Porcupine Ridge I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies

The dense trees stretched out around Lorcan as he wove through the forest, each step muffled by the soft, damp earth beneath his paws. Shadows clung to him, their cool fingers slipping across his dark pelt as he prowled deeper into the unfamiliar territory. He’d only been here a short while, but the weight of it pressed heavily on him, like the mist that clung to the trees.

His steps slowed as he took in the quiet around him. This was his new life, wasn’t it? The new choice he’d made, the place he’d decided to call his own. And yet, as he looked around, he couldn’t shake the question that had gnawed at him since he’d arrived: had he done the right thing?

He thought of @Envy, a memory so sharp it might as well have been a blade against his chest. Her smile, her laugh, the way she’d made him feel like he belonged somewhere for once. That pull to her had been magnetic, something he couldn’t resist even if he’d wanted to. And here he was now, left wondering if this life could ever match the spark she’d set alight in him.

Lorcan huffed, a quiet, frustrated sound as he shook his head, pushing the thought of her to the back of his mind. This was no place for sentiment. He needed to learn the land, find his bearings, and prove to himself that he could make something out of this.

Envy too, was skulking about the steep forests; getting a further lay of the land, shifting through the mist and bramble on light feet. Dwindling time to find the last supplies before frost set in.

Cold weather was coming, it felt especially pronounced up here.

Made her shiver. Oh, had she been born with silky locs and flowing hair, maybe then she could've felt the privelage of insulation..; alas, scrawny and cursed at birth, she was not so fortunate.

Made her angry, honestly. She wanted to be big. Wanted to have power beyond what she had to worm her way into. How easy it would all be, no giving up, no transaction, just taking. This envy jealousy festered as it always had.

But she was off track. Silence made the mind reel, solitude too, everything is so loud, thoughts are so loud. She did not want to be alone. Following a mix of scent and disturbed ground, she came up on the trail of the night-cloaked man.

Lorcan halted, head lifting slightly as that faint, feminine scent wafted on the chill. It twisted through the damp air, tantalizing as it tangled with the bite of pine and frost. A slow, knowing smirk crept across his lips, curling with something keen and unmistakably satisfied. He let his voice spill into the shadows, velvety yet edged with amusement, I know you’re there.

He could feel her presence lingering on the periphery, something wild and bitter, like she’d gnash her teeth if it got her what she wanted. He didn’t turn to look but let the silence draw out, savoring the way it left room for her own imagination to stir, teasing her with the question of whether he knew her game. The weight of her jealousy hung in the air—thick and sour, pressing like an undertone to the frost.

Careful where you tread, love, he murmured, his tone sharp and indulgent as he spoke into the mist, you following me, are you?

She crept out, pausing to stubbornly shake a bristle from her tail. I wasn't trying to hide. She flicked an ear and moved in close, casual, came in along the side to look out behind him.

Following him, he accused, as if that weren't precisely the truth. She'd offer a light shrug. Wasn't. Then I was. Figure if yer' gonna walk around anyways you may as well do it with someone else.

Oh, definitely not cause she dreaded being lonely.

You distracted me last time I went out looking for supplies— So you owe it to me to come with me this time. You can be a bodyguard.. or something.... There might be cougars out here. A museful grin toyed at pallid features, she looked on for his decision.

Do it Do it Do it; wide eyes communicated in the momentary breath of silence.

Lorcan’s brow arched with playful skepticism, a glint of mischief settling in his dark gaze. Cougars? he echoed, savoring the word, rolling it over his tongue with a smirk. He let his gaze roam over her, teasing as he added, Might just let them get you.

He held her stare for a beat, the silence hanging between them as he watched the way her wide, eager eyes almost dared him to agree. Then, with a resigned sigh that was anything but serious, he chuckled low, stepping forward. Alright then, darling, since you insist on dragging me along, lead the way.

He shifted closer, brushing past her as he started walking. But if you think I’m going to be your bodyguard, you’ve got another thing coming, he added, tossing her a sideways glance, a spark of amusement lighting his expression. If anything, you'll be keeping me out of trouble.

How cruel..She feigns insult with an exaggerated gasp, no shortage of dramatics spared in this brief display, her head cast off to the side before it'd snap back, a little snicker released. Well- I'm sure could take em' anyways. She'd shrug.

Probably not.

But she had got his agreement! The theory didn't need to be tested.

But her? Keep anybody out of trouble? Not likely. The wretch was a magnet for misventure, drawn in easily, a moth swallowed by the sun, sated by it and burned all in one.

