Northstar Vale unzip my body

anyone who might be kicking around the healing den, looking after this little shit

She dreamt. Little of it made sense— brief lapses in time, perhaps, strung together incoherently—incoherence being the pun of the running joke in her life. Poppy—painkillers—applied to her between waking hours, where her hollow eyes played the perfect patient, accepting whatever was administered to her. The change in dressings—the potent scent of medicinal plants and blood—sharp with iron. One scent distinctly missing—Reyson’s. Understandably. She had saw the pain in his eyes despite that he had not looked to her—what had Germanicus spoken to them?

She did not know—she could not ask. Not yet. Instead, she slept, a state of dream and pained wakefulness, but it was always the fever that brought her further in murky depths, stirring her to an unconsciousness that left her unresponsive.

In her dreams she would see him—inked black—feral in his stance and voice, the deepest of rumbles when he spoke in his northern tongue to her. Pulling her to him—emerald eyes that had drawn her in from first glance, when he had led her with the wolves of ravens and mountains. Solpallur, her mind cried—did it echo in her fever with her voice? He trailed his kisses along her jawline—and then the woman he had brought with him appeared behind him—heady in her scent of him, carrying his children—it should have been her, should have been Engi! ‘Go to him, Engi. Go to Solpallur,’ Stjornuati had rumbled with humor. A joke to them, perhaps.

And she had clung to her suneater. Cried in his arms and quaked with grief, even as his forehead had found hers, unsure how to console her. “Engi, home,” she murmured aloud now, the fever causing a twitch in her paw—otherwise she remained unmoving. “Is Hrafnsvaktin still home to Engi?” It came from her lips as a keening cry then—and as she spoke them, sweat found its way upon her brow, and her eyes shot open to the world of the living—it was not the sight of the inkjet north man that greeted her, nor the sloping grey of the mountains. It was the roof and sides of the healing den—and for a moment, she found herself quieted, mourning.

Do I have a problem with collecting your open threads? Maybe. Will I stop? :’) probably not. <3

 

The young wolf had made a semi-permanent place for himself outside of the healing den. The scent of herbs was almost enough to overpower that of her wounds. If he focused on the mint and juniper, he could put distance between himself and the damage done to Meadow. 

Antigone still seethed at the foolishness of the man - Reyson. He could not fathom such outright hurt. The red-headed boy had not known love so tender. He had only known the love of family and of Epoch. As withdrawn as he was to emotional matters, he knew to communicate the worst of his feelings. His sisters has helped with this. They never looked upon him with judgment or anger. He thought of Zosime, who offered to learn healing so that Antigone might rest in peace, knowing someone could assist Meadow. His family was good. The thought of them was tucked in the boy’s heart. 

He was licking at his paws, still tingly with the feeling of her blood, when her voice snapped his head up. Ears pointed, alert and fearful. Antigone thought his chest would burst from the pressure in his heart. 

Meadow? he croaked hoarsely. The boy stepped into the den and his nose prodded at her, soft, tentatively checking. She burned hot with fever.

aaaalways come to my threads!

Her heart beat like fire in her chest—sluggishly, her eyes traced to the opening of the den, Antigone’s handsome and youthful features poking past the opening, and she saw there his worry and uncertainty. He moved in, ushering to her side, prodding at her, checking on her—and her heart swelled with both regret and love. Regret for those that hurt because of her injuries, and love for the family of wolves who despite her shortcomings, proved to be by her side with a ferocity in their devotion. Antigone, Tamar, Arsenio.

Reyson was not within this number—she had not seen him since they had placed her in the den, and she looked at Antigone, a tight smile trying to press to her lips, though she grimaced in pain. “Antigone, hi,” she whispered—the dryness of her mouth causing a hoarseness to her voice. She tried to shift then—groaning at the stretch of muscle and skin that tried to heal from the claws and teeth of a hungry cat.

this can just be a cameo unless you want him to stick around!

Phox wasn't privy to the details of what had happened to Meadow, nor Germanicus's involvement, Arsenio's warning, or Reyson's reaction. What he did know was that a packmate was injured, and he could do his part by putting his skills to use. So he'd tracked down a rabbit and managed to catch it. This three-legged hunting was starting to become more second-nature to him, and he was thankful for that. He hadn't been sure how well he'd be able to adapt.

The healing den smelled strongly of scents Phox associated with his own daughter's gardening, and he wondered if Reverie had ever made it to Mereo to let her know she was due for a visit. In any case, he dropped the rabbit at the opening of the den, catching quiet voices inside.

Sorry Phox! You’re so welcome. Lemme edit.

