Firefly Glen and time breaks your heart

Akavir

---

Morwenna tried her best to feign an innocence after meeting such a young girl. It had her heart swelter, grow three times its size, and remind her that her life was not behind her. Her children, bless their hearts, were in a better place— and they would want the same for her mother, instead of a shell of a ghost wandering the dense forests.

A ghost no longer, she'd become opaque. Seen.

But not in the way she thought. The woman tred through the grove, finding the path that the young girl had taken was not for her. She was tempted to sway her opinion, insist that she'd come with her, but thought it to be moot. Maybe she would see her again— maybe.

With a heavy sigh, the woman continued to make her way through the forest. She stopped at a stream, bending her head down and glancing at her reflection.

What have you become? When she found no answer, she let out a deep sigh.

for timeline/simplicity sake, I'm going to assume this is set before this thread if that's okay?

Commotion is something he is accustom to—at least from time to time. Yet the consistency of it since their arrival in the glen was overwhelming at best, and the darkened wolf trailed along a quieter path for the moment, the sound of laughter and voices becoming distant enough he could ignore them.

He slowed—the loom of trees withholding the brightness of the sun, though they did not fully block the chill of the autumn air. Leaves crunched beneath his paws, but that was not enough noise to drown out the sudden loud sigh.

He paused mid-step—gaze narrowing as he focused—his muzzle canting lightly as he realized the other was not far from him, and he was not alone as he had once assumed.

Shifting, Akavir pulled back the foliage of a crimson red bush, eyes capturing the form of a stranger, staring into her reflection in the water.

He missed the creek.

Clearing his throat, the Mayfair lifted himself higher—gaze wandering from her to study the stream, as if that made his sudden presence less imposing. “Are you trying to escape the chaos out there, too?”

of course!

---

Morwenna hadn't heard him. The noise in her head rang loudly as her reflection stared back at her. It was futile how hard she attempted to right her wrongs, they seemed to find her again, again, and again. Needless to say, she was tired. Exhausted from the breaches of her mind, and longed for a purpose to drive her mad.

A short gasp left her throat as she was caught with her guard down. She swatted the water to muddle the clear reflection she saw, and spun from her seated position.

Across from her was a male bigger than herself. Older, by assumption, given the notable scars dappled along his body. Namely the slash across his face.  I... she breathed, alarmed but calmed by his disposition. Yes, it seems that way.

He seemed stressed. Troubled. Morwenna didn't mind the company— nor the welcome of death. Whatever he chose, she'd certainly welcome it. Sit, if you wish. I do not own this stream. And could use company, but the words were held by her tongue.

He startled her, despite his best efforts not to—inwardly, he flinched—outwardly, he remained stoical as he studied the woman. She gathered herself quickly and extended an invitation for him to sit. It defeated the purpose of seeking solitude—but given the sighs she had loosed earlier, he wondered if perhaps it was company that she craved.

The lightest tilt of his head was the acquiescence he gave before pulling the brush back fully to move through, his own humbled sigh barely slipping past his lips before he settled to a sit. “Akavir, of Swiftcurrent Creek,” he offered then, his pale champagne eyes falling upon the marking upon her forehead. “Which pack are you from?”

Morwenna was delighted when the male decided to accept her invitation. It wouldn't have been the end of things for her if he hadn't, she'd been on a streak of losses as of late. It was the little things that sparked enjoyment back into her life, and who knew, it came right here with the shadow-y man. 

His eyes had been like pools of muted gold. When she looked at him, his comment about his name and pack she presumed, it felt endearing to speak to another wolf. Someone who didn't know who she was upon first glance, gasp, mock her, judge her for her actions. Here, she was no queen. Here, she was just...Morwenna.

Morwenna. Well acquainted, Sir Akavir. His name was foreign on her tongue, not like those she'd grown up around. But that's the thing— she wasn't home. And that was the best part about all of this. 

I have no...pack. The word 'pack' was toilsome when she spoke. She'd been from Kingdoms, courts, but here...life, almost, felt simpler. Your pack is...S-Swiftcurrent Creek? Her head tilted to the side, deciphering what he meant, though her voice remained gentle, solemn, afraid to wake the peeping frogs from the waterbed.

He blinked sharply at the use of ‘sir,’ swallowing the amusement that had begun to curl at the corner of his lips as his eyes fell directly upon her now. “Ah—Sir sounds far too gentlemanly to be used in the context of my name,” he bemused aloud—with an unshakable moral ground that did not always align with others and a firm law of ‘tooth and claw,’ ‘Sir’ seemed far too much a stretch. 'Asshole' was usually used within the same sentence, though. “Am I to call you Miss Morwenna?”

