Swiftcurrent Creek neck full of mockingbirds, all calling your name

@Akavir if u have the time!! <3 leaving the date on this semi-vague for now

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The creekwoman found that her soul had begun to surge with something new.
A fierceness, a curdling, blistering anger. For days and days, Silvertongue's speech had played over and over in her mind. Germanicus. Akashingo. Crowfeather. It was safe to say her mind had been changed.
How, in good fucking conscience, was anyone letting that asshole live in this valley? Perhaps they knew not what his life had been in Akashingo, but they could not be entirely oblivious!
And so, when she'd returned to the Creek, Wren sought out the only person who knew just how deep this bad blood ran. They had not spoken much since they'd come back from their travels, and now, there were many things to talk over. A can of worms that, Wren felt, had to be opened as privately as possible.
She would wait until she could get him alone, and she would call him into the brush to the farthest edge of the Creek's lands. She tries to smooth her expression, the lines of anger that crease her darkened face. She can only hope it wouldn't be too obvious.

He nudged the carcass of the hare to his pups, allowing them to take it upon themselves to tear into it. Mae, sullen to the side, barely offered him a glance. The boys remained silent.

Listless as he was simply from these quiet truths of his children’s internal sufferings, Akavir tried to keep it from showing too much. When Wren called for him, he gave them a quiet goodbye, drifting away with a worry that clung to him, heavier than Lilitu’s disappearance.

His eyes roved over the she-wolf—pointed in her summoning of him, and he could feel the electric of the air. His eyes were silent as he waited for her to speak—wondering what had stirred such anxiety and anger in her.

And come forth he did, a silver-plated look of worry painted across his face. Hey, she is casual in her greeting, a gentle, but chaste brush of her nose to his cheek. The affectionate relationship that had begun to blossom between them was something Wren cherished, but today, the enthusiasm is not there.
She invites him to sit beside her, and if he were to accept, she would stretch out her legs onto the grass, one forepaw reaching out tentatively for his. A quiet lull of evening birdsong surrounds them before she finally opens her mouth to speak again, eyes pointed away. We need to talk about Germanicus. I think you were right. And laced within this is the implication that Silvertongue knows.

A brush to his cheek—she stretches out and he joins her, his nerves frayed at the insistence of their meeting and the seriousness of her eyes.

Worse, still, was the nausea that stirred at him when she spoke his name: Germanicus.

He breathes out, considering. Was that Silvertongue, embedded on her fur? Like an addict waiting for the chance of a next hit, he thinks of the Riverclan woman—but he hasn’t sought her out either, so what did it matter that Wren had talked to her friend? Little did he know.

“What about him? We can’t do anything without Silvertongue knowing about it.” Implications were not good for him... he needed to know what they were looking at.

She knows I know, Akavir.
The words come from her in one slow, sharp sentence, heart thrumming right up against her ribcage and nearly jumping up out of her throat. She— I don't know. We talked, the other night, Silver and I. About-- a lotta things. And, and-- Jesus, you were right. He needs to go. The venom drips from every word, a raking of her claws through the knotted grass. But I don't know what we should do. Do we talk to the leaders of Kvarsheim? Do we just, like, ban him from Swiftcurrent without sayin' anything and pray shit doesn't hit the fan an' he doesn't cost us an ally? But do we even want their allyship if they choose to keep his ass around?
Her breath quickens. His eyes melt into her, and she knows this, and she can't bring herself to look to him. I... I care about her. And you. And your daughter. And I don't-- I feel like I can't live in peace knowing he's just running amongst our fuckin' valley as a free man.

‘She knows I know, Akavir,’ was like a slap to the face—only because he knew that it likely had brought the silver woman distress. His jaw tensed—teeth grinding together as he thought, though his muzzle dipped lower, eyes upon the ground as he thought.

Wren wanted him gone from the valley—a notion he didn’t disagree with. She spoke of her care for the woman—his naive assumption forefront that she meant as friends… but his gaze lifted, and he wondered if it were more than that.

Was he allowed to feel that jerk of jealousy when he was beginning to turn his attentions to Eshe? When he knew that he and Silvertongue, together, would never happen, nor did it even make sense?

He lifted a paw to wash against his features, a quiet ‘hmph,’ given. “Gunnar will insist on knowing the reasons why if we make a bold claim: whether we bar Germanicus from the creek or insist he leaves the valley at the risk of our alliance. Gunnar is protective if his wolves… Rightfully so.” Akavir and Arric would be the same.

“If we make any move, Arric needs to know. At least enough of the details. I can’t keep him on the outside of this… He deserves to know… if only because the creek and our own have been in his best interest, if not Silvertongue as well.” And then, he finally looked to her, pale eyes searching her as he wondered. “What does she want to do?”

