Sleepy Fox Hollow The world don't see

Etienne limped back into the pack lands. His paws bloody and broken, but wrapped well enough. He smelled like Dusty and the she wolf. Had she given him a name. He shrugged. It didn't matter he would probably never see her again. And he had done nothing to be ashamed of anyway.

He found a spot to throw a rock into the river and he'd step into it. Hoping the cold would numb his paws again. They hurt. And he needed to clean them but just didn't care to at the moment.

A shake of shoulders as he dipped into the frost water. A long gasp leaving his maw at the shock of cold. But it slowly began to desensitize him. His body growing semi numb.

Unlike Etienne, Anselm had sown a field of shame in his absence. Everything he'd done was ugly and hideous -- and now, he stood in the rotted field of his own fruitless labor, ready to reap.

It was the blood Anselm sensed first. His step quickened -- but then he scented something else too.

Vhat happened? Anselm found Etienne submerged in an icy river. Now their roles were reversed: Etienne sulked in the water, and Anselm worried.

Etienne did not think Anselm would feel shame for his actions. It was natural usually. Etienne was simply unnatural.

And there he was. Etienne sucked in a breath. And turned gold eyes towards him. Tracing the white of his face, those sunset eyes.

Etienne sighed and walked from the water. Smelling of rivers and air now. He shivered as he shook the droplets from fur, but sat and held up his paws. They were much better than they had been, but still slashed and ripped inbetween and on the bottom.

No use hiding it. broke dem open on ice.

He searched the nearby roughage for reeds. There might still be some this late. He could pad his paws with it and use willow maybe to hold in place.

Etienne waded from the dark waters and held up a paw; its ends bloody and snarled with red. 

Anselm did not expect the emotion that coursed through him; it seized his stomach and iced his blood. 

As the seaborn moved to the reeds Anselm followed; not close enough to mistake his proximity for solidarity, but close enough one might see the subtle worry in his eyes that he desperately tried to disguise. 

Vhy did you need to break the ice, Etienne?

Etienne felt awkward and emotional all at once. Usually willing to be vulnerable. The conversation with Dusty snarled at his mind.

Anselm stuck closer than usual, but that was okay. Etienne didn't mind. Though the question was onw he was unsure how to answer.

Etienne was not a good liar, nor did he like it.

I didn't like the face starin' back at me.

He used teeth to pull reeds from the bank. Trying to Stuff the fluff between toes and around paw. Using cobwebs to hold in place. But he kept slipping as it was his front paws and his teeth did a poor job of it. Finally, he huffed and sat down letting the items fall off. As he stared at them angrily. The cobwebs broken, the fluff dirty.

Between them something tender was growing — if Anselm would allow it. But it would take time, and gentle watering, and nurturing attention, and loving words — these were things Anselm was not capable of. And instead of love, Anselm’s scorched fields were only sown with resentment. 

He stared at Etienne in disbelief. But I like the face staring back at me — he wanted to counter — to scream — to grab each other and shake the sense into them both; the truth. The truth he knew was threatening to unfurl around them. 

But the words, like everything else, died on his tongue. His stupid, acerbic tongue. 

Etienne began to rip the reeds from the frozen earth. Anselm wanted to help him, but such a gesture could be seen as soft. He grunted and moved at last, pulling out some shoots and roughly throwing them towards Etienne’s direction. Helpful, but not too helpful. Interested, but not so interested as to be perceived as gay. Because he wasn’t. He was normal. He was fine. He wasn’t g—

Vhat good did that do you? Anselm finally spoke, noticing the way Etienne struggled to bind the reed and cobwebs to his fur. 

He looked around them, as if making sure they did not have an audience. Do you vant me to find Fiona, or… ? Though he did not like the idea of touching Etienne because that would be — well — he liked the idea of Fiona touching Etienne even less.