It was a gentle tease—though the somber air about her was something that maybe became more apparent at her mention of no pack. A lone wolf then, who had just stumbled upon the large hunt?

“Yes,” he clarified, uncertain if she was simply placing the name to memory or if she had somehow heard of them. The latter might not always be in their best interest. “So you’re not part of this hunt the Moon tribes have organized?”

Oh— it appears they do not use formal titles here. Morwenna cleared her throat, embarrassed, but glad to heed his honesty to adapt her tongue. She did, however, find it amusing that he offered a rebuttal to her vernacular. It brought a smile to the woman's face.

Only when it suits you, Akavir.

And then he confirmed her suspicions of his origins. Committing the name to memory, she nodded. But she hadn't a single clue about the pack hunt going on in these lands now— Gods, how could she have stumbled across such a territorial zone?

Oh? Her voice came a little louder, as if she were finding her courage from within. No. No, I...am quite new here. I hadn't a clue there was such events going on.

She felt like a burden.

If this is your kind way of asking me to leave, it's no issue—

An ear flickered idly to what he thought was laughter in the far distance—but the solitude where they both sat was what truly spoke to him in that moment. Still, when she spoke, there was a hesitancy—not necessarily one of shyness, and he blinked in surprise at her offer to leave.

“If anyone asks you to leave, you can remind them this land doesn’t belong to anyone,” he offered, feeling a certain fire at the notion one would be brazen enough. Many packs gathered—surely, none of them were so arrogant?

“Though if you’re looking to find a place to settle for the winter, you’ve an interesting opportunity of many different pack leaders here to talk to.” If she were so inclined—his eyes traced her own gaze,  a brow arching. “If you were hoping to just find some quiet introspection… Well, looks like it might be poor timing, coming here,” he finalized, the faintest trace of a smirk pressing to his lips.

Morwenna noted that this land hadn't belonged to anyone. She thought so, given by the surplus of mingling scents wafting through the air, but she could never be too careful. It's moments like these where hubris often overcomes her, and she is met with tooth and claw. 

But with the shadowed gentlemen, Akavir, she got a smile. A smirk, if you'd prefer. 

Her face visibly brightened at his suggestion— she supposed she was in the perfect spot to find a home for the winter, or the years to come. Morwenna was a deeply loyal individual, and didn't find the benefit of crowd surfing other's hard worked achievements. 

Morwenna gave a soft laugh, her gaze drifting thoughtfully over the landscape as he spoke. 

Quiet introspection? Here? It seems I may have misjudged the season’s charm, she quipped, a hint of mischief in her eyes. I suppose I’ll need a sharper wit than usual to claim my spot if I'm to survive the winter here undisturbed.

Her expression softened slightly as she looked back to him, the flicker of humor remaining. Though, it seems I’ve wandered into quite the marketplace of pack leaders, haven’t I? I’d hate to seem… eager. She gave a mock sigh, rolling her eyes with exaggerated exasperation. 

I'd like to meet one. If you know any.

He withheld a huff of amusement—her own laugh and the way her features seemed shifted seemed to imply she was less uncomfortable now. “Sharp wit is highly recommended in these areas,” he warned, his own tone bordering on teasing.

Wit and humor—otherwise, how else could one face the mundane day to day tasks? The darkness that was pushed upon them all, at one point or another?

Her inquiry drew a soft rumble from his throat as he considered, eyes briefly gazing skyward in thought. “The packs that have come are from across many regions. From Rising Sun Valley—where my own home is—there are two other packs: Kvarsheim, and Bearclaw Valley. To the south from there, a desert, where Muat-riya is claimed. They are… a secondary home to the wolves of Akashingo—highly religious. A kingdom, I suppose. These two packs have just left the gathering—there is news they are under attack. There is now a call of arms to assist them,” he continued, his eyes drifting downward to once more seek her out—was she a warrior? Or did her skills lie elsewhere?

“Closer to here, there are the Moonpacks. Three different villages—each have their own sanctioned leader, but it seems the one they call Kukutux, or ‘Moonwoman,’ is the figurehead of them. A matriarch. They are the ones who have organized this hunt for the packs in these lands to mingle and meet one another. They are traders, mostly.”

“Brecheliant and Sun Mote Copse make up the other two closer to here—the former was a pack I was once in, years ago… When my mate was alive.” His tongue clicked against his teeth—his jaw clenching before he continued on, unwilling to dwell on the topic for now. “I don’t know much about the latter, to be honest.” They seemed quiet—small.

