Wheeling Gull Isle stomklad

whenever! <3

autumn's arrival brought with it a storm of cold rain.
thunderstorms through the night soaked heda each time she emerged to hunt or to patrol. she soon realized the dire lack of necessity to those actions, waiting out the rain in the lee of the cave.
but the rush of water had not abated, and eventually she did have to leave her shelter, skulking through the lavender field and stopping to shake out her pelt despite the fact it helped nothing.
heda thought of the new woman on the island, and how @Bartholomew had brought her easily over.she tried to stop thinking after that.

the first time he had found the island, it had been abandoned and a wasteland.

now it bustled with life in various ways. a never ending stream of life in one place or another. even the lion's den saw life. he did his best to keep that part separate from the others. at least until he saw progress, or trusted the woman might not lash her tongue to the wrong face.

like heda.

strong and steadfast.

strength in flesh that bartholomew lacked.

you move in the night. he observed, warm, despite the way his features naturally sagged further with the rain.

when heda turned, it was to see the man of god, standing and streaming in the downpour. "so do you," heda answered evenly, lips twitching as rivulets of rain ran across them. 
she had not seen the woman since he had brought her. heda wished she could forget that, or at least figure out why it affected her so badly.
"i was going to find birds. they won't be flying now, so their nests are free game." heda cocked her head. "want to come?"

God's work doesn't sleep.

and apparently neither did that of a hunter.

heda intended to raid nests, pluck them while they rested. he was intrigued in this spark of genius. although all bouts of hunting tended to go over his head.

show me. he gestured for her to lead, a smile on his features.

heda snorted a little. "can't god's messenger have a little sleep? as a treat?" her lips were wry now, eyes lighting with a true humour.
she led him around the edge of the greenhills, toward the dunes. there were low shrubs here. she inspected each one as she and bartholomew passed.
"who is she?" heda asked at last, unable to hold back any longer.

he snorted back.

not an answer, truly, but perhaps the message was clear. sleep eluded him for one reason or another. perhaps God had required something of him tonight.

would you believe me if i told you i do not know? his words honest, as always. bartholomew never dodged things with heda.

i found her at the cape. she is unwell, of body and mind. soul too. it is why i have placed her in the lion's den.

he wet his lips, despite the rain.

heda nodded. "i would."
her search had leant no birds so far. truth be told, he was easier to focus on, despite her love of the hunt. maybe it was the comfort he represented, even though they were both soaked with rain.
unwell in every way. heda blinked under the deluge. "is she dangerous?"

dangerous.

he often questioned it himself — and there was an ugly truth in the face of what he would do for his people. God's people.

i do not think so but — there was hesitancy in his voice. his gaze turned out where the dark sea should be, hidden from view in the rain. i hope you know the great lengths i would go to for those who keep the peace here, heda.

he could say no more for a long moment.

heda knew what he meant. she knew that bartholomew meant it in the way possible she had not considered until this moment.
the shared perception or projection of violence tugged her eyes away from yet another bush.
"i'd do the same."
she wanted to ask what do you mean? instead heda chose to assume they meant the same thing.

i hope i never have need to ask you to.

somewhere far off the coast, lightning lit the crowning clouds. a low roll of thunder off the water.

but you should know i have never thought you wouldn't.

he looked to her now. his gaze tired, but he looked upon her as if she was the sun, for a moment.

there was a bird, finally. 
heda did not speak. she seized it in her jaws and shook its feathered form once. its body was discarded as she lapped her way through two eggs, leaving another pair for bartholomew.
blood watered to rose and then clear, dripping from her chin. there was admiration, or something like it, in his eyes. "does god ever want us to kill for Him? to fight for Him?"

some wish to use Him as a reason for violence. to be the hand of His punishment.

his throat grew tight for a moment. the bird, blood running into water.

he wondered if heda knew how much symbolism she danced with, lived with, breathed around. perhaps God had plans even above bartholomew for the young woman.

i think it is the crossroads of self defense and selfish violence. his gaze softened and he stared at the limp bird. to protect your peace is one thing, to conquer lands and call it peace in the name of God? i do not believe so.

bartholomew did not think kindly of the idea. he was not a stern man. but she had known him long enough to see the determination in his expressions. he lived for truth. 
and yet heda could not relinquish the idea of teeth bared toward the shadows which threatened god's home. and though she had never heard the word paladin it might have aligned.
her heart raced. she dipped her head to consider what bartholomew said with a nod. "yeah. look at this place. it's not made for that." heda's golden eyes swept the perimeter of their home with the intensity of a young hawk.
she looked back toward him with a little smile.

not made for that.

it wasn't, he supposed. some part of him feared what might happen. barbarians littered the lands like none other. even his trust of sacrarium was thin at best. their woman leader proved pointed.

defense, at best. his voice was not devoid of warmth, but it lacked humor.

do you think me fit to protect all those who shelter here?

he looked to her for guidance now, in the thundering hour.

moody bartholomew 300 for youuu

congrats! i love him in all his expressions esp moody <3

heda looked very solemnly at bartholomew, at the way that the salt wind caught his fur, the way his eyes shone with tiredness and delight and sorrow and knowing, all at once, how they held many more truths than she could hope to know.
and she remembered her defensiveness of him.
heda's face singed beneath the white fur. "yes. i think you wouldn't stop, you'd do whatever needed to be done to keep everyone safe."

he wouldn't stop.

for a long, silent moment, he considered all of the things he had quit. he had stopped looking for abraham. he had stopped spreading gospel all over. he had stopped loving dove.

how far away he felt from the man he had been at home.

how further away he felt from the life he once had. how it had all crumbled around him with death and distraught.

now he stood in the dark, in the harbor. how sweetness clung to those around him. how good things were being built before his very eyes.

i will build a proper place here. perhaps that had been creepingly evident by the slow growth of bodies. yet still he had not yet spoken the words aloud, had he? a true claim of sorts, created by the blooming things around him.

i know it is not what you once came here for, but i wish to see you here for a long time heda. you have grown beyond what you know, i think. i grow from you.

his praise made her rankle and tear at the same time. it was the prayer of a patriarch, albeit one that had meant more to heda than any before. and it was insistent in a way that was not forceful. he wanted her to be here. he wanted to her to live there with him. with them.
"i think you help me not to be so angry, bartholomew. remember w-when i told you i wanted to be free?" something grabbed at her throat but she shoved past it, kept going.
"i think i am. i think you did."
heda's chin trembled but she utterly refused to cry, and gazed at him with new, dry eyes.

he could have wept.

he could have thrown himself to the wet earth in the dark and let God rock him to sleep.

for there were no such words sweeter than those that she spoke. and they stared at one another with their trembling chins.

neither one would cry, but he felt that they both might. later. he could not say with certainty. but he moved closer for a moment, offering a shoulder. a narrow face.

he did not force the physical contact upon her, but he found words were not enough in that moment.

God had blessed her.

heda stiffened a moment as he came closer, for this was different: an embrace, and from a someone who was a father. not her own, but that of this island. he was like god, heda decided; his scent was comforting.
she leaned against bartholomew, slowly; and then more firmly; she lifted her muzzle and put it into the joining of neck to shoulder. 
heda drew a breath that went ragged at the end.

fade? ;o;

her strength was realized tenfold here.

he drew his own breath, soft and shaky. he could now — would not — keep her here forever. but this moment was cherished.

God strengthened them with one another today.