The Tangle Meet me out by the fire escape

Almost two months had passed since her children had been born, though time had flown so quickly that it seemed like she hadn’t a moment to spare for anything aside from her family and her duties to the pack. Four children, along with others to visit and tend to, as well as a change in the leadership had filled up the time she had. 

She’d told @Ashlar she would invite him to see the children once their eyes were open, which technically would have been over a month ago…She hadn’t even taken the time to send word to him, but she tried not to guilt herself too much. She had invited him to be closer, but things had not worked out. As such, she felt fair setting boundaries and assuming they were reasonable for all involved. 

The children were no less busy or demanding now- and perhaps had begun to need more supervision now than ever, with becoming more mobile and hungry by the day, but she also had two retired mothers who were happy to babysit, and for that she was grateful. 

She revisited the area most familiar to her, and most memorable for the times she had spent with the former lover she called for. It was his choice, of course, if he wanted to see her or the children at all- but she had an invitation that she owed him, and she would not deny him that.

Ashlar had finally come to a decision. It helped him to come to a sort of ease with the way that things would be, and he intended to tell her it and when she called for him. Perhaps she had changed her mind and would not - it would have been her right and he would not have been angry.

He would occasionally walk the Tangle and think of them, though, wishing them well. He wasn't sure if her presence there was an explicit invitation, but he approached her anyway, cautious despite the forward set of his ears and pleasant set of his tail. He wasn't unhappy to see her.

He did not know if the answer he had come to would be one she would like, but he did believe it to be the best for them all. He hoped that Chacal agreed.

When she caught sight of him, the stirring, uneasy emotions she’d had settled. She’d expected to see him doubtful, doleful, or perhaps standoffish. But the man who approached was calm, with a stillness and mildness about his features that teased her into believing she’d perhaps not hurt his feelings by waiting so long to call for him. 

Had he worried? Surely, if he had, he might have come to ask about her, she thought, though she suspected he was also the sort to be so respectful of boundaries that he might have considered such an inquiry to be a trespass against the limits she’d set. He seemed the type to be more obedient than what was necessary. 

He might have suited Sapphique- and it might have suited him. And every time she got that thought, she reminded herself of what Sobo had told her; and she reflected on Njord’s absence and the consequence that was having on Meerkat and her first litter of children. Sobo, her new advisor, was not unwise. 

But even with all of this in mind she smiled instinctively when she saw him, and her tail waved from side to side. From him she had drawn the best of her hopes into her life; four beautiful children, the promise that the legacy of Sapphique would live on, though one generation or the next. 

”Ashlar,” She greeted, her tones for his name ringing out despite being hushed. She moved forward to greet him, mindful of any movements that might warn her she’d come close enough. If he’d allow, she’d touch her nose to his cheek and then withdraw, hoping to begin their conversation on a note that was friendly, at least. ”I am sorry it took me so long to call; time flew, t’ings ‘ave change, but I ‘ave happy  nyews after all,” She said.

He welcomed her drawing near and returned the gesture lightly. It's okay. He felt the need to reassure her, and his smile was genuine as he saw that she seemed both happy and healthy. The pups had to have grown about as much as Avicus', enough to be left in the care of others at least. He wondered how old they were! But he knew, from his decision, that he might not see them.

I've thought about it. And I know what I what I need to do, now. The time had helped him, given him the space to sort through and arrive at this conclusion. He wanted to hear her news before he explained further, however. He could guess at the nature of it! But not the specifics.

He did not reach for her, and though some wild part of her missed his touch, she was also reassured that he did not pull away or stiffen. She could see he did not pine for her, and while it had felt divine to feel wanted, she now felt relieved that he did not seem so torn. 

But what decision had he made? Her heart jolted slightly and one ear turned back. What would she do if he had decided he wanted to return with her now, when she had already become so used to her lot? She’d craved for him to be with her once before, but now she was not so sure she would feel appropriate taking him home, and keeping him at a distance…

She wasn’t prompted to speak further about the children, so she leaned in, her questioning glance urging him to explain further. She tried to prepare herself to pivot, and find a way to fit him into the fold somehow, if that was what he’d decided.

I didn't word that well but he was meant to have reached out too ^^ don't worry about editing though unless you want to

Chacal seemed more intent on having him finish. He felt his nerves kick up a bit as she looked at him avidly, but it was not hard to deliver this with sureness. It felt right to know where they would go, what would happen next, and that it was the best for them all given the circumstances.

We have our homes. But if you ever need anything, I will be there. Their packs had an alliance, so this was not even a promise he needed to hesitate to make. For them, too. But I don't think I should know them. Not until they are old enough to want it. This was the part that he worried about, for her. Would she think it laziness?

