols, or off ‘battling strangers’?” Eyes glinting with her own shame, her voice tight and low with fervor. “What—” if the children wake up one day for a father who will never breathe again?

Aure couldn’t say it. Instead, with her jaw trembling from the force of her clenching, she turned her head aside; scars writhed upon a face that glowered towards the Sunspires; pale muscles working with... with... she didn’t know.

She really didn't get it, did she? Verx thought she did, when she began to follow. But then she began to speak and--oh, okay, that was. . .that was all right. At least she knew she was in the wrong. He gave her a nod, and meant to turn back when the tirade starting.

Oh mother of fucking god.

I'M FINE! Verx bellowed hoarsely, ruined voice echoing over the countryside. He snapped his teeth shut. Battling-- All that escaped was a ragged whisper, and he cut his stare down to her as if to say, now look what you've done. He cleared his throat, somewhat primly, and continued.

Battling strangers and patrolling is my job. It's my thing. Like I said, I don't have teats, he spat. Stop worrying so much about me and focus on the goddamn children, Aure. I signed up to raise kids with you, not for you to be my fucking guardian fucking angel. I'm alive thanks to you; now take that and leave it alone.

Vercingetorix exhaled, hard, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. I'm going back now, he breathed. You can follow or not. Fucking whatever.

And so he went, yet slow enough for any last retorts, should they be given.

Her ears felt as if they were engulfed in flame at his ultimate response; a rare snarl of her own wracked her muzzle, then, less towards him and moreso at the taunting of her head against her heart: Look at what you’ve done. In that moment, it didn’t matter how she had been focusing on the children, how she had been, slowly, moving from her worries.

She knew he was only raising them with her; knew to not worry over every breath Verx took. But today, not only had she shirked mothering, but... perhaps she’d gone too far, herself. Perhaps she’d finally turned to tatters whatever had begun to mend between her and Verx. Look at what you’ve done. 

Where Vercingetorix departed at a slower pace — Aure swept right on by him, keeping utterly silent for the rest of the trek, and feeling utterly repulsive in her own shame. “Goodnight” was a strained, pathetic little breath. Her trot soon became a lope, and in the end, she did them both the service (well, what she believed to be) of leaving him behind entirely. Even when she reached the Falls, she did not stop, heaving for air, until she was at her thicket.

Look what you’ve done, look what you’ve done, embracing her mind, her frivolous heart as she greeted her open-eyed children with faltering words and smiles; Vonn was excused without either.

No matter how she preened over Dragomir and Isilmë, regardless of how much she smiled for them, for all the others, the desolate peal of Look at what you’ve done blotted the edges of her mind. So, Aure did what came naturally to her, in the end: she isolated herself, and withdrew from herself.

wanna wrap this up?? or