"wait!"
she stood framed beside the lake, beside its icy and unyielding breath, and though she did not remember, it was here that a man named arsenio had once plucked a lost girl from the snow and offered her on open palm to the pharaoh of the mesa. now she called to the dark figure in the distance, trembling as much from the winter as from her own emotion. "you did not tell me who you are. you did not tell me why you said the names you said. and — crowfeather. why — what do you know of him?" tell me, her eyes pleaded; tell me so i am not forever lost in the dark, @Akavir.
she stood framed beside the lake, beside its icy and unyielding breath, and though she did not remember, it was here that a man named arsenio had once plucked a lost girl from the snow and offered her on open palm to the pharaoh of the mesa. now she called to the dark figure in the distance, trembling as much from the winter as from her own emotion. "you did not tell me who you are. you did not tell me why you said the names you said. and — crowfeather. why — what do you know of him?" tell me, her eyes pleaded; tell me so i am not forever lost in the dark, @Akavir.
10 hours ago
‘Wait! Wait!’
He did not want to—the sound of sob caught on her voice, and he closed his eyes to the world for a moment—willing this moment away. Enduring the loss of Silvertongue before had been one of the hardest moments in his life, but he had been able to do so with good faith that she had gone on to live a happy life. A life she had chosen. That she had wanted. That had made the pain and loss bearable.
But this? Forced to walk away from her again—it was as bad as the day in the desert, where she had brandished him the scar upon his eye and the fierce words to leave her.
Eivor took the pack from him, ordering him to stay—his eyes snapping open to hauntingly look after her.
He turned to look at her—limned in moonlight—no longer Silvertongue but Belen. This was what remained of the woman he loved—and a paw lifted to scrub wearily down his face, withholding a groan as he subdued to her request—sweeping down to sit. “I’ll answer any questions you have,” he rumbled, swallowing the emotion in his throat once more—eyes looking away from her and to the lake. “I’m Akavir. I lead a pack called Swiftcurrent Creek, in the Rising Sun Valley. Crowfeather lead a pack called Riverclan, also in the valley. You were much like his Beta.” The most simplest of answers, perhaps.
“We were allies.”
We were so much more than that.
He did not want to—the sound of sob caught on her voice, and he closed his eyes to the world for a moment—willing this moment away. Enduring the loss of Silvertongue before had been one of the hardest moments in his life, but he had been able to do so with good faith that she had gone on to live a happy life. A life she had chosen. That she had wanted. That had made the pain and loss bearable.
But this? Forced to walk away from her again—it was as bad as the day in the desert, where she had brandished him the scar upon his eye and the fierce words to leave her.
Eivor took the pack from him, ordering him to stay—his eyes snapping open to hauntingly look after her.
He turned to look at her—limned in moonlight—no longer Silvertongue but Belen. This was what remained of the woman he loved—and a paw lifted to scrub wearily down his face, withholding a groan as he subdued to her request—sweeping down to sit. “I’ll answer any questions you have,” he rumbled, swallowing the emotion in his throat once more—eyes looking away from her and to the lake. “I’m Akavir. I lead a pack called Swiftcurrent Creek, in the Rising Sun Valley. Crowfeather lead a pack called Riverclan, also in the valley. You were much like his Beta.” The most simplest of answers, perhaps.
“We were allies.”
We were so much more than that.
9 hours ago
he sat and almost at his feet she threw herself also, gazing up at him in some rapturousness of things she did not understand. he was akavir, and she turned the name over and over in her mind, but no memory rose. she comprehended that he withheld, however; he gave her these titles of pack and land and crowfeather, but did he did not say why he seemed crushed beneath emotion yet again to look upon her. "no. no — tell me. tell me all of it, akavir." her throat was tight with sorrow. "i knew three things when i got here. akashingo. juarez. crowfeather. but," eyes welling again as she stared at him in pleading, "i do not remember who he was, just that i — i loved him." and what a prison her heart had become.
8 hours ago
Her eyes beseeched him—the slant of her features causing him to continue to glance upward—outward. Anywhere, truly, but at her, for he did not know if he could handle this.
“I don’t know Juarez. But you did love Crowfeather.” And he never deserved you. “I don’t know what happened to him… But you had two children with him.”
A wane smile—and finally, he blinked, looking down to her—searching the azure depths that gazed imploringly to him. Steeling himself—the man slowly lay down across from her—a paw tentatively seeking her own—smoothing across her knuckles.
And so he would tell her. Everything he knew—everything he could. Of how they had first met, when she had strolled up to their borders looking to see just who had come to ferociously claim the creek. That he and Arric had agreed to train her to fight—and how that had become a more intimate relationship with both.
That their alliances grew among three valley packs—Kvarsheim, Riverclan and Swiftcurrent Creek. He touched upon Jakoul, and how she had left him to raise three pups alone and how she and Ash Paw had helped nurse them in the creek’s time of need, for Silvertongue had bore two pups as well that Crowfeather had sired. That she had insisted they be raised as Ash Paw’s pups.
He admitted his love for her—that he had not been able to keep it casual, despite the insistence it be so. But that her love for Crowfeather was apparent—and also that his friend and pack mate, Wren, had admitted more than once her own love for the blue-eyed clan wolf.
He reminded her she had told him of Akashingo—to be weary of it. That she had escaped its clutches and warned him of his daughter’s dealings within the kingdom. He spoke of Germanicus—the man that had traded her to the palace—and had admitted to doing so without her consent or knowledge to both he and Wren.
