Wheeling Gull Isle they are two alone

no rush :)

A few days had gone by with Phox on the island. He seemed a very capable hunter, bringing in the proverbial bacon as needed. Busy work probably kept the grief somewhat at bay as well; Maegi couldn't fault him if he stayed active enough that she did not encounter him again after their first meeting.

But she did, today, seek out @Mou. She wondered if he had been given the chance to reconnect with his long-lost brother, and if the two of them had reconciled (if any recognition was sparked in Phox's mind, that was). And they needed to talk about the children.

They always needed to talk about the children.

It was her shift on babysitting duty, and she howled for her husband, smiling as all four pups lifted their muzzles and crooned in childish imitation. The older youths were getting there—Blueberry, on the other hand, could only manage a drawn-out squeak, at which she desperately tried not to laugh.

When he heard his wife call for him Mou dropped what he was doing, hastening along. His long strides carried him easily across the sand; it was cloudy overhead, the humidity making him pant openly by the time he neared the den.

The man did not immediately go to Maegi; rather, he did a quick patrol of the natural paths and kept an eye out for anything amiss, then made his way to the opening where Maegi waited.

Mou had not found any sign of danger. His brother was still on the fringes, so he felt at-ease, at least until he met with his wife and passed her a quick kiss. His expression was curious, looking from child to child as they sang along.

Her smile grew wider as her husband met her with a kiss, head lifting to press into the embrace. Mou, she purred, then motioned toward Blueberry, who had ceased her howling and now goggled up at her father with wide, still-blue eyes. Your daughter is finding her voice.

Maegi had never been one for small talk, though. With a sigh, she forged right ahead. Have you had any encounters with Phox? she asked, gaze gently inquisitive—but undoubtedly worried. Does he remember who you are?

She feared what would happen if—when?—he figured it out. There was no love lost between Mou and the Redhawks, and that wasn't surprising, from what she had heard. She didn't judge him in the least; she'd done worse. But he had certainly earned the ire.

There was some mud on Prevost's ear, and she began to groom the girl, who almost immediately tried to wriggle from her grasp. Maegi clutched her daughter tight, awaiting Mou's reply.

Busied temporarily with cleaning, Mou took the moment to look over the other children. He ruminated over what to say as he visited with them, and then when they shifted to a distracted game among one another he had an answer.

Only to show him where to sleep. He said dismissively, distracted by other worries.

As... difficult, as having him here... It is good. Which was hard for Mou to express. He did not know his brother at all, only remembering his name and the vague memory of the caldera at best. Towhee was the one who stuck out most among those who had denounced him; they were her teeth that took his voice away after all.

I worry. Need more. Too many mouths and bellies, not enough of us. He meant adults, hunters. The weariness of many hours of work wore upon Mou now, as he deflated against the den floor.

She understood what he meant about Phox's presence here. Euron had long cast her off because of the foolish decision she'd made as a child, yet she would give her heart and soul to have her patchwork brother here now. It must have been a long time since Mou had seen his sibling. She wondered—had they ever been close?

I know, Maegi murmured, lifting her lips from Prevost's head to look at Mou. I don't know what to do. Where to go.

Onyx Hollow was burnt. Blackfeather Woods. . .well, she simply couldn't; the daedra shrieked too loudly there, the haunted spirits of her sons ever-present. And now the island held little hope for them. Even with capable hunters, game was small, on the whole.

And for these children to grow strong. . .

She lifted her chin. Paused, afraid to ask—but did it anyway. Do you think your family would ever forgive you?

They were about to lose everything again. Somehow. The plague of misfortune followed them everywhere and try and they might, escape from that was impossible. They would have to try something new, Mou reasoned.

His thoughts were on the Redhawks and the dangers they posed, too. Maegi's question left him shaking his head; had he ever told her the truth about his scars...? Together for so long now, he must have said something when the memories returned.

I don't know. I can't imagine it. He could imagine many things with that overactive mind, but not this. All he saw in his mind when he thought of the Redhawks was death, pain, agony...

And now as Mou looked at the children, he worried they would inherit the same fate. Wouldn't they be better off with their father? As a Redhawk they would inevitably hate him like they all did - but they would be safe, alive, maybe even loved.

What if... I tell him. What if he takes the children to safety? They won't go hungry then.

