Swiftcurrent Creek Let me go, I wanna die in the disco

Maybe @Moss or @Jakoul ? Set in Ophelia Fields

Reverie was looking for Lestan; she really tried not to smother him with her presence, but even being parted for a short time left her feeling unsettled. It never took long for her skin to start crawling with the feeling of being trapped. Stuck here, forever. What if Lestan changed his mind? What if he decided he did not want to leave Swiftcurrent Creek?
She couldn't leave him again. Reverie had already decided she would not cross the border of Swiftcurrent Creek without Lestan at her side, not ever. If he decided to stay, then they would stay. She would truly be stuck here forever. That thought set her heart to racing, and she abandoned her search for Lestan in favor of settling into the snow by the creek. Quiet here, peaceful in a way that reminded Reverie of her time spent traveling. She was alone, if only for this moment.
She closed her eyes and tried to picture the future. They would travel together, she and Lestan, and they would see the world. They wouldn't be here forever. She needed to remember that.

YES.

The scent of the fair girl had been lingering about for days. Word came to her that Reverie had decided to join them, and she was not displeased. Of all the visitors, she had tolerated Reverie better than many of the others. She also found Reverie to be the prettiest, out of the ones who had come looking for Lestan. The doe-eyed man was likeable, though she couldn't say much else for him. He was quiet, careful with his words, and sensitive. Perhaps that was Reverie's type- the sort of wolf who would always be safe.

She came upon the young, wisp of a wolf near the stream. She uttered a low grunt to the woman as a greeting. She padded forward to the stream's edge, and firmly pressed down on the thin shelf of ice so it broke away, and left her a gap where she could drink. She crouched, and like a great lion, she began lapping up the cool water, her gaze trained out across the creek. When she stood, she stretched, allowing several vertebrae in her back and neck to pop loudly. She heaved a relieved sigh. The world just felt better when she was able to free up a bit of room in her spine.

Reverie was not alone for long. It was Moss who found her; Moss, the intimidatingly beautiful guardian of Swiftcurrent Creek who had found her in tears on the border not so long ago. She brightened a little to see a familiar face, but her demeanor was still tightly drawn with anxiety. Hello, She said softly in response to the grunted greeting.
Moss was a quiet sort, she had gathered, and just now Reverie could appreciate that. She didn't much feel like talking. Instead she watched her, golden eyes glimmering with subtle admiration for the strength in her movements. She wasn't sure if she was jealous or attracted to her! Both, maybe. If Reverie was a bit more like Moss, she could have kicked Tybault into next week and Lestan never would have needed to get involved. Sigh.

She wondered if Reverie feared her. Those who didn't find her off-putting often did, and she leaned fully into whatever persona it was they built up about her. A monstrous wolf, more bear than anything, begrudging of companionship and less personable than a boulder growing moss on it. She liked to think of herself that way, and let only a few know that she could be personable, as well. 

She licked the water droplets from her whiskers as she sat back down. "One of us, hmm?" She slid the gilded woman a coy side-eye; the closest she ever really came to smiling. Her lips didn't move, but there was faint amusement in her labradorite eye nonetheless.

Reverie couldn't help but smile, caught helplessly in the warmth inspired by that flicker of amusement in Moss's gaze. It felt like a significant display of friendliness, at least from this stoic woman who had seemed to dislike her at their first meeting. Depends, She said playfully, stifling her anxiety about staying here with humor. Will Akavir kick me out when he finds out I can't swim?
As much as she was joking, it was partially true. She did not know how to swim. Which made living next to a creek seem like a really bad idea, now that she thought about it! But it was fine. She wouldn't fall in. Right?

Like an old librarian peering over round glasses at a couple of tittering students, Moss tilted her head down and eyed Reverie sternly. Was this a joke? She gritted her teeth and raised one eyebrow. All wolves knew how to swim. It was programmed into their nature. She couldn't tell if Reverie was joking or not, but if she was telling the truth....That could be a concern. 

Fortunately for Reverie, this wasn't exactly the hotspot for swimming, anyway. "This Creek's not for swimming." She said. "Dark waters, too deep. Stream bed's wider where it's deepest, underneath shelves of rock. Current's too strong. You get pulled under, 'n you get held under." Came her grim assessment of the dangerous, dark waters. It wouldn't likely improve any hesitations Reverie might've had if she'd been hinting she would want to learn how to swim. At least, now, she'd save herself the effort of trying to learn in one of the most dangerous creeks in the area. She looked back to Reverie then, and gave her a shrug. 

"Learn in a pond. In summer."

