Firefly Glen petals so pretty, roots too strong

she'd spent her time during the hunt tending to each of her children and meandering through the camps with vague interest in them. it had struck her during the last of hunt's days that where her small family might travel was a decision not effected by her alone. her children had grown during their stay in the glen, in more ways than one.

@Anatolia had struck out on her own during the hunt, and nephele, though swelled with a motherly protectiveness, had felt it safe enough for her eldest child to do so. and oh how she'd grown! each time her daughter returned she had learned of something new as she matured and blossomed with experiences of the world.

@Alasdair and zephyra were more reserved than their sister, but they too had grown in their own ways. they had often kept close to nephele, but spent their time sparring and playing with each other.

her children had a say in where their new home might be struck, and so she called to each of them with an affectionate warmth wrapped in her song. they would decide the next chapter of their story together.

zephyra had never made it far past the reigns of the yellowstone encampment. she did not feel the same pull to socialize as her sister might, and in this reclusiveness simmered the smallest tang of jealousy. she wished she was as independent as her sister, but when it came to conversing with strangers, zephyra held little confidence. 

she preferred to play the day away with alasdair, but even in that she came second. he had grown larger than she, and his strength had grown with him. second to her sister in boldness, second to her brother in brawn, and second to be born. perhaps she was simply destined to be second.

the call of her mother had pulled the girl from her pre-teen angst driven anxiety and toward where the silhouette of nephele stood. she shuffled her way over beside her mother before flopping against her in a dramatic fashion and letting loose a sigh that might suggest she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. being a kid was tough.

she did not want to leave @Morwenna.

so instead she had gently tugged at tufts of fur and asked her to come with. admittedly there was some hesitancy. she was not wholly sure what this would be about. maybe the absence of her brother or maybe the way anatolia drifted around endlessly.

it would probably be ok, right?

yet her gut felt a bit clenched and guilty, her cheek chewed on inside her mouth. she should have said something, anything. maybe asked about her absent brother. instead she only lingered near morwenna and waited for someone else to break the ice first.

Morwenna stood quietly, watching the small gathering come together. Her eyes fell on Anatolia, noticing the way the young wolf lingered with an uncertain air. She seemed to waver in the space between them, the anticipation and nerves visibly clinging to her, as if held by invisible threads.

With a gentle warmth, Morwenna lowered herself to Anatolia’s level, her gaze kind and inviting, without the weight of expectations. She allowed the silence to stretch a little before speaking, the tone of her voice soft but grounded.

It’s all right, she murmured, her own form solid and sure, as if offering a quiet reassurance that the world around them would hold steady. Anatolia edged closer, leaning into Morwenna’s side, and the older wolf let her stay there, unmoving, allowing her presence to say all the words neither of them needed to voice just yet. She felt anxious in the presence of the other woman watching her own child cling to a stranger. Go to your mother.

As she watched Anatolia pause, Morwenna let her gaze drift toward her mother. I'm Morwenna, miss. This little one— she gestured to Anatolia, was lingering near the outskirts. It was most appropriate to return her.

nephele had not thought herself an inadequate mother. she'd not thought herself a perfect mother either, but a learning one. and in her inexperience, she'd not expected the complexity that came with growing children. they held far more emotions than what she could recall herself having at that age, and unlike adults whom she could give the cold shoulder to, she could not ignore the pressing needs of her own babes.

she was learning, but nobody had warned her that motherhood would be this much of a challenge.

zephyra was the first to arrive, puffed full of some vigor that nephele could not read. her lips parted to try and rouse some question to the girl's obvious ire, but no words formed on her tongue. lost on what to say, her mouth pressed back to the neat line it so usually held.

anatolia arrived shortly after in the company of a woman the stormcloud did not recognize. her gaze shifted between the two, an uncomfortable churning of some concealed sensation bubbling it's way forth. why exactly did her own child seem hesitant to approach?

did i do something wrong? are you ok? what's wrong? are you hurt? sick? did something happen? — a million words to ask, but no voice to let them be heard. instead she focused in on the other woman, "nephele," a quick introduction followed by an appreciative, "thank you for seeing her back safely."

two girls, but where was her boy? some deep maternal alarm rung out through the very core of her then, a glaze of panic washed over her. "your brother is not with you?" she asked while shifting her sight between her two daughters.

if he was not with either of his sisters, then where exactly was he?

and who was this? her sister had brought back a stranger, a woman. curiosity and wonder swelled within the girl. how was it that ana was so good at making friends? even with adults! 

her heart pattered against her chest, blood rushing to paws and cheeks. zephyra was not familiar with the word in which would describe her sudden affliction, but in growth and understanding, she might one day recognize it as envy. 

all the girl could do was stare. 

it was only when her mother questioned the whereabouts of her brother than zephyra tore her gaze away from her sister and her newfound guardian. "i thought he went to play," she answered with a shrug. 

in zephyra's small, unpopped bubble of a world, nothing drastically frightful had ever happened. alasdair had a bubble of his own to protect him, so surely, he was just as fine as she was.

morwenna encouraged her.

"it was most appropriate to return her."

her ears swept out like a guilty dog. for all intents and purposes, she certainly felt like at least a stray one. anatolia only had eyes for her oversized paws now. refused to look at any face that had gathered.

the question of her brother felt like someone sucked air out of her lungs.

if no one knew...then what?

i thought — her voiced croaked and her gaze traveled around. granted it looked at no one in particular. maybe he was...was with you. i haven't...seen him. guilt that gnawed up her insides, her cheeks burned with a fire so hot she was convinced the sun had returned from hiding.

whatever confidence and courage she had built up during the great hunt seemed to be suddenly crumbling.

for a moment, she looked back towards morwenna. as if somehow she might know her brother, might know where he had gone to.

Morwenna would nod her head in a brief acknowledgement. The sylph woman's name was Nephele, and these were her other children. She took a brief glance towards the other young girl, her colors nearly matching Anatolia's, nevertheless of the browns that dappled her coat.

Then, the trove of the news of a missing sibling had Morwenna's ears flattening to her head. A wave of anguish felt between her and Nephele— a mother's worst nightmare. The unknown of what happened to your child. She, at least, had the comfort of knowing her children would rest. Nephele, on the other hand, was lost in the traipsing thoughts of what if.

She only spoke when Anatolia's eyes found her own, glancing up from a helpless perspective. Morwenna swallowed the lump in her throat, finding the courage to want to help this woman.

Nephele— she started, voice cracking from a feeling of emotion. If you'd like to search for him, I can watch them. Though, how would Morwenna feel if a stranger wanted to watch over her own young? I've been a mother before. We'll stay here until your return. Her coat smelled of Swiftcurrent Creek at this point, so she wouldn't appear as some rogue.

But she'd understand if her comment was brash. She took a step closer to Anatolia, as much as she could, to let her forearms brush against her side. A comfort, maybe, that she was still there— albeit her still being a stranger.