Dragoncrest Cliffs near-sighted

PPing @Svalinn for now; open to anyone but tagging for visibility! After looking up how far a howl can travel, I would say this is set about 10 miles from the northeastern border.

They must have been getting pretty close to Sapphique now, because Svalinn’s pace had quickened. Another few miles and he started to howl.

Jean-Heron listened to his father’s voice. He’d never heard it so desperate before. “@Chacal! Chacal!”

He struggled to keep up with the goldspear’s lope, carrying his hind leg as quickly as he could. He could walk on it sometimes, but not today. They had covered too much ground in the shortest amount of time yet, and Svalinn insisted they keep going. Said they were too close to rest now.

The boy sang to himself to combat the misery: Almost t’ere, not long now! Maman’ll have a fuckin’ seeeeeaaaaaa cow!

There had once been a beautiful conch shell on the beach; peachy and pearlescent, cleaned by months of being carefully toted about on the bottom of the sea floor until it was rolled out onto the sand with a high tide. Chacal had passed by it many times, admiring it. She'd told herself she should move it to higher ground, where it might be safe; somewhere that she could tuck it away and admire it from time to time. She could gift it to one of her children, or place it as a marker on a grave. Another night passed and the next morning, the shell was gone.

It was in the nature of life to give and take. The conch came, rested, and then vanished. As cruel as it was, friends, children, parents- they came and went, too. But among all the things lost, found, and lost again, men seemed to be particularly keen to wander.

Her name throbbed with the wind, carried by a voice that was near-frantic in nature. The stately Tanzanite sat up and pitched her velveteen ears forward, her expression ambivalent. If it weren't for the tone of his voice, she would have dismissed him for some time yet; given herself a couple hours to stew and figure out what course of action she should take. She might grab Mireille so that they could both chase him away; but her heart, broken and mended many times, was still whole. And it sounded more as a plea than a beg for mercy.

She had no idea that Jean-Heron would be with him. And while he was a young man, Jean-Heron was still her son- and thus, exempt from the punishment of being shunned for leaving.

So she made for the borders, where she would wait patiently for Svalinn to arrive. For the children he had given her, and his longtime devotion to the Sound, she would give him room for an explanation.

There was no return call. No figure coming over the horizon. Jean-Heron’s own howls could not carry far and he was too embarrassed to use them regardless. He watched as his father’s pace become slower and slower over the last few miles, until it was no more than an uncertain trot. The older male seemed to realize something that didn’t occur to his young son.

They saw her elegantly rested figure first. Then her scent carried over the saltwind.

Maman! Jean-Heron croaked shrilly, as loud as his voice allowed. He barged past Svalinn, who for once fell behind, and made a three-legged sprint for his mother. Maman! Maman! He made no effort to keep from crashing into her, unaware of how much he had grown since the last time they had collided.

His half-moon face buried into her goldfringed bosom and wept to be there again.

skippable, but i thought sobeille would be nosy and want to see whats up <3

you know, sometimes people just leave. sobeille had her taste of this early on, and she found she had no appetite for it.

her ears flushed forward at the sound of a howl -- distinctly one of their own -- but a male none the less. like her aunt, she did not feel particularly compelled to rush.

all the same, in time sobeille came. her cool gaze swept over the lagging svalinn, and finally, on the handsome adolescent burying his face in chacal's golden ruff.

was he crying? she picked at a piece of meat lodged between her teeth. men. so dramatic!

It was not the man who called that she spotted first, but her sky--and-cloud boy, his harlequin mask unmistakable from any distance. She uttered a soft bouf! of surprise, ears tilted forward and fur lifted at the sight of him, before she bolted forward to course across the cold earth and close the distance. Her son hobbled, his lips bouncing with the effort it took for him to go without the use of his right hind.

Tears were no sign of weakness; she took pride in being the mother of boys who would always run to their mother, fall into her embrace, and sob against her shoulder. She embraced him as she had her other sons, prepared to take their weight into her arms, to marvel at their growth, feel anger and sadness burn within her to see even one hair out of place. The mark of hard times was upon Jean-Heron, whose whimpers were soft and hoarse. She breathed in his scent, grateful for his return, savouring it knowing that he would likely be wont to wander again someday, and that his tears might have nowhere to fall until he came home again.