Moss didn't take her joke very well, and Reverie realized then that she'd gotten a little too used to — a certain amount of lenience in the way others responded to her. She'd forgotten, however briefly, that she wasn't normal. Her ears turned hot and she looked away, to the creek, struck suddenly by the urge to cry. She barely heard what Moss was saying, but it definitely didn't make her feel any better.
Learn in a pond. In summer. Reverie didn't know what to say to that. Moss spoke as if Reverie was a child, as if she was — stupid! Maybe she was! She stared into the creek and muttered, Okay. Her voice was entirely neutral, lacking in any tone at all because she couldn't stand the thought of Moss seeing her cry again.

She picked up on the rise in Reverie's energy, and felt that it was negative. The look she'd given her...It hadn't been taken well. She'd given Reverie good advice- she'd wanted to warn the young woman away from trying to prove herself to Akavir by learning how to swim in a place that no wolf should be swimming- but if course, there'd been a tonne of criticism in her gaze. That was probably a faux-pas. 

Reverie shut down. Moss exhaled a deep, slow breath. 

"I sink." She said, in a low voice. "Like a rock."

She heard Moss's long exhale, and wondered if she'd made the woman hate her. The thought was like a weight dropping in her chest; what would Lestan think? Would Akavir decide that she did not belong here? Reverie increasingly fought the threat of tears, certain that she had already ruined everything —
Moss spoke, and the weight lifted in a rush of oh! She doesn't hate me! She —
Sinks like a rock, apparently. Reverie glanced at her with eyes only shining a little bit, a curious sideways look as she considered this. If you had feathers, you might float, She said thoughtfully, thinking of duck feathers. You know, like ducks. I wish I could just - sit on the water like that! Oh, there she went, being odd again —
Her ears flattened and she slipped in a prompt Sorry. I don't mean to be - weird. What um, what sort of things do you like to do, Moss? For fun? It was best if they talked about what Moss wanted to talk about, she thought. Then maybe Reverie could try to have a normal conversation with her.

If she had....Feathers?

It was an insane idea. Reverie had a fanciful imagination, which she quickly apologized for. The wolves in these parts...They were so eager to please, and so easily bruised. She, a boulder, had nothing but rounded edges, but even still the blunt edge if her personality seemed to be too heavy for most. But on that boulder, moss grew. And with it, small facets of light which had grown through her. 

"Not enough ducks in this world, to give me enough feathers to float." It was as far as Moss was going to go into Reverie's odd suggestion. Entertaining the idea at all was ridiculous, and she didn't care for it, but clearly, Reverie liked her more when she eased up a bit with her stone-cold logic. 

Still...That didn't mean she was going to loosen up that much. When prompted with the word fun, the blood drained from her cheeks. She drew in a long inhale, and cast her gaze out beyond the creek. 

"I am not fun."

She could tell that Moss was trying, at least, to be friendly — to tolerate Reverie's utter strangeness. So she offered a gentle smile, one that she hoped would convey her own attempt at friendliness. What do you enjoy, then? Reverie amended softly. Surely Moss enjoyed something! There was nothing wrong with not being fun, she thought. Tybault had never been very fun —
But that was a dangerous thought to have. She pushed it away and tried only to focus on Moss. Tybault was gone. She wanted him to stay gone.

The question was somewhat personal; Moss drew in a breath, and put up her guard again. The truth of the matter was that she couldn't think of anything that brought her joy- not immediately, anyway. Nothing substantial. What she did, she did as though it was simply written into her programming- it didn't mean she enjoyed it. 

She shrugged. "Food." 

It wasn't a lie, and for one as large as her, it made perfect sense. But it was a mask, more than anything else. 

"You?"

Food; it was an answer Reverie would never have given in a million years, but she found kinship in it nonetheless. It was a simple answer, and she herself enjoyed rather simple things. Like — Dancing, She answered without hesitation, her expression brightening only briefly before she remembered. Then it fell into dismay. But - I can't do that right now. So I'm trying to enjoy other things.
What's your favorite food? Reverie wondered aloud, thinking that she might try again at hunting. Perhaps Moss would appreciate a gift. She seemed... well... kind of unhappy, in general. Maybe that was just her personality, but Reverie thought that even the most dour souls could appreciate a little light in their life. It just had to be — the right kind of light.

She looked at Reverie with light skepticism. Dancing? Why would a wolf dance? She supposed it must be some sort of past-time enjoyed by those who had too much free time. Then again, a wolf like Reverie likely possessed the grace to be quite a good dancer. Unfortunately, she couldn't, for some reason or another. 

"Venison."

She answered simply- before she too shifted the topic back a pace. 

"Why can't you dance?"