It was hard to know he would not see them as children, but he tried to imagine what it would be like as a child, interacting with a stranger only on occasion. Chacal had said her pack was enough and her family was strong. She had said this was something she wished to do, even alone. If they chose to know him later then that could and he would welcome it. He would do anything and everything he could for them, be a father or a friend or a mentor. Perhaps all three. Not until they could understand.

He looked at her anxiously, hopefully. These meetings meant something to him too. He hoped that she knew that.

”We have our homes.” She smiled, and suddenly felt she understood what he was implying. He would not move to join her and the children, and she respected that decision. His offer for assistance was appreciated. She hadn’t intended for this to be a diplomatic union, but the possibility for it? It was there. 

It was kind of him to offer to be there, if they asked for him, though she felt fairly certain they might not develop that curiosity. It was not typically the way, for children of Sapphique, to be concerned with their biological fathers. Not when they were raised by such a close family. 

”If dat be your choice, Chéri,  
den I will not tell dem until dey ask me…” Even then, the power was in her court. She could lie, of course, and deny them their father’s name. It seemed Ashlar was indifferent, and wasn’t interested in seeing them now, even when they were still in their sweet puppy stage. 

”Is a pity you won’t see dem. Dey are beautiful, Ashlar.” She admitted proudly.

Another pang. He wondered if he would regret this. But he couldn't regret choosing the Rise, choosing his family.

You can tell them. If you want. He said quietly, looking down. He didn't want her to think he did not want them to know anything. But he wouldn't force her to do this, not if she thought it best they know nothing. But I won't make them know me. They could choose how important he would be in their lives. He would leave it to her, to them, to define his place.

If he could not prioritize them, this was what felt right. And he could not.

Her words made it harder. He didn't know if that was her intention, but his stomach dropped, and he wondered again if she judged him. A pity. His throat caught, but he chose to remain silent. He'd decided. He had to stand with this, hold to what he felt needed to be.

It felt that this had been a hard decision for him to make. She sensed a small pang of regret, and she wondered if perhaps there was some way to ease that. He seemed to feel it was best that he didn’t even see them…And if he wasn’t introduced, they wouldn’t have questions as to where he was, or who he was to them. 

She nodded. If she felt like telling them, she had his permission. But she was glad he was not denying her the choice, which was very gracious of him. 

It weighed on him, to hear about them, she could tell. Telling him their names, what they looked like might simply make his decision even harder to stand by. 

”Can you an’ I still be friends?” she asked. ”It would be important, I t’ink, an’ would mean a lot to me, if you an’ could still be friends, and share company.” She wouldn’t use the children as a tie between the two packs- their blood was not what defined them. But there was a bond there, that she felt she ought try and maintain. The two packs were close- peace was important.

Ashlar knew that there was a good chance he would never meet his children, deciding this. It felt selfish to make them miss him, to even chance that. Wasn't it better if they felt as if they were missing nothing? Maybe she would tell them and, when that time came, they'd be curious enough to wish to know him. Maybe she never would.

It made him sad to think of it, but it felt worse, that he might be the reason they thought they weren't good enough. They deserved a parent, and family, that could show them nothing came first. Just like Mama and Baba had done for him.

He would keep that pain silently and hope, one day, he could tell them himself. When she asked, he finally looked up, his expression grateful. He'd wanted that all along but wasn't sure it was something she would now accept. I'd... yeah. If that's.. if it's okay. His tail swayed a couple of times hopefully, but given the circumstances, it was hard to be fully enthusiastic. He would need time to accept fully the way things would be, but at least the guilt and choice of it no longer ate him from the inside.

His eyes glowed with relief that she was not angry, and seemed willing to give their friendship a chance.

Relief flowed through both wolves, and she felt for the first time in a while that perhaps now they had a common goal. 

”I liked when we sung, you an’ I. 
We never even ‘ad to ask each ot’er why.” It was perhaps one of her fondest memories, meeting another wolf who was also a singer. ”’Tell me again, Chéri, how did you become so good wit a melody?”

He'd never told her, had he? There weren't many who asked about his singing, and since singing with her, he hadn't done it much with others. The wolves of the rise did not seem to mind it, but they did not share it, and singing for others wasn't the same as singing with them. He missed it.

Mama. She used to sing, and I remember the way it made me feel. I wanted to be able to do that, share it and give that feeling. Or any feeling that wants to be felt. Singing for him wasn't just a show. It was how he shared his heart with anyone around who might want it. Even the strangers he sang with he felt closer to, like somehow they'd skipped a step to knowing just by having that moment.

Words get the job done, this is true. But a song paints more colors than words ever do. He added softly, mimicking a melody that came to mind when he thought of Mona. He missed her dearly.

