Swiftcurrent Creek made your mark on me, a golden tattoo

Her grief had hung over her like a cloud; she kept to the den, crying and wasting away. She'd never felt such intense grief before, but then again, she'd also never lost a parent before. This was all new territory for her, and she had no idea what to expect as she moved through the motions of her day.

It was sunny, and later in the morning, she woke to the smell of ... herself. It jostled her the sorrow that'd settled in her bones and replaced it with something new: concern. Quill usually got her season later, and she wondered if her grieving was why it came earlier.

She thought about everything silently, not wanting to wake @Akavir, yet looping about everything to a nearly obsessive degree.

Eshe had become Quill—perhaps a strange concept to the man, but the way that grief clung to her from the loss of her father, it was understandable, of not slightly endearing to him. Changing her name despite not truly understanding why her father had referred to her as such in his final days seemed cathartic to her—and so he did his best to abide by her, and comfort her in these darker days of her sorrow.

At times, he idly wondered if he should be checking in on his parents and siblings—or, at least, send a messenger to them, and check on their well-being.

Akavir held his wife when he could—many times over the course of the few days since the news, she had cried herself to sleep in his arms. This day was no different, and the man found himself dozing as well, knowing he would soon need to do another round along the borders.

She jolted and he found himself waking. Pulling her closer, he pressed his muzzle closer to the side of her nape, feeling the tension begin to roil in her body—and waiting for her to either lend voice to what was on her mind, or go back to sleep.

Akavir, Quill rasped when she felt him stir. Are you awake—we've got to talk. It wasn't the best way to wake up her husband, but with her season here, it was time to make a game-time decision.

Do you smell that? she prompted, hoping some context would ease whatever initial stress she might've caused him.

sorry he's dumb lol

Decidedly, Quill was intent on waking.

Her urgent whisper stirred his eyes to open, blinking against the faint light. Sleep-induced still, he yawned, pulling her again closer as she spoke, burying his face to her soft fur.

But her words startled him—and something similar to dread pooled within him as he snapped his head upward now, testing the air—wondering what she meant. “No,” he began, pushing upward and maneuvering to the entrance of the den, beginning to test the wind, as if expecting fire and smoke to meet him—or a predator. What other type of scent would have her so alarmed?

"No," Akavir replied before moving towards their den's entrance.

Quill smiled to herself, unable to hide her amusement. She felt some tension melt away as she watched him. It's not out there, she said as she pushed herself to a sitting position, It's me—I think my season just started.

“Oh.”

Ooh. He paused, tongue smoothing over his lips in quiet contemplation—and he swore he squared away the panic that threatened to set itself to his features. This had been a moment between them left hanging—his admission that he just… failed any child he ever had. Eshe—Quill—and her desire for nothing but children.

At a crossroads.

"Oh." Akavir said.

Yeah ... Quill replied. So ... So what did this mean? They'd talked at length about what they wanted. She hoisted herself onto all fours, drawing closer to him.

Do you want me to go and sleep in my old den for the next week? Or ...? The silent question clung to the end of her sentence.

Her suggestion—bless her—stirred a bark of a laugh from him, though his eyes were keen on her—the scent of her drifting to him now, and he inched closer to the den entrance, where the open air beckoned him. “If you think I’m letting you out of my sight for some rando guy to come up and try to take advantage of you…”

He trailed off—berating himself with a cluck of a tongue as his gaze sought the den ceiling as he released a low groan. “Eshe…” He halted. “Quill.” A sharp exhale. “You told me you wanted nothing more than a family of your own.”

He let that linger between them.

He barked out a laugh and followed up with a sentiment that brought a soft smile to her face. Well—I mean ... she attempted, but failed terribly; why was this so difficult? It would keep my scent away from you.

She could see his struggle when he spoke again, and she exhaled slowly. Yes. More importantly, a family with you, but I don't want to force you into doing something you don't want to do.

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: Language... always with this guy.

Those fevered days came back to him like a mack truck, slamming him in the chest—

— Ibis, he could have swore he had seen her. The reminder of their darkest days. Their lightest days. His want for Silvertongue, surfacing—his strange pull to Toula. His absolute unquestionable love for Eshe, and what she wished from him—

—To Mae’s angry snarling features as she all but told him what she thought of him. Of his missing daughters. His missing sons.

“I’m at 0 out of 5 for raising kids,” he managed, his words dry as he tried to swallow. Eshe deserved the world. Not him.

Never him.

“What if I fuck up these ones, too?”

Although she wanted to wrap herself and pull him close, she resisted and instead allowed him the space to speak. He had always been hung up on his former failures, which broke her heart that he carried the pain around with him, and so far, she'd been unsuccessful in getting through to him. This time, instead of coddling him, she challenged him instead.

And what if you don't? she asked. What if you succeed? What then?

She challenged him—but he did not refrain from what truly pressed him—“What if I don’t, and our children hate me? What then?”

What about us?

Ibis, gone. Silvertongue, gone. All of his children, run away.

What then, when Eshe, too went?

He leaned against the entry wall of their den—feeling heavy yet weightless all at once. His eyes studied her a moment, and feeling that need once more to press against her—to soothe her, he instead slunk outside—the cold winter air a harsh slap to his face and yet he welcomed it greedily.

Then ... I don't know, Quill said, feeling her patience being tested. This was exhausting, and she was beginning to lose hope that she would win this uphill battle with him. She drew a paw to her temple and began to massage her head, feeling a headache coming on. So, instead of fighting, she gave a resigned sigh and gave in.

It's whatever, then. We won't have children—I can't and won’t convince you, and you clearly don't want to have children with me. She felt her heart break as the words left her mouth, and she pushed past him to get outside and get some space from him. She kept walking, heading in the direction of the creek.

Her acceptance of potentially not having children certainly seemed thrown out the proverbial window in that moment as she snapped—storming past him—not stopping once she was fully outside. His tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth, holding back his own biting remark—and stared after her as she all but left their little abode.

He meant what he said—like fuck he was letting her out of his sight in this condition—and so the dark Mayfair trailed behind, silver fur glinting in the sun as he kept a respectful distance from her—nares quivering at her scent—his own agitation upon the surface of his being.

He spoke nothing for the moment—contemplating, and allowing them both time to cool off from the spat.

His presence was infuriating, and although she tried to ignore it, she couldn't. She hadn't even made it halfway to the stream by the time she'd had enough. With an irritated snarl, she whirled to face him and snapped her jaws in warning, even though he kept himself at a distance.

I need time alone—go away, she snapped.

His own thoughts simmered—the two at a crossroads of sorts that neither was keen to accept, and yet when she whirled around in his direction, a snarl and snap of her jaws toward him, he felt the blood drain from his face for a moment—staring at her with incredulation and surprise—

—as if once more, struck by Silvertongue, and he could feel the burn of the fresh scar along his eye.

His own lip curled to reveal his distaste of the entire thing—trying to imagine if he himself had treated her in such a manner, and he twisted then, his own stride quick as he made to put space between them.

As she wished.

Had Eshe been more cognizant of her actions, she wouldn't have snapped, but the anger that consumed her was blinding. When he departed, and she was truly alone, she continued along the worn path towards the creek and sat next to the water once she made it. She cried freely, allowing herself to feel everything as she considered the situation at large; at one point, she even contemplated whether or not they were right for each other.

Eventually, by mid-day, she was drained by it all. Her appearance matched; her fur was disheveled, her eyes red, and an ever present frown touched her lips. There were no tears left to cry and nothing else to think about, which meant she was ready to talk again.

She howled for him, inviting him back.

He didn’t accept and kept the distance that she’d asked for.