Swiftcurrent Creek silver ribbons

tags for ref or joining! <3

very much did he miss amalia.
lestan worked most days on enforcing the marks left by @Akavir and @Arric. just three men, just a — tracker and two fighters who in their best hour seemed to only tolerate him.
lestan supposed it could not be helped.
today, however, he walked through the land around the creek, noting its hallmarks and details. akavir had chosen a fine territory. he only hoped red and her posse would stay far away this time.

I can delete this if it's not okay!

She found another place with wolf scents all over it. This time, she knew better than to walk through it. But she was curious, despite her fear. Different wolves lived here, not the same ones as Kvarsheim or the other place. How many different groups of wolves could fit into one place?
The girl thought she could almost see someone from where she stood. She craned her neck to get a better view, trying to peer around the trees. She only caught glimpses of the stranger, but it was enough to make her heart race. She thought it was safe here, outside of the heavy scent markers, but... what if she was wrong?

totally good! thx for joining! <3

out here and alone, lestan even found it in himself to hum a little. his voice was a soprano, and eventually he lifted it to charm a watching cardinal, singing in gaelic about a pretty girl and a wheel of cheese!
whatever cheese was.
the mayfair was on high alert these days, and he felt a watcher. the song tapered to nothing. he snorted. "come out. you don't want the others to find you instead of me."

After a time, the stranger started to sing. His voice was high and clear, like pure sunlight on a cloudless day. The girl wasn't sure what to make of it; she'd never heard a song that wasn't a devotion to Mother Rain or a plea to Father Fire. And never one this pretty.
Then the sound faded, a sense of loss in its wake. She wondered why he'd stopped, but only for a moment. She froze when he called out, ears pinning to her skull in dismay. No part of her wanted to venture further toward what she saw as the danger zone, but something in his voice sounded... kind? And what he'd said — about not wanting the others to find her; was he different somehow?
She picked through the trees carefully, with the air of a cautious doe. Now she could see him clearly, and she couldn't think of what to say. Torn between fear and fascination, she could hardly think. That song... it was very pretty, Out of all the thoughts racing through her mind, only that one seemed coherent at all. It was something simple, something grounding, and she needed that just now. She still wasn't sure if she'd been doing something wrong just by being close to a place like this.

she was a pretty butterscotch girl with a shy, flighty demeanour and a healthy hesitation. lestan approached, though not so quickly, and looked hesitantly into the golden eyes.
"this place is um, swiftcurrent creek. and i am lestan mayfair." his accent was not so apparent now, but his smile flashed true.
"my mother brought it and those words from the old country. taught us children." his features softened into something that reminisced for a moment, and then the man returned to himself. "we've had some run-ins with — well bad folk, hence the warning. lots of injuries on both sides, though — i joined later."
he was rambling. he shut his mouth, and a second after caught the faint whiff of many wolves wound into the stranger's fur.

He was like Bjarna in some ways, yet so unlike her. They both carried an aura of peace, a soothing aspect that the girl craved. But it was so much different when she could understand what was said to her. He spoke her language, and so many words! This was Swiftcurrent Creek, he was Lestan Mayfair, that was a song from his mother, his mother from the old country — her head spun a little, but in the best way. She wanted him to keep talking to her like that forever, but all too soon, he veered into a somber topic and quieted. He'd thought her a threat, and maybe the wolves she has encountered before did, too. But he was being kind to her.
She understood that it was her turn to speak now, but her thoughts were disordered. She was silent for too long, and when she became aware of it, shame and guilt clutched at her. This was one of the things her parents had hated about her. She never knew what to say anymore, not when it mattered. Maybe that was why she liked Bjarna's company so much.
When she finally found her voice, she could only apologize. I'm sorry, I... Lies came to mind, but she couldn't force any of them out, so it had to be the truth. I think I've forgotten what it's like — to have someone speak kindly to me.
Three months; a quarter of her life she'd spent on her own, a girl whose self-esteem had already been shattered. Bjarna was kind, but they could not speak like this. Everyone else she'd met... she preferred not to think of it.
I... have a stupid question, She admitted next. If he was willing to speak so freely to her, maybe he wouldn't be completely disgusted with her ignorance. All of these places — Swiftcurrent Creek and Kvarsheim and... Riverclan, She thought that was what the dark wolf had called it. What are they? And why did the wolves in Riverclan say I was... trespassing? It was different with Kvarsheim. They want me to stay there, I think. Or, Bjarna did, and the others didn't seem to mind.
At this point she still had no idea she'd joined a pack. She knew she was welcome back, but that was about it. The lack of knowledge probably seemed weird without context; she realized that belatedly.
They don't speak the way we do. Their words are different, She added, not even considering that the others in Kvarsheim were not the same as Bjarna.