It warmed her heart to hear him- or anyone, for that matter- speak with such fondness about their mother. Having been blessed with two mothers, whom she loved completely, she always found it endearing to hear others speak respectfully and affectionately about theirs. It seemed that like her, his song had come from a matrilineal line. She smiled, her eyes calm and spirit quieted by the fondness with which he spoke about singing. 

It was hard not to want him to sing to their children; not when he was so kind in spirit. Try as she might, it was impossible to completely steel her feelings against the warmth of his charm. 

"I am glad dat your mother, she sing to you. 
We are lucky to 'ave dose memories of dose who love us true," She said. After all, she believed mothers to be terribly important in the lives of their children. She would do her best to raise the children with the same loving songs that Ashlar's mother had sung to him. 

She nodded in agreement. There was truly more poetry to words when they were weaved with a melody, she believed. 

"In honor of your mot'er, Ashlar, if you wish it be so,
is dere a song of 'ers that I might pass on to mes p'tit zwazo?"

She would sing to them. He should have known that she would - had known that she would. But the significance of that fact had not struck Ashlar until this very moment, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with the complicated emotions of it all once more. The choices they made were so large and so wrought.

There's... yeah. When I was little, mama would sing this in the dark. At times the shapes in it had frightened him but the song never failed to quiet those fears and remind him, no matter how dark, he was loved and cared for. Maybe it would bring them a similar comfort.

He closed his eyes, remembered, and sang it the way that she had. He would not be capable of explaining the emotions he felt, the depth of his missing, experiencing the words again.

Une chanson douce...

It was a song in another language, one mama and her family had spoken but baba never had. He'd worried, but then he caught tones of it in Chacal's own voice, and his worry had settled into a quiet wonderment. Perhaps the world was small, or perhaps the threads that connected them all ran deeper, and more broadly, than any of them could understand.

Jusqu'à la fin de ma vic.

He finished it, trailing off softly and leaving the silence to linger for a moment. He hadn't ever sung that song without her accompanying. Yet he remembered the words perfectly, as if he were still small and trembling against a darkened world.

Maybe they will sing it with you, like I did. he added softly. The poignant reminder of his own parents, and childhood, left him feeling emptier than he had at the start. Because of him, there would be no 'baba'. No figure alongside Chacal, no second source of truly inherent belonging. His parents would be disappointed in him, he imagined, for the choices he had made.

She felt guilty when she sensed a bit of hesitation. Was it rude of her to ask to take something more from him? Especially when it seemed perhaps as though it might be something better delivered by the one who knew the song. When he admitted that his mother had sung it to him, she felt a pang of guilt. It took a considerable amount of effort to stop herself from inviting him to share the song with them himself. She’d promised herself she would parent them…She needed to keep these boundaries. 

But it was difficult not to be charmed yet again when he sang to her. Not only did she find herself allured by the beauty of his voice, and the memory of their meet-cute, but she was surprised to find she understood the words. She fought back tears, and felt her throat tighten. She swallowed hard, trying not to blink so the tears might not wet her cheeks. She drew in a breath, and tried to pull her wriggling lips into a grateful smile. ”Merci, Ashlar,” She croaked. 

She hiccoughed, and turned her head abruptly, rubbing the spilled tear into the fur of her shoulder. She cleared her throat. ”I should…Be getting back to dem.” She added, keen to be free of his gaze so she could allow herself a moment to process her feelings.

He was going to cry too. Ashlar had always been grateful when his songs could move others but her reaction made his more poignant. It could have been the song, but it was also likely because she was not happy either with this choice. Yeah. I'll come here, sometimes. He replied, softly.

He could take it back. He could go with her, join her pack, leave the rise and it's rough edges behind to live a life among sirens. Instead he watched her go.

There was no right choice when asked to leave one family for another. He felt his guilt more strongly than ever and would carry it with him as he departed as well. He would be raising children that were not his and hoping they'd eventually, maybe, forgive him for it. He didn't expect that they would. He was glad for the first time that his parents were not here. He wouldn't have to face them with this.

He wouldn't return home right away. The bard would take his feelings to a place where he could be alone for a while. He knew that the Rise would not understand.

Her faltering smile became easier when he spoke. She felt touched by the gift he had given her- and felt undeserving of being the one to deliver it to the children. The promise of seeing him here, again, brightened her spirits. ”I will too. Be well, Chéri,” She said, in almost a whisper, before she turned and trotted off. 

She’d allow herself some time to mourn before she returned. She felt a longing return that she had thought she’d buried, and would need to bury yet again. When she returned to the children, the song remained in her memory only; she would not sing it until she could sing it without regret.