Stavanger Bay I get caught up in your heart-strings

Anyone is welcome!

Reverie was not a creature made for languishing. In The Gilded Sea she had become accustomed to existing in a constant flurry of activity, and she had never really let go of that habit. Even if she wasn't being productive, necessarily, she was still usually doing something. She'd never thought anything would slow her down, not ever.
Well, it was a pretty thought, but not at all the reality of her situation. The reality was:
Bed rest. Boredom. The itching feeling of being useless, worthless, a burden — it was maddening, even after a short time. Against her better judgment, Reverie began to plan out a trip away from the Bay, for when she was better. Surely she would get better.
But that only made her more restless, and eventually she found herself feeling a little resentful. If only she didn't have Lestan and Blossom to think of, she wouldn't have to be so careful. She didn't want to be careful. She wanted to stand in the water and let it wash over her, she wanted to dance in the waves, she wanted —
To slip away when Lestan was not paying attention, which was exactly what she did. Reverie didn't get very far, though. She was still within sight of their resting place when she found herself dizzied, forced to stop, and that frustrated her beyond words. So, in true toddler fashion, she plopped down and started to cry.
At least Blossom would be in good company as she aged.

Riordan had followed Reverie and her chosen family without realising their intention of evading him, his mind consumed by the quest to understand her power, a puzzle he had yet to solve. Their efforts to unravel the secrets of her abilities had been interrupted when she abruptly left him months ago, leaving him with fragments of knowledge but no clear path forward. He knew what wouldn't work - his own method of tapping into power through sacrifice was out of the question for Reverie, given her aversion to blood and death. He needed to explore alternatives in this realm, aspects of mortal life he had neglected in his single-minded pursuit of personal power.

However, his priorities shifted when it became evident that he was being avoided. He was compelled to confront Reverie, to seek her out past the weak border markings of a pack that had yet to establish itself. As he crossed the boundary, following her scent, he howled to her over the distance. It was a warning rather than a request. He meant to find her whether she desired it or not.

Just as Reverie really started to get into her crying fit, she was interrupted. Her blood ran cold, and immediately she rose shakily to her feet and turned back the way she'd come. Panic drove her to a quickness she didn't quite have the strength for, and she half-stumbled back.
@Lestan! She cried, searching for him, wanting to plant herself in his arms and hide there until Riordan lost interest. Her legs abruptly faltered beneath her and she sank haltingly to the ground, heart racing in her throat so violently that she was certain she would vomit any moment. Reverie could not name the source of her fear; was she afraid of Lestan's reaction, or Riordan's actions? Did it matter, truly?

Minutes passed without a responding howl, not even to convey his unwelcome presence. Riordan's stride faltered, eventually coming to a complete stop as he stood just inside the bay's entrance, contemplating this unexpected turn of events. While not entirely surprising given Reverie's volatile nature, the reality remained that she teetered dangerously close to death. One would think that alone should hold some significance.

This in mind, Riordan resolved to make his own statement. He turned away and retraced his steps without any attempt to conceal his tracks. Sooner or later, Reverie would have to seek him out; otherwise, she would meet her demise. This would be her opportunity to see his worth and understand the essential role he played in her life.

winging this IC but willing to plot outcomes if need be! <3

their days felt stilted since the conversation around lestan's new — inabilities. he himself had become quieter, drawn; a half-man who passed the time cooing over blossom or hunting the shoreline.
lestan gave reverie as much of his gentle touch as she would receive, fevered in his desire that it be, for now, enough. the humiliation of his remorseful flesh was a welt, a stinging band of confirmation that kept him monklike in their shared bedspace.
when lestan looked up it was to watch reverie depart the den, falter, settle. concern lanced through him; he had just been preparing to lift the pup and go after her when the caustic howl of the man riordan forked poisonously in the salt air.
at last the rage and fear and anxiety of the last several weeks peaked and snapped into a perfect arc of rage. "stay here," lestan ordered blossom in a cold voice he had never before used. and then the thin man was turning, eyes dilated to inkpools outlined in gold.
he was an animal, a beast; reverie's cry of fear strengthened his resolve and he lunged beyond her crumpled form on the sand, a darkweave snarl shattering the peace of the seaside day.
lestan's intention was to kill riordan, and that intention was outlined in gusting red as his steps carried him directly toward the tormenter.

Lestan shot past her, and Reverie could only dissolve into hysteria. Her mounting panic manifested as a familiar clenching pain; she bit her own tongue in an effort to hold in her cry, and even then a muffled sound escaped her. She only had a moment to wonder why it felt so important to hide her pain, her sickness even now. There was no time at all to find the answer. Reverie felt a warm rush of blood, and then she felt nothing at all; she slipped into unconsciousness, and the bleeding continued.

I planned to exit Riordan because I can't connect with him, but this is a great end. This will be my final post. Thanks for writing with me (:

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Riordan turned his attention when a snarl reverberated through the bay, a curious blend of amusement and bewilderment washing over him as he identified the source. Lestan, the stuttering man, was calling for his blood. Riordan quickly surmised that it must have been something Reverie had said, much like it had been with their previous pack. Pausing in his tracks, Riordan watched Lestan's approach, standing tall but failing to see the imminent threat.

He didn't take Lestan seriously, refusing to do so until it was too late. A laugh escaped Riordan's lips as the smaller wolf charged towards him, leaving him vulnerable to the impending and almost certainly fatal assault. It was a fitting end for a man so detached from reality, one who preyed on the vulnerable in the most vile methods, but Riordan wouldn't get to appreciate that. He would be dead before he ever realised he was in danger.