Venison! Maybe Reverie would need Lestan's help with that one. She tried not to think too hard about what that would mean: violence, death, blood on her beloved Mayfair man again. She tried, too, not to flinch from Moss's question.
But it was hard. I've been... sick, She explained quietly, looking away from Moss. I haven't been eating or sleeping very much. I get dizzy, and I fall. Suddenly realizing that her words might cause Moss some alarm, she added, It's not the kind of sickness that can spread. It's... Reverie bit her lip and tried to remember the word her father had used for it. Chronic.

At first, the word sick triggered not thoughts of a viral ailment, but of something that lurked deeper, and linked more to the spirit and sense of well-being. Moss couldn't dance because she wouldn't- and that was a block that she had put in her own mind. She assumed for a moment that Reverie had stopped dancing because she felt like not dancing- there was something sad in her tone that hinted at regret.

She became more concerned when Reverie admitted her struggles. Weakness, fainting...Caused possibly by a lack of proper rest, and poor nutrition. Moss was no medic- but her sister had been. And while she had learned a great deal about illnesses and treatments from her sister, she had never really picked up the nuances of how to speak to a patient. 

"Sounds like depression to me."

She stated calmly, though with no more concern than she might have had if she'd been diagnosing a stomach ache from eating too many berries. Depression lurked within most, if not all wolves, she'd been told. She'd learned to recognize when it seeped into her own behavior patterns. No criticism played in her voice; illnesses weren't supposed to be subject to scrutiny, only acceptance, and support. She wondered if Reverie had ever heard the term before.

Reverie's expression tightened slightly at the word. Depression. She had heard it, yes, from the mouths of tormentors.
Yes. Depression, neurosis, psychosis, hysteria - everyone thinks it's something different, Reverie listed these terms a little numbly. I've seen so many healers from so many places. They were all - horrible! Well, not all of them, She conceded quickly on that, because she had quite liked a few of the healers her parents had brought. But nothing helped. Perhaps because they'd been so impatient, she thought. They always sent away the healers who said to give her time, and kept the ones who...
Reverie bit her lip again and forced herself to look at Moss, to study her pretty features instead. Something simple, something grounding.

Some of those words, she knew- but Moss heaved a tired sigh when she heard the word hysteria. She rolled her labradorite eyes, which were softer when they landed on Reverie. The process of being diagnosed was intrusive. As uncomfortable as poking and prodding was for diagnosing a strain or sprain from a break, then having one's mental health assessed was pure torture, in the hands of the wrong wolf. It sounded as though Reverie had not had much luck. 

"Sounds like you've been talking to men." She stated simply. "They use some of those words specifically for women." She said. "A shitty way of saying 'I don't understand what you're going through, or why, or how to help you, so here's a word for it.'" 

Reverie was looking at her, and she looked back at the golden woman, wondering if she could see past the walls Moss put up simply to keep herself from being truly seen. She suspected that unlike most others, Reverie would see her clearly. "You would've liked my sister. She was one of the helpful ones."

Sounds like you've been talking to men. Reverie smiled at that; a resigned and knowing smile, a bitter and reminiscent smile. It's always about their feelings in the end, isn't it? She said softly, thinking of her father and Tybault. Her sisters were not so forgiving as her, she knew; they'd often lamented their treatment, lamented men. Reverie felt their pain, but was too influenced by Rose and by Atlas to have become jaded. Rose, who always treated everyone the same —
I had a sister like that too, Reverie admitted a little breathlessly. Her heart was beating faster with every thought of Rose. Her name was Rose, and she - died because of me. She cut herself off and her gaze dropped, but only for a second. Reverie was not sure she'd ever felt so... seen. She didn't want to break the moment. Maybe they would've liked each other, too.

"Always," She droned, with a sage nod. Moss knew she'd been fortunate to have a sister who had been a true, good-natured doctor. She acted only in the interest of others, and always put the needs of others ahead of herself. Moss still struggled to do the same, but for the first time, she felt as though perhaps she was finally living up to her sister's standards. It was easy to do, with Reverie. She wasn't a man, and she was only a bit ridiculous- in a good way. 

Her gaze drifted away, allowing them both a moment to grieve without pressure. She blinked slowly at the mention of Rose's name, savoring a taste of what could have been. She exhaled a soft, short breath at Reverie's conclusion, and nodded. "Rose and Ruby." She said. She hadn't spoken her sister's name out loud in too long, and suddenly felt somewhat ashamed. She owed it to Ruby to remember her, and share her memory with others. 

A funny thought occurred to her. "Rose, Reverie, Ruby and...Moss." She said, and drew in a breath. She didn't exactly smile- but faint amusement played in the corners of her eyes. "Sounds like...Some kind of poem."