Compelled to it. They were like to be a terrible duo.

Oh? Do you really run into trouble so often? She'd inquire curiously, taking the lead and assuming a casual pace; calculated steps brought them down lightly-trodden trails, hawkish eyes surveyed the undergrowth. It felt easier now than it had before. An impish glimmer danced in her eyes, held a curious mischief as she halted to glimpse back, head crooked, always crooked. What sort?

Lorcan's lips curled into a sly grin, his steps smooth and deliberate as he followed her lead down the lightly-trodden trail. He watched her theatrics with an amused tilt of his head, his golden eyes gleaming with that ever-present spark of mischief.

Oh, terribly often, he replied, his voice dripping with mock seriousness, the proper accent giving his words an air of dramatized sophistication. It would seem trouble has a way of finding me, no matter where I go. Almost as if it were… fate. His grin widened, his tone playful but his words carrying just enough edge to suggest truth lurking beneath the jest.

Her impish glimmer didn’t escape his notice. That crooked head of hers, the way she cast those calculating glances—she was a tempest wrapped in silk, all intrigue and chaos. A perfect storm.

And you, he continued, his voice dropping just slightly, laced with a teasing accusation. You seem drawn to it, don’t you? A moth to the flame, or perhaps the flame itself. His gaze lingered on her, sharp and probing, though the smirk that tugged at his lips softened the intensity of his scrutiny.

The deadly kind.

S'that what you were out here doing before I got here? I shudder to think of what you might have planned. She snickered, crooked tail briefly swishing across the bracken. Maybe it doesn't follow you, maybe you just are the trouble.

She'd halt her pace, having found a little something to add to the collection. The plant was unassuming from first glance, a stalk of dying white flowers, unsuited to the very near threat of winter. She wasn't picking flowers this time around, though. She began to dig carefully around the base; long nails clearly kept in such a way for this particular act, she kept her movements methodical, she wouldn't be half the talented healer she liked to claim she was if she couldn't unearth a simple root without nickin' it. She displayed a sort of gentleness reserved for nothing else.

Eventually, the stubborn flora was freed from its earthly prison, she kept the stalk intact, useless for medicine, but oh so useful for making sure she didn't have to get dirt in her mouth while she carried it home. Not that I mind, y'know. It gets me excited just thinkin' of all the nice little—or not so little wounds I'll get to patch up. I like challenges, n' I'm good at my job, so don't hesitate to really take one. I'll keep ya in one piece.
She'd inch back into his space, leering up at him with a delighted craze, before turning back to the task at hand, walking a few steps forward.

Lorcan watched the little shadow work, the corner of his lips curling in a lopsided grin. Her delicate precision with the root was almost endearing, though her words carried that same impish edge that always seemed to follow her. He let the silence linger for a moment, savoring the tension she so gleefully stirred.

Trouble follows me like a loyal hound, he finally replied, his deep voice laced with humor. But perhaps you're right—maybe I am the trouble. He stepped closer, his dark frame casting a shadow over her as she worked, his crimson eyes glinting with amusement. And maybe that's exactly why you enjoy my company, little shadow.

He tilted his head, watching her with a predator's ease, his tone shifting to something softer but no less dangerous. As for your offer, I think I’ll take you up on it. I’ll keep you busy, no doubt—scraping me off the brink and stitching me back together. But let’s make one thing clear. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping low enough to feel like a secret in itself.

Whatever trouble we find, whatever mess we make—we keep our secrets to ourselves. No loose tongues, no prying eyes. Deal?

Straightening, his grin widened into something almost boyish, though the glint in his eyes was anything but innocent. Don’t disappoint me now, Envy. I’d hate to have to go looking for another healer with your... unique touch.

She liked this game. Liked to be included.

Didn't like that last part, though. God she hated competition, her gaze darkened in kind and teemed with little fantasies of the worst kind; there would be no others because she would make sure of it. There would be none to dethrone her, not without meeting the worst of her ire, an ire tested only once, and left banging against the cell bars of her thoughts, scratching at cocoon walls just begging to find its way out.

Hard to forget that taste, though.

She grew used to the smell of iron, to the stains and smears that slicked ivory surgeon's hands, but the taste? Not like deer, not like coyote, not like not like not like anything else. Grease on gears, and suddenly they worked all that much better. The clarity was like the first breath of clean air she'd ever had, looking down over that still mound of fur. Breath materialized in the crisp air, synchronous, in tune and not on the sidelines, finally, finally, finally.

And she deprived herself of it, that fresh air. She knew what it made her. Wretched thing. All wrong.