Akavir revealed he had tried to take a mate within his ranks—breaking the physical connection between the two, even though at the time, he had not admitted to her nor himself he had only wanted her. It was then that Silvertongue had drifted from him—and that he and Wren had almost found her dying in the lowlands, where she had given him the scar across his eye. How she had made him leave her for dead—calling upon a pack of strangers to make him leave.
He quietly admitted it was his biggest regret.
When he had assumed she had left for good, or worse, there was an attack by a wolf from Kvarsheim on one of the creek’s own, which had lead to the crumbling of the valley alliances, and had Wren leaving their ranks to follow after Silver, who she had found, and taken her back limb after a fight had occurred with Germanicus and his children.
He tried to remind her that she had fallen in love—that Crowfeather had all but abandoned her, but Silvertongue had moved on with Wren. That together, the two of them left Riverclan and the valley and claimed a river, where they had both become pregnant to raise children.
He spoke of how he had begged her to stay with him—but she had insisted he let her go.
His throat was dry as he finished. Pulling his paw from hers, he stood, shaky yet trying to ignore it as he quenched his thirst. Of everything he told her, he could only hope something flickered a memory within her--that she could see just how much of a life she had lived outside of these damning walls, even if it had still been laced with hardships.
“I don’t know Juarez. But you did love Crowfeather.” And he never deserved you. “I don’t know what happened to him… But you had two children with him.”
A wane smile—and finally, he blinked, looking down to her—searching the azure depths that gazed imploringly to him. Steeling himself—the man slowly lay down across from her—a paw tentatively seeking her own—smoothing across her knuckles.
And so he would tell her. Everything he knew—everything he could. Of how they had first met, when she had strolled up to their borders looking to see just who had come to ferociously claim the creek. That he and Arric had agreed to train her to fight—and how that had become a more intimate relationship with both.
That their alliances grew among three valley packs—Kvarsheim, Riverclan and Swiftcurrent Creek. He touched upon Jakoul, and how she had left him to raise three pups alone and how she and Ash Paw had helped nurse them in the creek’s time of need, for Silvertongue had bore two pups as well that Crowfeather had sired. That she had insisted they be raised as Ash Paw’s pups.
He admitted his love for her—that he had not been able to keep it casual, despite the insistence it be so. But that her love for Crowfeather was apparent—and also that his friend and pack mate, Wren, had admitted more than once her own love for the blue-eyed clan wolf.
He reminded her she had told him of Akashingo—to be weary of it. That she had escaped its clutches and warned him of his daughter’s dealings within the kingdom. He spoke of Germanicus—the man that had traded her to the palace—and had admitted to doing so without her consent or knowledge to both he and Wren.
Akavir revealed he had tried to take a mate within his ranks—breaking the physical connection between the two, even though at the time, he had not admitted to her nor himself he had only wanted her. It was then that Silvertongue had drifted from him—and that he and Wren had almost found her dying in the lowlands, where she had given him the scar across his eye. How she had made him leave her for dead—calling upon a pack of strangers to make him leave.
He quietly admitted it was his biggest regret.
When he had assumed she had left for good, or worse, there was an attack by a wolf from Kvarsheim on one of the creek’s own, which had lead to the crumbling of the valley alliances, and had Wren leaving their ranks to follow after Silver, who she had found, and taken her back limb after a fight had occurred with Germanicus and his children.
He tried to remind her that she had fallen in love—that Crowfeather had all but abandoned her, but Silvertongue had moved on with Wren. That together, the two of them left Riverclan and the valley and claimed a river, where they had both become pregnant to raise children.
He spoke of how he had begged her to stay with him—but she had insisted he let her go.
His throat was dry as he finished. Pulling his paw from hers, he stood, shaky yet trying to ignore it as he quenched his thirst. Of everything he told her, he could only hope something flickered a memory within her--that she could see just how much of a life she had lived outside of these damning walls, even if it had still been laced with hardships.
5 hours ago
three times she wept, not because she felt, but because she could not feel at all. upon his every word she hung with belief, for there was no lie in any of him. but she should have been able to remember the feel of his arms around her, the press of his kiss — she should have been able to remember the sound of his laughter and feel the warmth of his eyes. love! over and over akavir described the different ways in which love had been stolen from her, robbed from her life. and this too was why she cried soft and quiet tears, as if she were only an observer, a movie-goer sitting alone in a theatre watching the black-and-white footage of her own existence roll over a screen. but silvertongue did not even have the haze! she did not have the graininess; she did not even have the memoried specter of a single thing akavir illustrated for her. destroyed. thieved. broken. broken. she had loved and she had felt; she had been a mother and she had been free. but it was not a cage-door which the dark man opened; there was no relief in the clatter of bars or the fact he held the key. she stood alone in the shade of that prison and found she was unable to walk over the threshold. for a long time after he had finished speaking, silvertongue sat slumped in the dirt where she had first knelt, below the watch of his eyes. she felt his gaze upon her and simply could not stir her own upward toward akavir again. he had gathered all these things in the years of their knowing; he had given of himself, and still this man who was not a stranger in the least still felt as though he was. at last silvertongue rose, and if he allowed, she raised a paw to trace the scar she had rent eons ago in his face. dizzily she wondered if — if feeling the want and the heat of him would remind her or only bring torment to the man who loved the remembrance of what this shell had meant to him. a jeweled cicada husk, yes, that was silvertongue, was belen. wife and mother and lover, only to draw breath now with such a void inside her that she understood with perfect clarity that she could no longer bear it. "will you ever be free of me, akavir?" and her voice was a crying prayer in a lake-lit night.
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