Lost Creek Hollow umquam

change, too, was in riverclan.

after visiting kvarsheim, the ranger had returned to crowfeather's pack, only to find leadership shifting there as well.

he had been met at the border by a changed, cold silvertongue, and in silence she had led him to where his love lay proudly with two small pups between his paws.

in time, the story had emerged.

in time, his shock had abated, and now he watched over them, realizing he was to be a father again and unsure of the sensation he now experienced. other children were here, and @Akavir as well.

germanicus found a moment to approach the man. "i tracked the witch deeper into the valley and was able to injure her badly. she escaped further containment and has gone into a southwestern direction. moss was tracking her again, last we spoke, and i will return to my own search."

aquillius had brought him back to kvarsheim.

and now, it seemed, a family had grown for him in riverclan.

Germanicus—the man he had heard of, but had yet to meet. His own trio of pups lay resting—sleep having found them after he had played a quiet tracking game with them. Still growing, they slept less often—but far more soundly when he managed to wear them out.

So he stepped away from them for a moment, his thoughts emotional at first—why hunt the witch further when it was Reverie she had wanted? Why waste more resources to protect a she-wolf who held no gratitude or appreciation for it?

Quickly, he narrowed those thoughts—for the mere idea of anything happening to Reverie, Lestan or Blossom was enough to burn a fire in his chest. “How injured is she? If she can’t make it far in a week, I can travel with you, once I bring my children home.”

He paused then, eyes leveling with the man. “The ones she threatened are no longer at the creek—they’ve taken their leave. I imagine she is even more a threat to them when they’re on their own.” And with that, his features hardened. “Blood will have blood.” He was not finished with this witch.

"her wrist is injured and she is with child," germanicus delivered in the poised monotone of a reporting soldier. "if in a week she still lives, she will not have gotten far without the help of others. but it strikes me that a woman who lives wild and alone would not seek aid until the very last moment."

he wondered at this seeming feud between the witch and these moments of swiftcurrent but said nothing. if the man akavir wanted her blood, then so be it. 

it would be leverage against his own plans for the woman. she could not still be gravid when he avenged aquillius.

He considered the soldier’s words, eyes drifting away from the man to study the distant horizon. He could not go now—his children needed him more than ever. He could not send Arric in his stead—the creek needed him now, more than ever. Moss could go—but there was a certain part of him that wished to see the end of this himself, rather than delegation of his comrades.

“Thank you for the information.” But then he gave pause, eyes sliding over the man—uncertain of his affiliation to the packs of Rising Sun. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s in this for you?” What debt was Swiftcurrent Creek bringing upon themselves--all for the sake of protecting two wolves who clearly held no qualm about how their actions affected anyone else.

the witch lay near at hand, crippled and vulnerable.

"romans do not care for what is pagan," he spoke at last. "you are crowfeather's ally and therefore you are my own. in addition, i am a man who must work lest i grow restless."

there was a briefly amused look in his eye that passed. for a moment he almost spoke of aquillius but then saw fit not to mention his own bias in this pursuit.

The man was to the point—honest enough that Akavir could appreciate it—and in turn, Akavir found his own bemusement, despite the stress and darkness that seemed to linger upon him. “Well—maybe my honesty isn’t the best timing, but I should let you know that paganism isn’t necessarily far from Swiftcurrent Creek—or, at least from my family.”

He paused, eyes sweeping over the man. “And what do romans care for?”

>D

germanicus watched akavir.

"we have our own gods. we are simply zealous when the time is fit for it, such as war."

it felt somehow good to speak of editum. the eagle did not mention the touch of paganism to which the other referred. it was well enough that they did not live together.

war.

his father had marched upon a golden lake for it.

It felt an evasion to the question—but the Mayfair wasn’t one to pry deeply into the beliefs and minds of others—at least, not if it did not affect him or his. A zealous roman that hunted a witch— Deirdre and Lasher far from the reaches of any violence or distress brought by fear of what others did not understand.

At times, he didn’t understand it, either.

They had a common goal—eliminate the potential for the witch to harm others—a misuse of her magics.

He simply allowed the conversation to wane then—gaze shifting to the den in which his children slept soundly. The thought of the swamp witch’s darkness finding its way to them held him for a moment. “I will help hunt her soon. They just need a little more time with a mothers touch and milk.”

And once they were tucked safely back into the creek, Akavir had seemingly found himself a perfectly good outlet for his building anger.