“Near the coast, somewhere, a pack called Sapphique. I don’t know much about them, either.”

Morwenna’s gaze softened as Akavir spoke, her eyes tracing the sky as if reflecting on his words. It sounds as if you’ve seen all corners of these lands, Akavir, she murmured, voice rich with quiet intrigue. But these places—the kingdoms, the hierarchies… the structure of it all seems like such a weight. A faint sigh escaped her, and she looked away, shadows of her past flickering in her eyes. Religion, royalty—there was a time I was wrapped up in it all, but I've had enough of crowns and titles to last me a lifetime. I’d hoped this gathering might bring something… simpler.

She looked to him again, her expression softening with a hint of vulnerability. I’m sorry to hear of your mate. Loss is its own kind of kingdom, isn’t it? Not one I’d wish for any soul. She paused, letting the sentiment settle before her voice grew lighter, warmer. But... maybe that’s the hope for all of us, really. A chance to leave the burdens behind, to start over. To write a new story.

Morwenna let her gaze linger on him, studying his expression with a caring warmth that softened her sharp edges. But enough of my old ghosts—tell me of Rising Sun Valley, Swiftcurrent Creek, she urged gently, her voice carrying a tender, almost maternal note, as if inviting him to share whatever burdens he carried. Surely a place you’ve chosen to return to has some hold on you… perhaps something that feels like home, even with all that’s been lost?

She leaned a little closer, her voice softening further. I imagine there’s something in those lands that offers you peace—or at least a place to lay down some of that heaviness, maybe even find a bit of comfort. Her eyes searched his, warm and sincere. It’s good to have somewhere to return to. And perhaps, in time, you’ll find that those old wounds have a way of mending when you’re where you’re meant to be.

He wasn’t sure why—but it was a relief to hear she wasn’t enticed by the idea of the royals—her description of weight when considering them was something he found apt—and in truth, he could have shared his own time with his late wife and the Empire—but that particular wisdom remained set within—unshared, for now.

‘Akavir, wait, can we talk?’ The last words his wife had said to him alive—and he had denied them. She had carried another man’s pups and he had naively pushed away the gift of presence—the hardest lesson he had learned, when he realized afterward, he would never know what she had wished to say to him.

Her eyes trailed over him, and he was pulled from that reverie once more, as he was so many times, a wane smile surpassing him, but not meeting his eyes. “That loss was years ago—I’ve lived a lifetime and more in comparison to what she had at the age she was gone.”

He could have asked of her loss—the sense something lingered there—but he had never been one to coax tragedies from others. If she wished to share, she would—and it was with that thought and her question regarding the valley he lived in that stirred his shoulders to roll back in a light stretch, his brows arching in quiet thought. “I was born there—we left, after some time, my parents seeking their own fresh start. I returned later—after Ibis—claimed the Creek along another, Arric, my Beta. He and his mate have started a family.”

He missed the ease of companionship with both Arric and Arlette—idly owndering how much the kids had grown in his absence of a month, now. “We tend to joke and say we’re a pack of assholes—mostly I’d say we’re a little rough around the edges… But we’re tight knit. Family. It was my goal to create alliances with the other packs of the valley—to keep a place of peace and camaraderie. Turns out that’s a lot harder than anticipated.”

Another wry smirk—a shrug. The valley packs had shifted in so many ways—death—foundings—disbanding. “Our ranks consist primarily of fighters and healers. A lot of youth—yearlings, and another litter of pups, aside from our Beta’s. We’ll be turning soon,” he continued, and a certain wariness fuelled his muscles in that moment. “The attacks on one of the Kingdom’s I mentioned before is closer to home than I’m comfortable with, so I need to return and prepare.”

Morwenna listened intently, noting the way Akavir’s story circled the losses they'd both known. The lightest crease marked her brow, yet she withheld her own story of empire and kingdom-hood gone by, feeling the resonance instead, the quiet hum of recognition. How she knew the tug of failed leaderships and the bitter taste of love lost under different circumstances. Yet this wolf—one who had made something more of his life, who had, in his own way, continued forward—was worth knowing further.

When he mentioned “starting a family,” she let the words sink in, latching on with unexpected fondness. It felt foreign, perhaps even silly, but Morwenna couldn’t deny it stirred something hopeful in her chest. She met his gaze with a touch of gentle humor. A family... she murmured, half to herself, lips curving. It sounds like you've built something to be proud of.

She gave a soft laugh, one that could have faded into the stillness of the mountain air, saying, And, from what you've told me, keeping up with valley alliances must be...a struggle. Perhaps one only a few find themselves able to manage, she teased lightly. Politics, after all, had always been something she’d thrived in, though perhaps in a more ruthless environment. But it's what I’m best at—though I’ve yet to meet anyone who could make it simple.