He makes a good point — if something were to realistically be done, the truth of Silvertongue's life will come unravelling before her eyes. It was troubling, retraumatizing enough for Wren to know the past of the riverwoman. The memory of that pain in her eyes, the shallow heaves; the sanctity of their connection, now buried in the glade, the grip she'd held on Wren's wrist —
Ugh. You're-- you're right. Maybe we shouldn't, sheepishly, she pulls her forelegs into her chest. I don't wanna know what would happen to her if anybody else knew.
Anger is one hell of a drug, and she knows this.
When asked about what Silvertongue herself wanted, she pauses. I think she wants him gone just as much as we do. But I don't know how to help her.

Another drawn out pause, a slowing of her breath as well as her heartbeat. She thinks, then, of Eshe; of the solemn look Wren had been given at the mention of Akavir's name. The pretty, nice girl. Too nice. Something else begins to bubble up inside of her, the heat returning to a boiling point. Jealousy, like an intravenous opioid that now courses her veins and stirs within her chest.
And oh, was it so wrong to want the Mayfair man the same way she wanted Silvertongue?
Only now does she look at him, and she hadn't even the time to stop herself. What's goin' on between you and that girl Eshe?

She pulls her paw from him, tucking her limbs to her chest, another second guess on what to do. A frown flits across his features before he can mask it, eyes searching her. If she knows we know… the only thing we can do is offer her our support to whatever she chooses to do. They couldn’t simply chase the ranger from the lands without others questioning them—not wth decent morals, at least… And with his own familiarity with Crowfeather and the man’s kindness, it seemed there was nothing simple about the situation before them. 

Before he could ask her about Silvertongue and the indications he was beginning to piece together, suddenly, the Gamma struck to the topic of Eshe, and he found himself taken aback for a moment, if only from what felt a random shift. 

That girl Eshe? You mean one of our healers and our Epsilon? His tone was laced with curious amusement. I have her organizing a valley get together for all the packs to come together. To give us something to celebrate. He paused then, a wolfish brow lifting. Unless you mean something else?

He was right. Perhaps sometime soon, when the dust had settled, she would have to ask if there was anything Silvertongue wanted to be done about him.
For a fleeting second, Wren considers taking matters into her own hands; but that thought is quickly chased away by memories of black jaws around a pale throat.
She is not her father.
A valley get together. That sounded nice, in theory, except for the shit-nado that had begun to funnel darkly in the distance — the one they had just been talking about. But that aside, perhaps it'd do the trio of packs some good. Hm, she hums, eyebrows flattening as a crease forms between.
Eshe.
She swallows, hard, as the bile threatens to come up her throat. Head spinning, forepaws numb with adrenaline and anger and everything in between, pupils pinpricked. She very obviously likes you, it comes through clenched teeth, molars grinding in the back of her mouth; and she's... y'know, she's sweet, and she's funny and smart and pretty and everything I'm not and I'm absolutely terrified of her. And-- her breath halts, a shiver, and she does not dare avert her eyes from his even as tears well at blackened rims; I'm scared I'm gonna lose you to her, and I know that's fuckin' stupid because I don't even have you and you obviously don't want me either because what kinda-- fuckin', girlfriend or whatever would I be? And that's, it's, it's fine! I just want you to like me so bad, a pause, an unsuccessful attempt at catching her breath; and I really, really like Silvertongue too, so much that it scares me, and she's-- she's in love with Crowfeather and, one final icy inhale; I don't know. I don't even know why I'm tellin' you this. Forget it, I'm-- I'm sorry. You didn't ask for this. All, all I do is dump my sorrows onto people and pray somebody saves me, from myself, and it's stupid.
Shame. Shame consumes her, and she wishes for it to catapult her up into the air and away from all of this.

There was a stagnant pause between the two of them after Wren spoke—a glazed look in Akavir’s eyes as he looked to her, almost as if the man’s brain had just turned itself off.

In truth, it had.

Like the flashing warning on a computer screen when the hard drive failed to boot, his mind was in overload—

…. Warning: Cannot Compute.

…. Warning: System Failure.

It was as if a dozen failure messages were floating in his head. He opened his mouth to speak:

‘You like Silvertongue?’

But his jaws clicked shut without asking it. Nope, no, that’s not a good response to this.

‘You’re old man really did a number on you, didn’t he?’ Oh, fuck no, Akavir, that’s not it, either.

What he really wanted to ask her: ‘Did Arric put you up to this?’ But no… something about the clench of her jaws, the shiver that coursed through her. This wasn’t acting.

He hadn’t considered Wren interested in him in that manner—aside from underlying sexual tension there hadn’t been much indication one way or another. And now she talked about losing him.