Rose and Ruby. They sounded as if they belonged together. Maybe they were together somewhere, if death was a place that everyone went to; Reverie wasn't sure, though. It was taboo to speak of what came after death in The Gilded Sea. She'd thought of it often, but never knew what to believe.
Rose would have made a song of it, Reverie offered fondly, feeling safe with Moss in a way she'd only ever felt a few times before, with Lestan. This was different, though. After a time she'd started to worry too much about whether Lestan would still want her, and so she withdrew. Somehow she had a feeling she wouldn't have to worry about that with Moss. She didn't seem like the kind of person to run when things got hard, the kind who only wanted to be happy. Reverie was aware of the irony of holding anyone to this standard, because that was exactly the kind of person she was.
She would have loved it here. She wanted to see the world, more than anything, Reverie remembered all over again why it was so important that she traveled, that she had true freedom. I wanted that too. I still do, but... She shook her head slightly. She wasn't enjoying it; she wasn't happy. But she didn't want to linger on that. Moss - can I ask you a question? A - personal question.

A song? A poem probably would've made Moss cringe a bit, but a song might have been worth a listen. Of course, they were speaking of things as though there could have been a time where such a thing had happened- and it was not right to dwell on those things that would never come to pass. She could see it in Reverie's features when she began to speak of her sister in the past tense; acceptance was hard. Using different words to described a loved one always hurt, no matter how much time passed. 

Personal questions were not a forte that Moss possessed, but Reverie was worthy of asking personal things from her. She nodded quietly, solemnly; promising only the truth.

Moss only nodded, but her eyes said everything Reverie needed to gather her courage and speak her question. How can you... stay here? Commit to people again, after - After finding out what it's like to have them ripped away. I've tried. I tried in Kvarsheim, and now I'm trying again, for Lestan, but - it feels impossible sometimes.
But you're here, Moss was here, even knowing that it would not last. That if she loved again, she would face loss again, one way or another. It seemed to Reverie that this was life's most final truth, that everyone would leave whether it was for death or for life elsewhere. She had left. She would leave again. No matter how much she promised otherwise to Lestan, to herself, Reverie felt it would never be enough.

Moss got the impression that what Reverie was telling her right now was a dark secret, possibly the thing that kept her awake at night and stole away her apatite. It was the sort of truth that was an endless pit that demanded to be fed continuously with doubt, regret and worries. Reverie feared loving because she knew that love inevitably led to loss. She sensed the woman feared attachment, likely because others had left her. 

It felt important to reassure Reverie that she had no plans of leaving. "I'm here," she confirmed with a nod. She thought for a moment, not knowing if she would have the advice that Reverie sought, and certainly not without some context. 

"I loved someone, once. In spite of myself. My sister found her, wounded, and tended to her. We had almost one full year together. But when Spring came," She inhaled, and exhaled softly. Her great head shook from side to side, slowly. "She snapped. She tried to kill me, and my sister intervened. I lost both of them that day." She remembered the day vividly; the way the icicles had dripped water from the mouth of the cave. She remembered the anticipation of Spring's arrival- only to be met with the brutality of motherly instinct, spurred on by hunger and starvation. She carried the shame of having loved some who had become fully willing to kill the both of them, when the snow melted and the days became longer, and the guilt of having cost her sister her life. 

"I have nothing else, but I must continue to be. I commit to myself; that's all I can do, for now."

Reverie had not anticipated a confession, but the moment she registered what was happening, she wrapped a tight leash around herself and her reaction. She watched Moss carefully for a moment, but soon averted her eyes to somewhere just off to the side. It seemed like the right thing to do, to give her room to breathe and feel while she recounted it. Even in her grief, Moss was a steady presence; Reverie knew that even if she said or did the wrong thing here, the worst she might meet was a wall. But that didn't mean Moss didn't deserve to have someone try.
My sister died in a fire, She said, finally looking at her, because the only thing she could offer in this moment was kinship. Reverie felt the guilt behind the story, or at least thought she did, and she knew it well. I was supposed to run, but I - couldn't. It was so bright and overwhelming... I was frozen. She tried to save me. Instead she - Reverie swallowed. I watched. And then I finally ran.
I don't know if I can stand to commit to myself, after that, She continued. But I'm glad you can, Moss, because... it's hard to love someone who causes so much pain. It's easy to blame yourself for it, I think, Reverie was thinking of Tybault now, and what he had done at the behest of their father, and what he had done to her. But loving someone is never wrong. It's just... not always what's best for us. And now she thought of Lestan, because —
Maybe loving her was not what was best for him.
And that sucks. She added in the blunt tone of someone who could relate entirely too much, because it really did suck.