Etienne didn't know where he stood with anyone on this godforsaken hollow. He hated Heda and loved her as a person from his past who had shown him kindness. Where he found Amselm's prickliness endearing. He found Fiona's annoying. And frankly wanted to rip her face off.

Etienne blinked surprised at the gesture. But he gathered the shoots to himself. But didn't move to press them into his skin. He had to think about how to with his current handicap so to speak.

Golden gaze fell on Anselm. Clearly none. li pa fè anyen byen.

Etienne's hackles rose and he spoke sharper than he meant. You bring 'er near me and i will rip de fur from your snout. Moun Fou. m 'pral' touyew.

As always in times of high stress he threw his family's language down like a fence.

Etienne spat a series of words Anselm did not understand; the harshness of his voice uncharacteristic for the soft seaborn man Anselm had come to slowly discover. Anselm stepped back, reassessing what he had said to elicit such a strong reaction.  

It amused him in some small way to see this; Fiona had struck a nerve in him too, but why Etienne? 

Fine. I do not get the vitch. Anselm threw up his hands in a rare gesture of humor. So — how vill you fix this? He motioned to the sorry contraption wrapped around Etienne’s paw. 

Anselm’s lips twitched as another far more vulnerable emotion was ventured. If only you had a second set of hands. Of course, he could help — but he would not offer first, out of fear for being misconstrued as an advancement on a man.

Etienne didn't regret the words. He did not trust Fiona. He wasn't certain why, but she set his teeth on edge. Perhaps it was because they had never had any type of decent conversation.

He sighed. 'Er is no witc' jus. Mm Sournwa

Etienne stared at his paws irritated. The fur along his ruff rising further. Golden eyes narrowed in irritation. m pa konnen

Etienne stared at him amd shook his head. den move your 'ands. Come 'ere. 'old in place. I can wrap around. Gentle. It 'urts enoug'

Etienne spoke, but to Anselm, only half of it was intelligible. He paused, glancing to the healer basking in the water. Em Sworna-- He butchered it terribly. What does that mean?

He was instructed to stand alongside Etienne and hold down the crude bandages while he worked. Anselm paused for a long minute, weighing how this would appear -- him, in close proximity to a man, touching him.

In the end, his rare sense of altruism surrounding a packmate won out, though he was deeply uncomfortable as he placed his paws upon the rough bondage. He waited with breath baited, ears turned to Etienne for further instruction.

A small smile as he repeated the word.

Sournwa. It means sneaky.

Eti sighed. I am sorry. I learned my families language before common. And sometimes, no often it slips out.

A shudder worked from his nose to his tail tip at first touch. He tried to ignore it. Ears laid down and then up. Then one up, one down. Unsure.

Tank you.

Etienne worked in silence. A small furrow in his brow as he worked to toghten with teeth. It was crude and ugly. Much worse than if he hadn't been the patient.

He backed up with a small clearing of his throat.

A small smile. Tank you, Anselm.

Sournwa. It was a captivating word, with an ugly meaning. Anselm wondered if the rest of Etienne's language was this way - most of what he said sounded lovely, but he knew better than to believe it positive. Anselm wanted to ask what made Etienne believe the witch sneaky, but the words died in his throat.

He fell into silence as Etienne worked. The end result was rough at best, but it was better than if he'd done it alone, Anselm surmised. Etienne said thanks twice -- the first earned only a brief dip of his head, the second a grunt in acknowledgment.

As much as he wanted to stay close and feel the heat emanate from Etienne's body, Anselm's lack of security pushed him away. He cleared his throat and began to make his exit. No more attacking your reflection. Anselm decreed, already stalking away in a patherine gait.

Many of the words were not as brash or mean. But even the ugliest words sounded pretty in his family's language. It was a part of all of them.

At least Anselm acknowledged that he had helped. Though a aoft chuckle left the sea borns lips at the decree.

Okay.

Etienne watched him go with an ache in his chest and a small smile on his face. He doubted there would ever be more than this and yet he couldn't leave.