Too bad. It would be a future for all of them, together. . . And as he spoke, Maegi knew Mou's mind was on the same train of thought. Except his suggestion leaned on the assumption that he never again would be invited into his family's fold.

I know, she said again, but the words were lodged in her throat this time, just barely squeezing past her lips. She cleared her throat. But I'm. . . Thickness again. She cast her eyes downward.

I'm their mother. She was only thinking of herself. Of her wants and desires. She had to argue from a different perspective.

B-Blueberry, Maegi managed, and found her eyes filled with tears. What if he thinks she's his, too? That we're lying to keep one for ourselves? He surely couldn't. Her daughter's gaze was the Melonii indigo of one of her own, her snowy pelt passed down from Bane to Potema to Maegi.

But genetics didn't always make sense, and Phox had more than enough reason to mistrust his outlaw brother and the Blackfeather bride.

The broken sound of her voice drew him close. Mou wanted to hold her, to tell her it would be alright; he could not say those things and know it to be true, so instead he brushed a kiss to her cheek, draped himself around her carefully.

The thought she voiced was one he had not yet considered; and to think he was a tactician! He did not doubt the Redhawks might pull such a trick on them. They would want their children and they would take anything away from the pair, whether it was the truth or not.

You're right, he murmurs in to her fur. There was no winning here, not according to the weighted system that worked against them, always.

I won't let them. I won't let them take Blueberry, or any of them, if that's what you want. Even if he could not find it in himself to love the other children, Mou had to be a father to them. They deserved stability and care, and he could do his best.

Once folded into her husband's embrace, the tears became sobs, and she pressed her skull hard against his shoulder and wept. I do want to keep them, she replied, pushing through snot-clogged nose and rasping voice. I do. But. . .

Could Phox could miss them just as much, when he hadn't ever touched them, nursed them, known them? Maybe she would have clung desperately to these children if she had never had any of her own.

But she had, and had lost them in many ways, and no matter when or where they had slipped away, she had mourned them all. Their names a mantra every night in her mind.

I'd give my soul to see our babies again, Maegi whispered. Any of them. If there was a chance. . .even the smallest of chances. . .I'd take it.

She pulled away, her normally plush fur along her cheeks slicked down by her weeping. We can't take that chance from Phox.

And so she wept, and he thought she might crumble away. Melt like sand beside him, washed by her tears. He soaked them up as best he could with the paltry coat hanging loose from too-narrow a chest, too-sharp a shoulder.

When she eased, spoke, Mou found himself aggrieved in his own way. Sad and accepting, because he knew it to be true. As much as he wished to covet these children they were not his; blood-bound yes, the product of a friend and of a family that had denounced him, and not his. Not theirs — not really.

I will tell him. He states, carefully. When the time is right. Which should be now, he thinks; but also, he worries — when is right? When they are old enough to make the choice between the parents they know and the man on the outside? Or should they take the choice from the children entirely and give them up, choosing to splinter their patchwork family on purpose? Do not worry, Mou croons against her neck.

We will tell him, she decided firmly, giving him a decisive look. I think it needs to come from both of us. If only to mitigate any retaliation on the man's part. Who knew how much ire Phox still held toward his brother, if he should ever remember him?

Maegi sniffled, breathing thickly through her nose. I wish we could just be happy, she declared, and laughed, though the sound held no great humor. She shook her head ruefully. At least for more than a few moons at a time.

Their fortunes were like the tide—ebb and flow, ebb and flow. So many things out of their control. . .though, occasionally, they had sealed their own fate. But for the most part, it felt as if the world was against them more often than not.

We.

Yes, that was how it must be. Two against one was always better odds - even if the two of them were both somehow half-people, or previously drawn and quartered, they could be whole when they faced Phox. If and when the opportunity arose, they could handle it together.

Maegi's lamentations were met with a tighter squeeze, then a heavy draw of the tongue across her face. Warmth spreading across her cheek until the air cooled the kiss.

Happiness — they were owed as much, after all that they had been through. Mou did not know what to say; he knew the bad luck had to run out eventually, that their curse could not be endless, regardless of the crimes he may have committed in the past.

In his mind the calamities of the Blackfeather wolves boiled down to two aspects: the zeal of Maegi's now scattered family and the soul-debt of Mou, who had disgraced the dark woods time and again. Whatever evil was invoked upon them both in youth should have been appeased by now.

He would not let it happen a third time.