The weight of her voice and it’s hoarse cracking sound were sharp on him. His mind was weak. He did not sleep for long outside the den. Any noise from within was enough to spark his young body to life, to help. Her mind had seemingly been wrought with fever dreams. He could not silence her, or pull her from the memory of them. The only way out was to move through it. 

You need water, he said in a grave voice. A dark figure stood nearby. Antigone watched him with shrewdness in his stare. Was this another friend to Meadow? A man who cared for her? He had brought food, so he would not be given all of the boy’s icy demeanour. 

Swift as his paws could carry him, Antigone rushed to soak moss in the river. He returned with it sopping so that she might lick at it. Just enough to wet her throat. If she could wake long enough, if she could think through the confusion and pain, she could tell him what he needed to do to fix her. 

Intense blue eyes were on her face. He nudged the soaked moss toward her snout.

of course phox is welcome if you want him in, too!

Antigone’s instincts were keen, and while she never wished to be on the receiving end of his talent, she was proud as the boy swept away, insisting on finding water for her. She brooked no argument—the idea of quenching her tongue and throat was a thought she clung to… So much so, that she fought the pull of feverish sleep—despite the lulling of her eyelids as they threatened to close once more.

She could not scent Phox over the stench of herbs—but what felt like only minutes had passed when Antigone was back once more—perhaps she had fallen asleep—and when he offered her the water-soaked moss, she lapped what she could from it, trying to ignore, for now, the throbbing flare of pain in her side. "Thank you," she whispered, her chin nestling down to the dirt, next to the offered moss, finding her energy sapped once more.

Autumn told me to skip Fantastic Mr. Phox ;w;

 

Meadow’s movements were weak. The boy did not want his worry to show on his face. He did not want her to see the way his eyes obsessively pointed to her wounds, watching to be certain they would not reopen and fill the healing den with blood. She needed more rest. She needed someone who was better equipped to help her, to know what to do. Antigone fought the urge to call for his sister or mother. This was the first he had heard her voice outside of dream since the attack. 

A man brought food. I’m going to get it. Make it small. You need to eat, Antigone said to her. His boyish voice had aged in the trip from the mountain. He slipped out to collect the rabbit. The dark man had already gone away. The boy would thank him later… later. 

Carrying the prey inside, he settled onto his belly and began to peel strips of meat from it. He placed them in front of her snout. Meadow needed to keep her strength and she could not do so with only herbal remedies.

Antigone slipped out another moment.  A man had brought food—

“Reyson?” His name slipped from her lips before she could stop it—had the fever not painted her with a flush as it were, she might have done so now.

He returned just as swiftly, her eyes searching the youth, so resilient in this very moment, and while she wished to ask of his own well-being—to assure him he did so good with such a heavy weight upon him—her mind was upon the tawny soldier, waiting for the aspiring medic to answer.

He’s out there, the boy answered with rolling eyes. Antigone had never felt more at odds with another soul. Reyson had made his mind buzz with questions and accusations that had no answer. 

He has been sulking since the day we found you. 

Wouldn’t talk about his feelings except to say that they were raw. What a joke! The boy had only wanted to shine a light on his foolishness. He had only wanted to show him that he was the cause of his heartache. All it would have taken was a tip of the cup and his emotions would surely spill out, surround her. Meadow deserved to know that she was loved, even if it was by the heart of a man who could not see it for himself. 

Another strip of meat was placed before her. Antigone nudged it closer. He needed her to eat. He needed her to grow stronger, better. The young wolf did not think he could go many more nights without sleep.

So Reyson was still here—yet the roll of her healer’s eyes and the clip in his tone regarding the soldier sulking caused her lips to purse and keep her from questioning more—this was not Antigone’s burden to bear upon his shoulders, and for now, she was simply left with assumptions to the man’s distance. Whether the scent of Germanicus upon her had set him off, perhaps he had seen the herbs she had gathered to repress a heat… maybe the Mereo man had spoken something to her soldier. She did not know—

—and the upset would claw at her, but she raked it down for now. You did this, her mind whispered to her, reminding her that even if he were at her side, she was undeserving of it. A stolen kiss with another man and broken promises.

Halfheartedly, she accepted the offer of the meat strip—even her mouth felt tired as she chews—her stomach roiling at the prospect. But she knew he was right, and as she swallowed—ignoring the dryness of her mouth—she offered him a wane smile. “How lucky I am to have such a quick study,” she murmured, allowing her head to fall back for a moment, eyes closing in fatigue. She had stolen glances of his dressings to her—had scented certain herbs within the air and assumed they had been applied— “You’ve done so well…” She trailed off—as if forgetting what it was she would further say.

