Lost Creek Hollow we'll be counting stars

Referencing Arric's howl here

His features remained stony as Arric’s distant but distinct howl came through—Reverie and Lestan had parted from the creek. For now, he remained in the open lands between the mothers dens of Riverclan—surprisingly, @Silvertongue having been added to such a statement.

He had not expected it, nor did he dwell on it. It seemed all the more sense her morose presence that day beneath the tree with him—and he had selfishly only talked of himself.

Still, for now, he kept mostly to himself. Every so often, he hunted small game to feed either nursing mother, and often times he held his children when they were finished—soon, they would return to the creek.

And then, almost certainly, he considered with a hardened heart, things would be different upon his return.

humiliated, she had stayed away from akavir, noting him in passing, letting all her hours be milk-sodden and dissociative. but when she was not with one insistent set of cubs or another, she was preening beside the river, weeping over the state of her body and dreading that it would never belong to her again. it was after one such time, damp with riverwet, that silvertongue returned to the dens to find akavir in a way she could not ignore. ash paw was with her children, and crowfeather entertained his own. she was alone for now, and so at last she came to join him, sitting down not so close and wrapping her tail tightly around her paws.

If Silvertongue had been avoiding him, it hadn’t fully registered with the distracted Mayfair. The days ticked by—sleep was light and far in between and the pups, when not feeding and potentially terrorizing their hosts, were clingier to him than he was used to—likely, because Jakoul had been their everything prior.

So when she swept up to him—yet remained a distance from him—something he did notice as his gaze trailed over her—he could not quite stir a welcoming air or smile form his lips. “Mo ghaisgeach beag,” he murmured, eyes remaining rapt upon her. “Sadness does not suit you.”

"motherhood does not suit me either, hombre de la sombra." a tint of bitterness, something she had not meant to let escape but now did. akavir reminded her somehow that she was wanted. she thought back against her very will to the night she had come first to crowfeather, the day germanicus had come, and the eve she had clung to her prince again only to experience his silent rejection. since then she felt displaced in her own flesh, first by the delivery and now by the nourishment. silvertongue held the feeling of the swiftcurrent man's eyes upon her and finally looked into his handsome, tired face. "there is only so much you can do when they need so much from a mother, akavir. it is all right to rest, and rest more."

His lips pursed at her words—his mind reeling at what he wished to speak, and how it would be taken. He had burned a bridge that hurt his heart entirely already, and the idea of insulting the she-wolf before him, and losing the friendship that stemmed between them… it felt insurmountable. He had enjoyed the woman from the moment he met her—but when had she become such an important fixation on his life?

And what would he do when somehow that, too, would crumble to nothing? The Mayfair curse seemed all too real, these days.

“Just so you know,” he offered quietly, an ear flicking at the mention of resting. “You’ve never been more beautiful to me than now, these past few days… You’re heart. Everything you do for others… Just... You.” He trailed off, suddenly finding his eyes glancing heavenward—cowardly, to not want to see if his words would be taken as insult. “And there’s no rest for the wicked, darling,” he drawled, bitter amusement finding its way to his tired voice.

silvertongue laughed out softly, self-deprecation and disbelief forming a sound that glided under his words as he spoke them. to say what she wanted; perhaps he was wicked in his own way, wicked in a way that mirrored her own. crowfeather held her heart entire, and she in helpless thrall had given it eternally. had it been foolish of her? tears at last streamed down her small proud face, and though she held herself stiff and trembling, it was for naught. "no rest," silvertongue echoed in a cracked, tiny voice, not understanding the sentiment she held for akavir and not allowing herself to comprehend it.

He understood a new mother was wrought with emotion—but of course he did not understand the myriad of ways, or how it felt. He did not need to, though, to know she was anguished. The tears began to stream down her face—and he blinked as he looked back down to her, the crack in her voice pulling him to full attention of her emotional turmoil.

“Boireannach brèagha,” he murmured, swift on his feet to move forward and embrace her, should she let him. To pull her close and revel in the warmth she offered—to console, and allow himself to be consoled as he placed a kiss to her temple.

she shut her eyes tightly, but it was too late, far too late; she turned into him, and though she refused to cry aloud, her shoulders shook and her inhales were small sobs of their own. "crowfeather does not love me. oh, he does, so deeply! and i him, but not in a way i — yet i was stupid. i thought i —" and in akavir's embrace she realized how in all of her interludes, silvertongue had only ever loved crowfeather, and that in lying with him it had connected the deepest part of her need to what she had been robbed of by ramesses and by satsu. it had been the taste of healing, and out of it had come her deepest shame, for as the children she bore lay against her side, silvertongue could only remember that had tried to end them. "i cannot be his love. i cannot be their mother. what am i then, akavir?" his chest would be wet with all her tears by the time they parted.

She shook—the admission of her love for the man who led next to her was not as surprising as one might have thought—it felt a natural thing. But from what he could gather, the feeling was not mutual, and he pulled her closer, smoothing kisses to her brow before moving down, nuzzling to her nape. Unrequited love—or, the realization that the one you loved with such a passion did not return in the same measure…

Yeah, that hurt. He knew that brand of betrayal, and how deeply rooted the heartache went. Had he not loved Ibis all the more than she had ever loved him? Her admittance that the children he had raised were not his own, as she had led him to believe?

“How can you not be their mother, Silvertongue?” The words a whisper—asking to understand.

"because i tried to make sure they were ... not. once. and then the second time, i did nothing but still, i thought —" her voice grew smaller still; she fought the cries that wanted to erupt from her throat. "i am ashamed when i look at them." and she was not sure she loved them, certainly not as crowfeather did. she was only desperate for the time when they would no longer need her, and then, perhaps, with distance she might be able to mend. she adjusted now, at last drawing back to find akavir's eyes, to search for judgement. "crowfeather and germanicus will love them. ash paw has agreed to be their mother in name. no one else needs to know what i have done. they will be happy in riverclan and that is what i want."

The entirety of her own tumultuous weeks had been more or less easily guessed by these few words she offered. He considered this—knew of his fondness for her, and held her in his embrace for a moment more, wondering if she knew she could seek him out at any time for a willing ear.

He could only hope she had another to help her through this—but something told him she didn’t. Not in the same way he could rely on Arric.

She drew back to seek his eyes, and he released his hold on her now—his own gaze softening, a dark cloud placing upon his brow as his concern was apparent for her. “So, Crowfeather and Germanicus are happy… Ash Paw is happy… and your pups are happy.”

He gave a wane smile—sad, that did not quite reach his eyes. No rest for the wicked, indeed. “So what does that leave you as?”

her lips trembled, and she plucked at the earth as she sought equilibrium. and an answer. "i am with my pack, in my home. crowfeather is happy. the children born here, and nourished here, they will be also. i will be content." even if she was not happy. silvertongue swallowed and straightened. "i need to get back to them, akavir." and for a moment she looked at the mayfair man, and then she turned in the air of a woman pulling a ragged shawl across her shoulders, melting back to nurse the cubs she had borne.

She spoke of those she clearly loved—and there before him was the smallest opening to the she-wolf’s heart—the insight to what remained the most important to her and how deeply she cared for those that had earned it.

Content was not happiness—and he would have pointed it out, but she pulled herself together and the moment passed—the carefully placed shield coming before her once more as she determined to get back to nursing the children. He nodded quietly, his eyes trailing over her features as she walked back to the den—resolved—and, he worried, doomed to heartache if she gave her children to call upon another mother.

This was not his to mend, as much as he wished to. And so he shifted his attention back to his own dumpster fire—his mind drifting to Jakoul and whether she missed her own children.