Firefly Glen Happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl

@Nephele

Cole moved through the dense underbrush of Bearclaw Valley, his senses sharp and alert as he patrolled the familiar terrain. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows that danced across the ground. He was focused on the task at hand, ensuring that their borders remained secure before the impending journey.

As he wove between the trees, a tantalizing scent drifted through the air, capturing his attention. It was feminine and alluring, something he hadn’t encountered before. His ears perked up instinctively, a thrill coursing through him as he inhaled deeply, trying to identify its source.

Curiosity piqued, he slowed his pace, scanning the area with heightened awareness. The scent was intoxicating, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. He couldn't help but wonder who—or what—might be lurking nearby. The patrol might become more interesting than he initially anticipated, and the thought made his heart race with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

she did not wish to be distant from the embrace of her daughters, but nephele could only pretend for so long before the corner of her lips no longer held the strength force a smile. she did not wish her children to worry, and so when her girls raised questions on their missing brother, the mother simply told them that it would be ok.

it would be ok.

a lie — a lie she told her daughters, and herself. she had gone back to the place his scent had vanished more than once now. what hope might have yet clung to her heart was withering away.

she stood now on the brink of emotional fatigue, but her resolution would not let her rest. quietly she paced through the glen, thoughts rattling like bells in her mind, the steps of a nearing stranger not but a faint buzz in the background.

Cole stepped into the glen, his heart heavy with a sense of unease as he observed the pacing female. Her nervous energy was palpable, a stark contrast to the serene beauty surrounding them. He could see the tension in her posture, the way her lips threatened to betray her with the weight of unspoken worries.

Hey, he called softly, his voice steady yet gentle, hoping to break through her turmoil without startling her. You seem troubled. He approached cautiously, sensing that her mind was elsewhere, likely tangled in thoughts that made her distant from the world around her.

Is there something I can help you with? he asked, keenly aware of the pain that flickered in her eyes.

so delved in her thoughts that she nearly stumbled upon the man, his voice a sharp gash across the weight of her mind. she jerked, abruptly brought to focus at the soft coo of "hey". there was a familiarity to it, a charm that had the faintest glimmer of anticipation gloss across her eyes. arktos?

but when she raised her head, it was not him. a stranger stood there in his place. troubled — yes, she was troubled. but could he help? "i do not know," she answered truthfully, for she had no design in what course to take. the path led through a thicket, through thorns and thistles, and she could not see to the end of it for the answer that she so desperately sought.

a breath — "i do not know what to do."

The man’s gaze softened, and a gentle warmth laced through his voice as he took a careful step closer, ever mindful not to startle her further.

Settle down, now, darlin’, he murmured, low and easy, like a breeze drifting through a still evening. Ain’t nothin’ that can’t be worked through if we just take it slow, right? He offered a quiet, reassuring smile, a glint of kindness in his eyes that spoke of a quiet, steady strength.

He held her gaze, unhurried, giving her the space to breathe and gather herself. Name’s Cole, he said simply, his tone a warm invitation. Y'ain't alone, alrigh'? Now, what's the matter?

With a tilt of his head, he settled into an easy stance, making it clear he wasn’t going anywhere 'til she was ready to speak.

his words even sounded like her husband's.

she swallowed, muscles tensing as he took a step forward. she'd always been indifferent to strangers. didn't much care to shelter their feelings, didn't think it worth the effort to play nice. even still, the icy ways of her homeland ran cold in her blood. she didn't trust him — but this wasn't about her.

motherhood had warmed her; it had melted away the glacier that guarded her heart. and though it was a tough pill to swallow, she needed exactly what he'd come to offer; help. "my son," she paused, fighting the sudden churning that stirred in the pit of her belly.

she wanted to vomit.

"i lost my son."

Cole’s ears twitched, catching her words with a new spark of understanding. Relief softened his gaze, and he adjusted his approach, careful but hopeful. Your son, he’s not gone—just lost? he asked, his tone gentle, a glimmer of encouragement woven into his words.

That’s somethin’, then, he continued softly. Means we’ve got a chance to find him, wherever he’s wandered. He offered her a steady look, his voice warm and reassuring, like sunlight breaking through a heavy fog. I’ll help however I can. We’ll search high and low 'til we bring him back safe to you.

He took a breath, his stance open and supportive. You just point me in the right direction, darlin', and we’ll bring your boy home.

gone? she could chew on that word for hours.

she'd fought against the acceptance of it. that alasdair was gone, that she would not see him again. but heartache was a war not so easily abandoned.

her loss was a bleeding wound, and though he meant well, all cole's words offered were bandaids to a laceration. she did not want to cling to hope where there could be none. she did not want weep over false optimism. she could not fight just to fall and grieve again.

"i do not think we would find him. he was taken, or he was killed. i do not know which."

it was easier to not know.

Cole took a deep, slow breath, eyes trained on her like he was trying to puzzle out every stormy layer. The loss hung heavy in the air, making his usual, easy words feel clumsy in his mouth. For a long beat, he was silent.

When he finally spoke, his voice came soft, almost reverent. Reckon that’s… a helluva wound to bear. There was something about her. Something beautifully enticing that had him brought to his knees. Maybe it was her allure, the act of damsel in distress— fuck if he cared. 

He wanted to say something to ease her, but anything he thought of felt like trying to heal a scar with shadows. He wasn’t good with things he couldn’t fix with his teeth or his claws. But he could be here, steady as the roots beneath them both. He'd help this woman one way or another, and maybe even try to bring her home. Home. A home with her. He felt his heart lurch as he fell to the ground before her— the beast baring for the sylph. 

What can I do?

she had not expected any understanding from him, for she did not think him capable of knowing this. but his acknowledgment of the ugly, festering wound of grief that she wore was enough to ease the tension held in flexed muscles.

it was difficult to conjure any appreciation for his display of kindness, even after he threw himself to the ground before her. she did not possess the warmth in her heart to spare for him.

again he asked what use he could be. and again she answered.

"i do not know."

send him to search for her son? she feared he'd be looking for a ghost.

but could she call herself mother if she did not hope for her child's sake?

she let her toes curl beneath the soil, mouth dry as she decided upon her next words.

"alasdair. that is his name, should you ever meet him."

she wished to say more — tell him he is loved! tell him he is precious! tell him he is missed! all the things she wished to say herself should she ever see him again, but the words were heavy on her tongue.

Cole lingered in the silence that followed her words, his gaze fixed on her, yet softened in an unusual stillness. He sensed the weight of her sorrow, saw it carved in the stiffness of her posture, and caught the subtle tremor in her voice as she spoke her son’s name. Alasdair. A name she carried like a stone in her chest, one that tore at her with both hope and despair. Good name for a good boy.

Cole’s throat tightened; he wasn’t sure what to say to ease such a burden. Words rarely had that power, and he wasn’t one for grand promises he couldn’t keep. But the image of her, alone in her grief, stirred something foreign and uncomfortable in him.

Y’alone out here otherwise? he asked, his voice a quiet murmur. It was more than idle curiosity. He wanted to understand, maybe offer a sliver of reassurance if he could. For someone who had lost everything, maybe just remembering it could make the darkness less daunting.

If y’ve got more youngin’s ‘ta feed, can bring ‘ya back to mine.