But it didn't feel all that wrong, right now. Maybe it was the way he spoke, his indifference paired with her own; crimes weighed but not judged, not judged. She owed it to him and even if she hadn't she would've kept all things close, secrets wrapped in thorns and dragged into the depths of whatever could've sufficed for a heart inside her.

I can keep secrets. She said through a soft breath, a world away and returned in the blink of an eye; she found herself quite... amused. Excited, really. Anticipation, rot, it all seeped from her. But you would find nobody else like me... I'm a rare breed, hard to replicate. A paw rolled forward in gesture before she'd spin around in place, flick a switch, sensitivity now lacing her breath; something tender in her eyes and in her voice. You wouldn't leave, would you?

Leave me. Not when she was starting to like him. No no no no no he couldn't go anywhere. Claws were in deep.

sorry for the wait, had been cooking this one up in my drafts for a minute.

Lorcan tilted his head as if weighing her words, but his gaze remained steady, fixed on her with a smirk that teetered between amusement and something deeper. He wasn’t the sort to ruminate too long or offer sentiment freely, but every now and then, the mask slipped—not fully, just enough to let a flicker of his thoughts be seen.

As she spun, her sensitivity slipping through the cracks of her otherwise formidable front, he stepped closer. Not hurriedly, not dramatically, but with purpose. His shadow stretched toward her, a reminder of his presence that loomed, though never without a certain allure. When she came to a stop, claws dug in deeper, her words soft but sharp, he leaned in just enough that the air between them seemed to thin.

You've got me pegged all wrong, darling, he murmured, his voice low, resonant, and wrapped in the silk of his proper English cadence. If I were to leave, it wouldn’t be because of someone else. No competition, no rival would drive me off. His lips quirked in that infuriatingly confident way, but there was no jest in his tone now—only a rare thread of sincerity, like a knife slipped between ribs, unexpected and pointed.

And if I did go anywhere, he continued, his eyes narrowing slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper, it’d be six feet under. A grave’s the only thing that’ll take me from your side. And even then... His words trailed off, the implication lingering like a ghost in the cold air. His smirk softened into something almost imperceptible, something that might’ve been mistaken for tenderness—if one believed he was capable of such a thing.

He stayed there for a moment longer, letting the weight of his words settle between them, before pulling back just slightly, enough to let her breathe. His gaze didn’t waver, though, and his smirk returned, playful and dangerous in equal measure. You’re right about one thing, he added, letting a paw gesture lazily toward her. There’s no one else like you. And I don’t care to replicate you. A rare breed, indeed.

For a man who danced so often with mockery, there was no jest in his promise now. He wasn’t going anywhere. Not by choice. Not by chance.

One thing, one weakness in the wretched face of the girl Envy;

She didn't mind being used so long as it meant she got to stay. She'd do anything to spare herself the ordeal of being discarded. Anything anything anything at all.

She didn't make the distinction of being used most times anyways, and if she did she certainly didn't say anything about it. Envy kept herself fixed to this cycle; be loved, be wanted, be needed, be desired, any of those things, any at all and she was in deep. Like an angler fish searching in the dark for another, bodies, souls, everything entangles into one. Chimera.

She was led easily by sweet words and breathy promises; she'd not been the sort to receive them often. And so, she was lulled in by his admission of... devotion, genuine, as far as she could tell; curtains of jest and flowered flattery were transparent in just this moment, enough to see through all that was concealed behind.

She too could obsess. Little kindlings of a fire stirred in that cavernous heart of hers. She looked at him in this way that was all consuming.

I wouldn't let the ground take ya. It'd be a failure on my part n' I don't fail. Not like this, anyways. She murmured, no move to put space between them, no no, she liked to be close. He smelled of something ashen and something sweet. I'd dig you up anyways n' see if I could figure out a work around. You're too fun to die. A grin would tease the corners of her pale jaws, he amused her, validated her, and that was perhaps the most important thing in the world to her. Coat of shame shorn away.

I'll keep our secrets locked away, no telling or tattling. You can do whatever you want. A pause, anticipation hung on soft breath. Just keep an eye out above. Muskrat and Nutu-yikruk like to spy. She'd lean in and whisper the last part, mischief on her tongue.

Lorcan’s dark eyes glinted with amusement as Envy spoke, her words carrying that curious blend of loyalty and mischief he found so enticing. She was a peculiar creature, twisted and fascinating, her devotion simmering beneath the surface in a way that felt both endearing and dangerous. He loved to play with fire, and she was every spark.

