Lost Creek Hollow una tortura perderte

This song just reminds me of @Silvertongue

Silvertongue’s scent had lingered at the creek on and off—he would know, as he was drawn to it each time. Each time, she had not sought him, nor called for him. It was bittersweet in many ways—it allowed him to look upon Eshe with more consideration, knowing that the woman of Riverclan would never return an inkling of the feelings he felt he could have for her.

He could have held on to her in the only way she would allow him too—a physical sense of trust and healing between the two of them. But he needed more… and he knew if he were to move forward and truly attempt to begin courting another, he would need to end this chapter of his life.

It hurt—knowing that in doing so would probably mean little to Silvertongue. She had a myriad of lovers, it seemed—he knew this already.

So the man stood solemnly at the borders of Riverclan, a crooning note sent out to the she-wolf, beckoning her for a quick chat. Time to rip the proverbial bandaid from his wounds.

CUZ ITS A BANGER

akavir. he had always been welcome in a thousand ways to silvertongue, save the one aspect of herself which would always be held for crowfeather. the last time she had been to the creek, a little gathering had waylaid her, and she had not returned since. but akavir — he had stirred so much silt from the river of her heart and allowed her a clearer affection. it was in this way she greeted him, tail waved in the air, a purling answer on her lips, letting the creek man fill her eyes. "it is always good to see you."

His gaze swept over the beautiful woman as she approached him. It was not just with newfound appreciation did he watch her now, but with an inkling of understanding. Silvertongue kept a vault upon herself for all of the wrong that had been done to her—so many wrongs.

He wanted to ask her if Crowfeather knew his beloved had sold her to the lavish pack to maintain his political standing with them. He wanted to ask her if Crowfeather would have wanted to tear in to the man’s throat for what he had done to her—like he had wanted to.

The world he would have tried to tear down for her if she would look to him the same as she did her co-leader.

Her eyes were warm upon him, and he found a slow and lazy smile pressing at the corner of his lips—even knowing what he knew, the way he wished to fold her into his arms and protect her from it all… she still managed to draw an easy smile from him.

And yet the vision of a freckled silver she-wolf at home was a swift reminder of his reasons for being here—the possibility of a growing family, a legacy he wished to build at the creek.

“I needed to come talk to you,” he offered, his tone a gentle murmur. As she drew closer, he leaned down, ignoring the thrum he felt at her scent and familiar warmth, and instead, offered a chaste kiss to her cheek—a far cry from the way in which he had all but devoured her at their last interlude.

indeed, her pulse quickened for it all the same, but it was different. the hypervigilance of the woman, her attunement now to akavir's body and expression — at once she wondered toward his words. few good things began with we must talk. and so silvertongue moved off slowly along the border, intending to walk with him if he wished, her argent ears cupped for the creek wolf's words.

He couldn’t help but watch her—grace in her movement, and now, he understood, endurance in her demeanor. He knew she suspected something was amiss—but to look at her, it would be hard to tell if she cared one way or another.

And wasn’t that the thing of it all?

“I…” What to even begin with? He was going to try to seriously see someone? An actual relationship? Or that he knew possibly the biggest, darkest secret of hers?

He wanted to start with Eshe—for Silvertongue, that would be by far the least worse of the two. In a selfish moment, though, he did not know if he could handle her reaction to such news—how indifferent he believed she would be that their little interludes would be no more.

After all, she had multiple lovers. Who was he but one who helped fill in the time and emptiness?

“Germanicus told me.” A band aid, ripped suddenly. His eyes were aflame then, recalling the man and how he had spoke of it, as if ticking off a checklist of his failures. “I don’t believe you’d want others to know… But I wish to bar him passage to the creek. Gunnar will have questions if I do.”

His gaze swept over her then, searching. The ball was in her court. The rules were entirely up to her to lay out. “I will respect whatever it is you want to do.”

for a long moment there was no reaction; silvertongue's face closed into a still pool of mercury. but red light pounded in the canaling of her ears; spiced her sinuses; clenched her throat. "i will tell him myself that he is not to go toward the creek. he is here enough, for crowfeather. gunnar does not need to know." and while she understood this went against the established protocol of the three packs — oh, fuck you, germanicus! hate burned to malice, to poisonous frothing. it had been too much that akavir knew so much of her, and now silvertongue searched hard for pity in the eyes of the man she could not love, no matter how much her heart warmed to know him. "no one else needs to know." the tone, the same she had once used to say belen.

She is struck. It is a hard thing for him to do—to stay so still in this moment. He wanted to pull her to him, console her. Show her that her worth is far more than the price Germanicus had saw fit to put on her head… but it could not be his place. And the way she searched him now—as if he knowing this secret, she looked to him differently, now. Colder?

