Wheeling Gull Isle xxii. when the past ain't been that friendly to you but there's magick in that

Silence condensed between them, a frost-bitten mist that draped over her shoulders to sink into her bones with its cold bite. The curve twitched, falling from her lips as her gaze fell to the lap of the tide at her paws - biting her cheek against the fear that coiled low in her gut. 

Had she found him only to lose him so soon?

"That's understandable," the nightborne dipped her head, heart withering like the browned leaves of autumn shrivelling upon their branches in the cold as she considered how she might feel, were the tables reserved. 

Where was there to start but the beginning? 

"I met Rosencrantz earlier this summer whilst hunting. We'd targeted the same fawn and it nearly came to blows but we agreed to team up, so we might both feed our people," the Seelie began, words weaving through the air - soft, shivering ribbons of regret curling between Lirean and Icadearian. How had she been so foolish, to think there was anything else beneath that cold glint in his molten gaze?

"I was injured and he helped me; we parted as allies of a sort," here the fabric of her dark brow would rumple, pleat, recalling the following weeks and the odd glimpses she'd caught of him after their terse encounter. 

"Later, shortly after I recruited you, Rosencrantz returned and pledged himself to Aristos - though I know not why he left the Courtfall band," the blackened pearl gave a minute shrug of her shoulders. It'd never come up and she'd been happy to have a familiar face around at the time. 

"I admit, after we spoke on the mainland I wasn't sure where things were with us. We didn't speak, which was likely my own fault, and I couldn't help but worry that you regretted coming with me," tumble and spill, these embarrassed utterances trickle from her tongue obsequiously.

Her gaze shifts, throat bobbing as she swallowed against the bitter flavour of undeniable truth, defeat. Whetting her lips, parting the clench of her jaws, the girl professed, "I kept an eye out for possible suitors as I immersed myself in building this pack. Even if I couldn't work things out with you, I knew I'd need to marry once we were official." 

She was no fool. A woman such as herself - young, tiny, unintimidating, nonthreatening - would not be taken seriously without the reinforcement of a male at her side. A husband would ensure that any rivals, or even allies, did not allow their minds to comfortably wander to notions of how easily the Isle's hierarchy might be toppled. Additionally, any children she bore would have a father - they would not be bastards, though she would have loved them regardless. 

"But nothing came of it," hontes swore solemnly, turning, lilac peering up into citrine. "He and I had just begun to find understanding with one another; I thought we might be becoming friends," the shadowed waif lilted, confusion tinting the wisped words as they were snatched by the wind.

"He has let jealousy fester within and allowed it to unhinge him. I barely knew him, Daeg, we hugged but once, briefly, when he returned from a trip," she reassured with a small shake of her head, beyond shocked and apalled at her former Tactician's behavior. 

"I didn't know he had feelings for me; Rosencrantz said himself that he didn't wish to find a mate or settle down. Mayhaps he planned to act on those feelings but...what can I say?" The small Lady gave another rise and fall of the oiled peaks of her shoulders, allowing a gentle smile to furl over her lips.

"We had our talk and well...it's always been you," her head ducked, heart thudding almost painfully quick in her chest - a galloping tempo that punched and pulsed against her ribs as anxiety sparked to life. 

Would he believe her? Or had her mistake in trusting the one-eyed Mortensen poisoned them - ripped it from beneath her paws so soon?