He reached for her suddenly—wishing he could protect her from him. Hell, wishing he could protect her from herself. “I didn’t know,” was the only thing that came from him for a moment. But even if the paw he reached for now, to try to reassure her—he could feel something clicking into place. Something he hadn’t truly understood until this very moment—a flashback of Eshe, when he first saw her upon his return. Asking him about his children… talking about them, because… she had met some of them. Was interested in them.

Did Wren even know his children’s names, aside from Mae? “Wren… you know I’m a package deal, right? Three pups at home? Single dad? Tons of baggage…” He paused, the corners of his lips pulling down in a facial frown. “You’re not going to lose me as a friend, Wren… I won’t lie… I’m thinking about dating her. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to be here, still.”

Wren feels as if the daddy issues are radiating off of her. There may as well have been a big, neon red, flashing sign that says FATHERLESS BEHAVIOR right above her head.
A package deal with three children, he says. He's thinking about dating her, he says. There are car alarms that blare inside her head and pierce her eardrums and she cannot stop fucking shaking even when he reaches for her.
He had no idea. At this, an honest laugh bellows from within her chest. Really? Did you think-- did you think me showin' you every rotten skeleton in my closet in the form of my, uh, childhood trauma was for nothin'? Or, or-- almost letting you impregnate me was for shits and giggles? there's genuine bewilderment in that, a crooked, hollow grin twisting at her face and pushing up her cheeks, because she didn't know what other reaction she could have mustered. Man, you live under a rock. Or maybe Wren just didn't know what romance was. But she didn't consider that.
Sniffling, she shakes away the tension from her shoulders. You and I both got... baggage. I know you got kids, and I know they don't have a motha anymore. A mother, that which she could not be. Perhaps one day the role of auntie could be given to her, but never mother. But I mean, c'mon, you think I'd ever want somebody normal? Any normal person would run away from me screamin' like I've got six heads and monstah claws. And... baggage doesn't bother me, Akavir. Whatever you've got goin' on in that big noggin, I'm-- I wouldn't judge you. Not like I've got any room to.
Another solemn pause, and then; That night in that cave, when we were goin' to Akashingo-- when, when I kissed you, her lip trembles. I meant it. I'd never kissed somebody like that. Not with-- y'know, feelings. And I almost thought, like, y'know, maybe there was something there, that-- she stops herself, a twitch to the skin above her nose. but it's okay. I... I don't know. You deserve better than me. I'm, y'know, young and stupid and I have a list a' issues that go from here to the goddamn moon. I don't deserve Silvertongue, either.

He wasn’t sure what to say—she spoke, and in ways, he wanted to defend himself. She had never almost let him impregnate her—she had run away—and even then, he hadn’t been looking to add more of his genes around here. He’d failed five kids so far—who wanted to add more to that potential number?

The kiss they had shared—she didn’t imagine the chemistry between them.

And yet…

“Are you saying you don’t want me to explore things with Eshe because you have feelings for me? Because to me it sounds like you’re also trying to figure out you’re feelings about Silvertongue.”

It was hard not to feel a throb in his chest on that topic—apparently, there was no room in Silvertongue’s heart for him because of Crowfeather, but she seemed to be giving Wren a chance. If anything—it only solidified his thoughts regarding Eshe. He was growing tired of games.

Wren, too, had begun to feel the spark of defensiveness light inside of her. I didn't say that, Akavir, her eyes, firm and yet melting at the same time as they bore into him. look, if she makes you happy, then that's-- I'm not gonna insert myself into that any more than I'm sure I already have. I want you to be happy, and as hard as she'd tried to hold herself steady, there's a crack; a crack, one in her voice, one that slowly worsens and causes everything to wobble. it's-- it's fine. I don't care. All I wanted was for you to know. About all of this. I don't want to screw this up anymore.
She could have yelled. She could have tore into him about the mixed signals, the chase, the tension that she'd only found relief for in lonely nights and muffled sounds; she could have told him how sorry she was that her feelings were just so inconvenient for him and his new toy. She could have lamented her sorrows about Silvertongue, about how little even she understood of the dance that had gone on between them.
But she doesn't. Because that didn't matter anymore.
And slowly, the hurt is swallowed and locked in the cellar of her heart. I'm-- I'm gonna go lay down. I'm sorry. I'll see you tomorrow.

The conversation began to snowball then—his question met with a downplay of emotions and words that were noncommittal.

She said she didn’t care, but he knew that not to be true.

But what was the point of telling him she was scared of losing him to another woman when she herself was trying to figure out her own feelings for a different woman? And then that woman was the one he was banging…

… He grit his teeth, and as she begins to excuse herself, he finds himself at a crossroad, and before she goes, he speaks once more. “You’re not losing me, Wren,” he reiterates.

But he wouldn’t stop her from leaving.