the pacifist spirit in the mayfair man reached directly for her shyness. she had been mistreated, he assumed; harsh words at least. it projected in the way she described her question as stupid, to which she received a passionate shake of his head. 
but the creek wolf listened, drifting closer to the trees through which she had wended. kvarsheim. riverclan. trespassing. he blinked, realizing that there were more in the world than he and akavir and arric, though he was unsure how welcoming his packmates would be of the news.
"well," and here he worried his lip a little. "those are all packs, i expect! well, we are, so i have to assume the others are packs too. i haven't heard of kvarsheim or riverclan, though." and he glanced back along the way the young woman had come.
"you are — well, you were a little close when you found me here. many do not tolerate that closeness. or perhaps you entered their land and did not know it." there were many reasons one might be accused of trespassing. "do you want to stay in kvarsheim, miss ... um?" 
he paused here, gently hinting that he wanted to know her name.

Lestan didn't judge her at all; he didn't even seem surprised by her lack of knowledge. That was strange. So far it had seemed like everyone simply expected her to know these things, like there was something wrong with her because she didn't. And he just... treated her like she was normal.
He hadn't heard of the places she listed off, but nonetheless he identified them swiftly. They were packs. She wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but she was beginning to form a rough picture of it. Wolves who lived together, in one place. He confirmed what she had thought before, that they owned the land and apparently didn't tolerate visitors; that was weird to her, but at least she knew for sure now. None of it was surprising to her, except the last thing he said.
He wanted to know if she wanted to stay in Kvarsheim. And he wanted to know her name. It was kind, like everything about him, but it was also a problem.
She couldn't be Ophelia anymore. Ophelia was gone. Dead. Burned alive, right in front of her. No. No, that was Rose...
She wasn't dead, but she wasn't Ophelia. She was just the girl in the reverie.
Reverie, She said, before she could think too much about it. I... Kvarsheim is safe. There's a girl there, Bjarna. She helped me. But she doesn't say many things I can understand, and I never know if she understands me. I don't know if I'll be allowed to stay there for very long, but... I don't have anywhere else to go right now. There was home, but... no. Never.

reverie. it fit the one in front of him, her tawny fur and sunlit eyes and hesitating words. "bjarna sounds very welcoming!" lestan exulted softly. "it can be hard to understand — how to take kindness. especially if it has not always been forthcoming. but maybe you can learn a new language there. and, if you don't mind me saying, you're awfully good at getting close to the borders without being detected. maybe you could be a rogue!"
his voice was teasing then, but he meant it well. "winter is difficult and long." the humour had banked down in his honeyblue eyes, not quite dying away but lestan was somber now. "i think that if bjarna has a home for you, where you are treated nicely, you should stay. when the warm times come back, you could travel again, if you wanted."
the mayfair flexed his feet against the ground and wondered at himself, wondered why words had always come so easily to him.

He seemed to understand her on some level. In a way, he reminded her of Athens, though her brother wasn't quite so gentle a soul. Athens was thoughtful, and she had the most in common with him out of all of her siblings, but Lestan's whole bearing was unlike anyone she'd met before. He seemed so genuine, so invested in a lost girl who didn't know literally anything about anything.
And he was right. About most of it, at least. She might have appreciated his humor more if she knew what a rogue was, and she definitely would have appreciated his overall point more if she knew what winter was.
You're right, but... there's a reason people aren't usually nice to me, She hesitated over the confession, but didn't think to avoid it. It was odd, how easy it was to spill her thoughts to this man she'd just met. Or maybe it wasn't so odd. She hadn't realized how desperate she was to talk to someone until she had the opportunity. Sometimes I...
She hadn't meant to give a demonstration, but calling it to mind was just too much to handle right now. The effect was immediate. Her eyes went distant, her expression slightly dazed, but she herself failed to realize what was happening for a moment. Sometimes I... She tried again to finish the thought. Dead end.
She couldn't. Not now. Something else. Think about something else.
She blinked, visibly struggling to focus. What — what is a rogue? And winter? Some part of her was aware that she was behaving strangely. It didn't make a difference. She couldn't stop.

"well!" lestan began, then wondered how old reverie was, that she did not understand winter. "a rogue is someone who sneaks about and gathers secrets, either to guard or to trade. and winter is —" the mayfair gestured to the new snow and the frost clinging to the tips of the branches. "this is the beginning. but it only gets worse now, colder. the food is less easy to find."
but his voice was trailing away, for he had seen her stutter and stop, how she had seemed to strike an invisible wall and stood there confused and soft and struggling.
"reverie, how long, uhum, how long have you — forgotten things? thoughts?" vaguely he was beginning to sort her reactions as trauma, though in his lack of medical training, he had no word for what he saw.