Antigone’s eyes were dark on her.

Even in this wounded state, Meadow still offered her encouragement. She offered love in the words that were shared to the boy. Emotion fluttered from his belly and made him squirm. He had not realized just how much he had worried. He hadn’t known the extent of the shock in finding her up there, bleeding and broken. It had been difficult to face the trek back to the vale when they did not know if she would survive, if she would pull through. Every step had been made in caution. The tension in the air when Antigone had watched Arsenio confront the other man – the man who had been there with her.

The boy shook his head.

I thought you might die.

Antigone’s expression was fixed on the shadows behind Meadow. His chest tightened when he remembered the initial sight of the blood. Even after washing for hours, he could not remove the feeling of it from his flesh.

I don’t want you to die…

He spoke his fear—her heart clenched at the thought of it. Was this the moment she consoled him? Spoke that in the end, everyone died and it shouldn’t be something to fear? But that wasn’t entirely true—who wouldn’t fear losing the ones you loved?

She allowed a small pause, her eyes drifting over him—the way his own eyes locked as if on her, but not—looking behind her. An admission from the youth, who was still navigating a world of feelings and how to process them. “Well…” She paused again, considering. “I don’t want to die, either,” she offered, a wisp of a sad smile pulling at her lips. “But it’s a relief to know that if something ever did happen to me, that you would be able to look after everyone here.”

A relief, she said. The idea of Meadow dying and leaving Antigone to care for the wounded on his own was not relieving to anyone but her. The red-hooded child was filled with dread by the thought. He could not imagine the healing den without her brightness. He couldn’t picture the grounds of Epoch without seeing her pawprints upon it.

We won’t have to worry about that, he said in a crisp voice. Because you’re going to be just fine.

Antigone’s dark eyes were fixed on her face. He fought to pull them away. He did not want to be lost in the softness of her features. When his tongue became heavy and his mouth grew dry, the red-hooded wolf shifted his posture and fixed his stare to the ground at his paws.

What happened out there?

His voice, quick to the point, offering no point that he would accept any other answer—and she allowed him that, too tired to reassure he would be just fine without her. Anyone would.

If she had known the direction the conversation would have gone, she might have considered not allowing such a pause between them—Antigone wished to know what happened, and she could feel a moment of silent questioning on her end—hesitant on what to share with a youthful boy verging on adulthood.

To pretend the innocence of it all seemed an insult to his intelligence—to offer the details simply too invasive… and quite frankly, inappropriate. She would settle for somewhere in the middle—but still, her cheeks would heat with a blush. “I went to look for a certain plant I needed… and I ran in to Germanicus. He was upset.”

She paused then, her eyes finding their way to the ceiling of the den, not wishing to see what emotions might play upon the youths face. How harshly he might judge her for her poor judgement. “He… was upset. He was leaving… Mereo, the mountains… And so I gave him a… a goodbye kiss.” In the basest sense. “And that was when we were attacked by the cat." Her lips twisted—rueful, almost. “Cosmic karma, I imagine. None of it should have happened.”

That’s why he has been sulking outside your den?

Disbelief flashed across his features.

Meadow’s actions were treated like a horrible travesty. She had nearly been mauled to death by a wildcat and the soldier was playing pity party over a farewell kiss. It was clear that Antigone was discomforted by the news she shared, if only for the light that it shed on the man who sought her heart. Distaste replaced his shock and made him squirm, nervous and overwhelmed by the feelings he had.

I don’t understand why you think that was karma, the young wolf admitted to her.

Red ears perked atop his head. Antigone looked at her with intensity written in his features. The tightness of his shoulders and the curious lift of his head was his attempt at looking more adult. She had never truly treated him like a child. Meadow had taught him many things and had always spoken to him with care, as an equal.

None of this makes sense. You do not deserve a punishment for something so- so simple.

Were all men so fragile? Antigone thought of his father and wondered how he might react to Tamar sharing a similar encounter with another man. He had a feeling that the Arche of Epoch would have been the same as Reyson, if not slightly more violent.

She winced at the mention of Reyson sulking—at the anger that rolled from the youth. Unknowing to her in that moment of the passion with which he spoke and his growing disgust for her beau, the she-wolf could feel a flutter of amusement at how protective he seemed of her, and pushing forward to brush her forehead to his, she sighed softly, hoping to sooth him as much as herself. “Nothing about this is simple,” she offered to him, and with that, she would pull back… and within his company and quieter words, drift to sleep so that her body could continue to heal.