If it meant that she might one day become an ocean herself, for all the tears that landed upon her shoulder, she would happily let the teardrops gather; she would be a loving and vengeful sea.

She wished she had words she could speak to him, but she let her wandering gaze ask questions, her pained smile expressed all the love she could muster.

Sobeille, at the moment, would go ignored, save for one ear that flicked back at the sight of the girl watching with a scrupulous gaze.

Maman, oh, Maman. Her fur dried his tears, her embrace filled him with love. He could forget his pain, the suffering, the intense anguish and longing he’d felt after all this time. She was here now, she was alive, and she was his.

Jean-Heron didn’t care about anything as much as he cared about his mother. (Sisters a close second. Father a distant dead last.)

I missed your face, I missed your smell, I missed your touch! I missed everyt’ing, Maman, I missed you so much. Though his accent had waned, he had never stopped rhyming like her, not even after all this time apart. Please sing to me, I need a song. The boy practically begged, peering up at her face. I missed your voice de most while I was gone.

Svalinn hung back as mother and son reunited. This is what it had all been for anyway. It didn’t matter that it hurt to see her so casually seated at the borders before noticing her baby boy. It didn’t matter that she was not so eager to see or hear from him. It didn’t matter that her graceful, deer-like sprint was not for him.

This. This reunion was what it had all been for.

He kept reminding himself of that, while his soul ached to embrace her, too. While his mind fractured with a thousand thoughts of being alone with her, able to shower her with long lost affection. He realized in this moment that he loved her, and at the same time that she did not feel the same about him.

Heartbroken, he watched, glancing a prowling Sobeille in the background.

The raybearer noticed that Chacal did not speak, though her eyes were questioning. Jean-Heron either didn’t notice the look or didn’t care to explain, so Svalinn quietly colored in the silence.

He got caught in a riptide down in the sound. I went in after him. Instinct more than choice. He remembered with terrible clarity how he had been able to propel them both out of the undertow by swimming parallel to the beach; how he’d been too exhausted to bring them the rest of the way to the shore; the tired panic that flooded through him as Ankyra’s beach got smaller and smaller while they drifted out to sea.

We washed up somewhere, some island just off the mainland, but his leg… I don’t know what happened. I didn’t see any injuries, he just couldn’t walk… It took a while for him to recover. He still can’t swim very well, not without help.

still skippable but i had the time so i figured id throw in something for a guardian trade <3

watching this, sobeille was reminded of val and how ineffective she found him. while she came under the pretense of protecting sapphique, she was really learning: absorbing from chacal all the ways to be a mother, and all the ways that she would do things differently.

jean heron's reunion with his mother was heartfelt. sobeille could not help the knowing glance shared to tante when he asked for song; he’d been gone and her voice had traveled with him.

perhaps now, the cliffs would sing again.

svalinn’s voice murmured around them, painting a story of a dangerous undercurrent whipping chacal’s boy away from the sound. by all accounts the length svalinn went to save his son was heroic; and yet, sobeille was quick to diminish his effort on account of his — and his son’s — genders. if only they were women, their utility would be better recognized in sapphique.

but perhaps if they were women, the sea would have never sought to claim back what was hers.

satisfied that she was likely unneeded, sobeille sniffed the air between them. the salt on their fur was one and the same as the sea’s — if this was all a lie, sobeille could find no fault in it.

Her conviction dissipated when her son begged her for a song. She knew the words would not come, could feel the trembling dial in her head that could not settle on how to move her tongue, her lips. Her whiskers quivered and her lips parted, but became suddenly dry.

She felt hot beneath Sobeille’s gaze. With her ability to speak lost, she could not sing to her son; nor could she properly recount what had taken place at the pack hunt. Words, ideas, feelings and thoughts pressed against the wall of a dam, one that could weather their weight.

All she could do was hum the soft melody of a tune she knew her son would remember. She canted an ear toward Svalinn, eyes widening as he explained what had happened to Jean-Heron. Her chin atop his brow, she tilted her head slightly to look toward the weather-worn father.

To him, she gave a slow blink; an acceptance of his disappearance.