Lestan obliged the girl's stilted subject change; her gratitude only made her more self-conscious. She was acting like a child. Again. Nonetheless, he launched into explaining about rogues and winter as if everything was normal. It helped more than anything else he could have done.
Learning grounded her. It was something real to focus on, something to remind her that she was real, too. What about Father Fire? She wanted to ask, but Lestan had his own question.
Oh. Right. Of course he would want to know about that. She wanted to tell him that it was a bad idea to ask her that question; that she didn't want to talk about it. But if she was going to try to act more like the adult she should have been, she would have to stop letting her emotions control her. That was what her parents always said.
So she tried to remember. A long time, I think. Since my sister died, She stopped, a little shocked by the sound of her own voice. It always came out that way when she said it, lifeless and uneven, but she never got used to it. Just like she never got used to the idea that Rose was gone. Time is… weird, since then. Everything is. Including me, I guess. She tried to smile, and only managed a sad shadow of the expression. She'd had this grand notion of forcing her way through the fog, but it just didn't work like that. It wasn't a matter of self-control. It wasn't about what she wanted.
I try not to be... She started to fade again, stuck on one last drifting thought before her mind shuttered and went dark. It had to protect itself, whether she agreed or not, and any progress she'd made toward calming down had been undone by talking about Rose.
So it went to a happier time. Somewhere else, while poor, kind Lestan who had been nothing but helpful was left with a glassy-eyed shell of a girl.

reverie seemed to speak with great effort, and he found himself worried as she seemed to char once more. his brow knitted and he came even closer. "you must have suffered a great deal, to lose her." his eyes were solemn. "i don't think you're weird at all. i think we — become odd when we live an odd life."
and certainly she related to that. lestan cast his eyes about the snowy trees, the trickling stream, and then back to reverie. "i won't be missed here for a bit," the man declared with a jaunty lash of his tail. "why don't i walk you back to kvarsheim? that way we can keep talking, and you don't have to be alone."
he was quite wary for her sake, though he could not articulate her malady. lestan knew only that she must be protected.

In another life, she would have had so much to say. The girl she had been before had loved nothing more than to speak endlessly of the nature of people and things and untouchable concepts. She would have thrilled at Lestan's thoughtfulness, and maybe she would have admired his kind eyes and handsome features.
This wasn't that life, though. There wasn't any room inside of her for things like philosophy or romance. There was only her, drowning. How could she think of anything else?
She could hardly stand to think even of that, most days. Today was most days. She looked at Lestan as he spoke, but she only sort of heard him. She did not at all comprehend what was said. Lost again in her own head. It was entirely awkward and inconvenient, but the illness that gripped her knew nothing of grace or dignity. It was a clinical, relentless sort of thing; cause-and-effect, uncompromising. It would be hours before she would return to herself fully, and though she showed signs of seeing and hearing Lestan, she wasn't really there. In the words of the venerable Porky Pig: that's all, folks!

fainting spells. sick spells. walking in the woods. all euphemisms for what reverie suffered now. a fae-child.
well, he'd heard plenty of that from angelique. strangeling babes, created to replace living wolf-children. but he didn't think reverie was that. yet she seemed hazed, as muzzy as if the fae-folk themselves whispered in her ears. the fae — well, lestan did believe in that.
the man came closer. he looked beyond her golden shoulder and back into the eyes that looked but did not see. "reverie," he stuttered a bit. "reverie. let's go. let's go to kvarsheim."
worry furrowed his forehead. lestan mayfair reached to touch her only a little, a reassuring brush of muzzle to cheek.

I figured we could wrap it here, but if you want anything changed just let me know!!

There was no Rose to color her vision this time. No Bjarna to soften the blow with her hints of familiarity. The golden girl's family had long since learned it was best not to speak much to her when she was like this. After those first days, those terrible days, her parents screaming at her, her siblings pleading with her — after that, they spoke little to her, and softly. Her parents hadn't spoken to her at all.
Lestan had no such reservations. While Reverie was remembering the fire, the way even the smallest of creatures had shrieked like Rose had, he was speaking. A different name in a different voice, in a place too cold for fire.
It was too cold for fire.
Lestan, with an air of gentle insistence; that was all she knew for a moment. It was a shock, like stepping into cold water, but she still felt disconnected and displaced. This wasn't home. Why wasn't it home? Why couldn't she remember?
What... what's happening? What's wrong with me?
Had she said that aloud? She remembered again that she wasn't alone. Lestan, close enough to touch; she hadn't noticed that he had touched her. Why did he still seem so far away? Maybe he hadn't heard her at all, if she'd said it. If she'd said...
What did I just say? What's happening to me?
They were going to Kvarsheim, weren't they? He'd said they were. She thought he did. Or was that Bjarna?
I think I remember the way. She looked at him, uncertain again if she'd spoken. Had she meant to speak? No. No, she would just... she would do what she was told. She could do that. She could act normal. Or so she thought.
So she started to lead him away from the trees, retracing her steps without much effort. She had spent most of her life doing just that in The Gilded Sea; it was as natural as breathing by now. Occasionally she would stop and look at him, as if she meant to say something. But she didn't. Not for several hours.