His brow arched at the names she murmured with conspiratorial flair—Muskrat and Nutu-yikruk. Little squeakers, huh? Intriguing and bizarre, like everything about her. His grin widened, sharp and wicked, leaning just a fraction closer to her.

Little squeakers watching from above, he mused, his voice a low hum of amusement. I’ll keep my eyes open. Wouldn’t want them tattling on me, now would we? The thought of being watched didn’t seem to bother him; if anything, it amused him.

He let the silence linger for a moment, his gaze holding hers with deliberate intensity. And you, he murmured, his tone slipping into something velvety and teasing. You’d dig me up, huh? Piece me back together? That’s devotion, darling.

His tail flicked lazily behind him, a gesture as nonchalant as his tone, though the sharp glint in his eye betrayed his endless appetite for games. I think I’ll keep you around, Envy. Someone who doesn’t fail... that’s someone worth having close.

The way he spoke, smooth and honeyed, always seemed to leave room for ambiguity, leaving others to wonder just how much he truly meant. But there was a flicker in his gaze—something genuine, buried deep beneath the jest and the charm. For now, he’d follow her lead, heed her advice, and keep an eye on the skies for her mysterious little spies.

She grew satisfied with that. Worthwhile. Worth keeping. Worth having close. The feeling ran down her spine, the most imperceptible of shivers rippling through her body. Smile tore wider, she turned on a dime and resumed the pace forward, though not before swiping his muzzle with her tail on the way by.

..Do you keep many close? She inquired as she dropped low to the ground, unearthing more roots and adding them to a pile. She surveyed patches of undergrowth, scrying eyes knew what to look for.

She did not keep many close. Not by choice but by nature. Much as she tried, it was like sifting through sand with a strainer, hoping some of it wouldn't inevitably sliiiip through. Insanity in its very own definition. Perhaps trouble was the same, even if motivated by different patterns and thoughts.

She listened, was listening, much as she moved ahead and traipsed through undergrowth in erratic steps, here one moment, there the next. Catch up, you're slacking as my body guard. N' carry those. She called, popping up from the bracken and gesturing with a quick prompt of her head towards her pile. Giving orders came oh so naturally.

Lorcan hummed, a low, quiet sound of acknowledgment as he moved to collect the pile Envy had unearthed. His steps were measured, deliberate, as he bent to take hold of the roots she'd discarded. His golden eyes flicked toward her, sharp and amused, as she flitted through the undergrowth like a restless spirit.

No, he replied plainly to her question, his voice even and smooth. I don’t keep anyone close. There was no bitterness to his tone, just a matter-of-fact quality that carried the weight of a truth he had long since accepted.

As she barked her playful orders, swiping his muzzle with her tail before disappearing again into the bracken, Lorcan shook his head faintly. A smirk pulled at his lips as he hefted the bundle she’d pointed to, the task no real burden to him.

Slacking? he echoed with mock indignation, his tone light despite the sharpness of his usual demeanor. I’m carrying your mess, aren’t I? He moved to follow her erratic path, his gaze lingering on the spots where she vanished and reappeared, his stride steady and unhurried.

And you—do you keep anyone close, Envy? The tease in his voice was faint, but it lingered in the air between them.

Most of what she'd kept close was inevitably taken. Perhaps that was why she latched onto her skills so strongly, everything tangible, real; that can be taken away. What is in her mind could not be, her knowledge would remain to her. He had the strength to defend what he wanted and still he kept nothing close. Strange. She couldn't help but wonder why. 'Cept me, right? she mused, teasing but oh so serious, she walked the line.

If it weren't true it would be. She was a parasite.

But things were changing and she was nothing but an optimistic beast, unlearning after each trial. Mm. Some. She'd answer with a casual shrug of bony shoulders. My brother, once. Here, I have Dreven.

The first behemoth she'd hauled in tow, seemed she had a knack for it. It was a rather sad little list of friends. She knew the others, sure, but she hadn't earned every bit of trust she could. She was trusted, yes, but not loved. Not loved like she needed to be.

There's a momentary breath between her words, she comes back to add another stalk to Lorcan's labours. He's disgusting sometimes, but.. he's nice to me. Her legs shuffled a bit, a softness in her voice after her chastisement of his suggestive habits.

That was her true definition of good and evil. She cared very little for crimes against others, pasts soaked in blood were water under the bridge. Who was she to judge anyway? She did not have volume in her transgressions, but she still had blood on her hands all the same. Frankly, shamefully, killers and killing both intrigued and amused her.