Lowering her gaze, she gathered herself, still considering the mention of his rank. She hadn’t known, and it caused her ears to flick back slightly, surprised. It was rare, yet she felt almost compelled to ask, almost shy, If... it suits you, I'd be honored to join you. She added, more softly, Of course, only if that’s something you’d welcome.

Her words were perhaps kinder than deserved—though he did take solace that the Creek had stood now for almost two years with he and Arric at the helm—having grown it from nothing and fighting off battle after battle.

He would have questioned her more—it was, after all, what he did at a visit to his borders. There was something about the woman he felt trustworthy though—and something she was not ready to divulge, just yet. The reason, perhaps for that brief glimpse of hesitance he had witnessed in her before.

“We could always use a diplomat,” he murmured, amusement hinted within his tones. Particularly now, if they were to mend their shattered alliance with Kvarsheim. “Join us when we return to the Creek… You can get a sense of how you feel about it, then,” he offered, gaze openly upon her—and slowly, he lifted himself to a stand, inhaling slowly and in length—once more, the bustle and noise barely flitting to him on the wind. He would need to return to it once more.

“You can stay with us at our assigned camp, if you want—or here. It’s up to you.”

Morwenna’s heart beat a touch faster at his words, and a new light entered her eyes. She’d felt the weight of her place here, among strangers who hardly knew her name, and that isolation had worn her down in ways she hadn’t realized until this moment. The Creek... a place she could start anew with those who would see her, not as some relic of her past but as someone with purpose.

A diplomat, he’d said, and she let the word sink in, her lips curving just slightly. I’d be honored, she answered quietly, her voice softened but firm. She'd been a diplomat once, wielding words as deftly as teeth—an art that came as naturally as breathing. But this time, she was prepared to defend those words, too. And I can fight, if the need calls for it.

She lifted herself up, catching Akavir’s steady gaze, the thrill of something new simmering beneath her calm. I’d rather go back with you, to be honest. Start this journey right, she added with a smile. Then she nodded with a respectful tilt of her head, acknowledging his rank and invitation with the earnestness he deserved.

For timeline sake, assuming this is before Mae's atack, etc. We can fade here, though? Tags for reference.

A diplomat—his nod was a finality—a relief in a sense that perhaps they could further move in the proper direction he had always wished to for the valley packs.

He was a fighter—he was no diplomat. Arric and Arlette were also perhaps a bit too sweet for the role of such—and the others among their ranks were certainly not ready to be as such. Perhaps @Viinturuth would be able to escort Morwenna as she grew accustom to the valley and packs—he would be her best resource.

She wished to go with him, and thus the ebony wolf prowled closer, muzzle lifting to better study her before he moved and allowed his shoulder to graze hers—the trade of scent—that she was one of theirs, if she so deemed it.

And then, a smirk truly did light up his face—his pale champagne eyes humorous as he looked back to her, beginning to lead them to the way of the Swiftcurrent Creek camp. “I’ll introduce you, then. You’ll feel about as welcome as a parasite by my daughters, @Mae and @Cygnet. Don’t take it personally. They scowl at any female I talk with,” he warned, hoping the belligerent yearlings wouldn’t ward her off. “They’ll eventually warm up. @Etienne, though, will be happy to also help you settle. He’s one of our packs newer healers.”

And thus, began Morwenna’s induction to the Creek as he led her back to their temporary home.

Morwenna felt a tinge of nervousness etch up the vertebrae of her spine. She didn't expect him to come close to her, nudge his scent upon her own glands— it was a different act than what she was used to, primal in nature, that made her feel...normal once more. It was a hope that this could be a new start, a new Morwenna, than the famed Black Queen that she had once been. As he spoke, she lifted her muzzle slightly, catching a sense of his scent mingling with her own, feeling the unspoken claim they’d shared.

At his mention of his daughters’ possessiveness, a quiet laugh escaped her. Oh, I know all about how children can be with their parents—like tiny guards, fierce over their domain, she mused, tone wry but amused. I promise, I won’t take it to heart. In truth, it was reassuring; the bonds he’d built here clearly ran deep, even if it came with a bit of resistance.

When he spoke of Etienne, the healer, her interest sharpened. Etienne, the healer—duly noted. I’ll seek him out, she replied, already making a mental note to get to know those whose talents could fortify her role.

With that, she fell in beside him, her paws treading quietly as they made their way to Swiftcurrent Creek’s camp, a strange but thrilling new chapter opening with each step.

ending here!