“Oh, I can tell him, Silvertongue,” he murmured, a simmering ferocity rumbling in his softer tones that he reserved for her, now. “And I can tell him no others are to know.”

And then—prolonging, the moment he was about to let go the barest wisp of a thread she allowed him to have of her—he felt the tension coil at the very mention of Crowfeather. It was none of his business—he knew it was none of his business— “Does Crowfeather know what he did to you, mo ghaisgeach beag?” His gaze was a cool flame as he sought her gaze.

"no," silvertongue gasped out, eyes widening and then going hot with glass melting into bitter salt, and the shame of it scorched her again. "no. and he will never know." a thing between women was their own, to share, to carry. now silvertongue felt her stomach lurch at the possibility that when she looked up toward akavir again, it would be sorrow he saw; for her; sorrow. pity. and she could not bear that. she trembled in wounded pride, refusing to sob as the silent tears fell. "he would only be hurt, more, more than he could bear," she breathed out once her lips had steadied themselves. "and above all i want no more pain for him." it was not for condolence now she searched the gilded eyes, but alliance, alliance in understanding that the greatest sacrifices of love were one borne in silence.

He feels a simmering anger in his chest. It burns—the way it twists up, tensing his jaw—flaring from his gaze, and he has to look away from her momentarily, lest she feel that anger is directed to her, rather than for her. She bears the pain so another man who could not see her worth did not have to. She did not deserve that. “Silver,” he begins, his tone deep—

—'I would look after you. I will treasure you.' He cuts the words from himself. He could not make such promises—He couldn’t even save Ibis, could he?

And then… Eshe. Wren.

His shoulders roll back. His muzzle turns and his eyes search her once more. “I wish you could see your worth the way the rest of us do.”

Because what else was there to say?

akavir's feeling for her was palpable; she shut her eyes and resisted the brazen urge to lean into the strength of the chest possessing a heartsong she understood now. or hoped to! or wished to! her eyes snapped with hot tears, and now some prideful anger; "i never wanted anyone to see any of this," a near hiss that silvertongue drew back from being a growl; "my worth is my secrecy." oh, akavir, i could have loved you! i could have worn your colors! a closing to her moongilt face, and then soft, soft; "wren tells me that you and eshe have found one another," yanking another pain over the first and unwittingly sparing them both; "do not worry for me, akavir. i am where i want to be." she searched upward into his eyes, his mouth; hungering for a kiss she did not think would come again, was not sure was safe to taste again.

There was a lot to consider with her words— a lot to unpack.

Or, perhaps, there just simply wasn’t. Her tone was sharp with her anger—and when gemstone eyes fell to him, revealing that Wren had told her he was seeing Eshe, the man felt a tense grind of his jaw—why would Wren feel it her business to reveal such a thing to the Sharpfang?

Aside from the fact his Gamma also harbored feelings for Silvertongue… of which he assumed she knew of his own.

But the moment Silvertongue brazenly spoke of Eshe—and then commented that she herself was right where she wished to be—it was more than enough insight to know she was indifferent to his own feelings—affected so very little that he was potentially moving from her warm embrace and to another.

And so he steeled himself. A glint within his eyes—unreadable, perhaps, spare for the more perceptive or those closest to him—and he gave a short nod.

“The creek is always here if you need us,” he confirmed, his tone sobering… Removing himself from the equation as he felt she so wished. As he knew he would have to do, in order to give any fair chance to the delicate healer who had come within his ranks and captured his interest.

but that was all. silvertongue saw the glitter of his eyes and set her own stubbornness up, a stumbling block. akavir was ending things with her due to guilt and disgust, sparked the growing belief, and silvertongue was reeling back from the mayfair as swiftly as she was able. the tearing hurt all parts of her proud spirit, but she would show no more of it now. nothing again. "goodbye, akavir," the star said softly, mustering a small look that managed to be genuine despite her internal flight from being left to hold the corners of their ill-fated mutual adoration. fighting the fierce urge to turn back into riverclan, silvertongue stayed as she was, moon-limned and clutching the remnants of her pride to an aching chest.

She backed away from him—as if couldn’t get away from him fast enough—it seered him to the spot. His jaws opened—her name forming on his tongue… ‘Silver, don’t…’ but then it died on the wind as she said goodbye to him, pulling a small frown from him. She wanted away from him—after everything she had been through, who was he to try to sway her mind? To call her back. To ask for more, rather than less—

He held no right.

He watched her go—a beacon compared to the moonlight, unwavering still in her desire to keep him at arms length.

He had to remind himself that nothing had hurt in this world more than when he had found Ibis dead… But damn, if this somehow didn't feel worse in this very moment.