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: violence, gore, tagging @Rhaegal and @Vairë; this happened right inside the borders

lestan mayfair was not someone who fell to such blinding rage. he was a man who would rather allow a herd to pass unscathed and his belly continue empty than hunt, than shed blood. in this he was weak, a questioner of their natural order as predators and prey, a shrinking violet in the face of situations that demanded teeth, a paper tiger with a too-large vocabulary and nothing behind it.
but the long hours of that blackweald fever, through which lestan had stumbled in complete absence of god's face — it had summoned the terrified child stained with blood and surrounded by golden deer, and through the remembered raw terror came lestan's own fury.
was it riordan he struck, or the recollection of those killing hinds?
was it the man who bowed beneath his adrenaline or the blood which surrendered to his teeth?
it was only through the preternatural, surely, that lestan summoned from that killing well and smote riordan down upon the sand. if the man fought it was nothing against the sheer thundering hatred which pounded behind lestan's eyes, in his head, in his throat; for as he beat riordan savagely and tore pelt from skin and skin from muscle and muscle from bone, he was screaming, a high thin keen that cut out only when his voice shattered.
lestan sat staring off at the sea for — he did not know how long, but when he returned,
fur was caught in his teeth;
strips of flesh in his jaw;
and blood, a curtain of it, from forehead to nose to chin, tooth, jawline, shoulders, chest, forelimbs, sides;
trembling and trembling, and at last he vomited into the sand and staggered away from the remains of what had been riordan. the other man had contoured lestan's face with teeth, with claws torn open his shoulders, raised a wound on his neck. but it had not been enough.
a step that tremoured, then steadied as panic poured over him, and lestan forced his rubbery legs to send him back to her, to her, to sink down into new blood, into her blood, and the screaming started again, only this time he did not realize it was him once more, or that his tone this time was the shadow of glass shattering under a heavy wind.

She had been at the furthest edges when the screaming started.

Vairë was not a woman who panicked easily, but in this she did. She turned, her wide eyes gone wider and galloped as fast as a prized racehorse towards the sound.

She arrived to something she could only describe as pandemonium. A corpse, a man, a woman, her head spun. Her head would be spinning for hours yet. She snorted out a breath, both feet striking the ground one after the other, her nostrils flared wide.

What is the meaning of all this?!

She registered the man as Lestan, the wiry fellow who had said he would bring his family here and, by Rhaegal’s word, had. But this? What was this?

the young leader of saltshore was there, but lestan had no moment to feel necessary guilt over all the imposition. "she's going to die," he gasped over reverie's figure. o, damnable day; he saw only that she did not respond and that the scarlet smear around her had grown.
in horrid irony, riordan's blood dripped down over her unmoving frame.
"he followed us. he c-crossed the border. was coming f-for her." breathe, breathe. 
lestan raised his head to look at the deer-woman now.

And then you killed him. She felt the sudden urge to smash her head against a rock. She quite heavily considered it, before clenching her jaw so tight it creaked.

Vairë blew out another deer-like snort, wishing to get closer, but having no wish to be bitten in the crossfire. There was no need to add to a collection of scars she already didn’t need.

The thin, confused whine of an infant in the distance made her ears twitch.

May I come closer, Lestan? You need to go clean up. She jerked her head towards the distant child, the sound coming closer as the baby made a break for it.

"i did." and his voice was empty, harrowed.
lestan fell numb again; he sat back on his heels, fully believing he was about to witness death a second time. all energies mad and otherwise had left his flesh; like an automaton he rose and backed away with shaking steps, his ears not twitching at blossom's cry.
with an outtake of breath, he stood staring though he no longer saw.

She drew close as Lestan backed away, her steps careful and cautious. Vairë was no great healer, she could admit that, and in that moment she felt so young she could hardly stand it.

The woman before her was no older than she, perhaps. She couldn’t be too old, and Vairë felt for her greatly as she racked her coat with her eyes, slowly dragging them across her body, from her slack face to her rapidly bloodsoaked tail. That made her frown as deep as she had ever frowned, the pull on her face muscles causing a sharp ache in her head.

The doe lowered her head and took a quick breath, blinking a few times as she tried to register the scent.

She chewed her cheek.

Spirits, she was in over her head with this one.

She has a fever, from what I can tell. I will not lie to you, I do not know the causes of this. Her dual toned gaze, hazel and spring, lifted from the woman to the man standing as still as the stone of the mountains.

I will call for my mother. She may know this. And didn’t that sting, but Vairë knew to put her pride aside. This was the life of a woman, a fellow member of Saltshore, a friend who hadn’t become a friend yet. She closed her eyes, inhaled, then straightened.

Get her somewhere safe. I’ll bring Kukutux there when she arrives. She would wait for Lestan to respond, first.

reverie, reverie, reverie
oh breathe, and breathe deep, and breathe on.
lestan concentrated on his own as a winnowing panic threatened to choke him again; he grew frenetic and fidgeting, breath a shaky whisper.
and then the woman spoke, and he realized how very much, how very much more she appeared a doe! until her mouth darkened and her eyes lengthened and her ears, seemed, her ears! before his eyes!
it isn't real!
lestan numbly stepped forward, arranging reverie's slight frame over his aching withers, and turning to begin the slow progression back to the barren little cave he had found near the sea.

She would watch him go, her face pinched, until he was distant. Vairë breathed out a sharp sigh, rubbing her leg down her face.

Inhale. Exhale.

Akaagigan!

The crow’s throaty quork was music to her ears.

Fly to @Kukutux . Lead her here. Do this for me. 

And away the crow would fly.