Blacktail Deer Plateau this world is only gonna break your heart

this got so long, and i am really sorry!

throughout the duration of their friendship, it had been wraen who was the dreamer. the imaginist, the story-teller -- yet that did not mean arcturus did not dream as well.

when he was a puppy he dreamed of standing atop moonspear's proud summit with his father as an adult; when his father and mother were cut down in the height of their prime, arcturus dreamed of a new world under hydra's rule.

when revui disappeared from the wilderness without a trace, arcturus dreamed of finding him somewhere out on a misty slope, where they'd rejoice as brothers do; he'd boldly bring his brother home, his shadow, his other -- when that dream dissolved arcturus dreamed one day he'd make his own family, to replace the gaping void that had been left by the death and departure of his family.

then, he'd met wraen and he dreamed of a life alongside her: of the two of them one day being old and grey around the muzzle, watching as their children and their grandchildren walked along the path of a late autumn sunbeam. and when this dream deferred, arcturus had gone to kukutux dreaming he could fix it.

when the duck had given him little, he built his dream anew -- shelving his hopes of a dynasty and a family. he would surround himself instead with a surrogate family, he would sacrifice that distant dream for wraen and her happiness, never once faulting her for things beyond her control.

and when that day came, that wraen said they were to leave firebirds, arcturus dreamed of a new journey: of how his life would look with thousands of miles wayfaring alongside the soul that had so neatly and perfectly stolen his heart. of the great vistas they'd take in alongside one another, of the mountains they'd climb and trees they'd pass under.

he'd dreamed of confessing it all to her one day when the meltwater roared down from the mountain and the spring thrummed vibrantly to life alongside them. that confession would slip from him as naturally and seamlessly as blood from a thin cut -- it would be easy and painless, and in the swirling motes of sunlight wraen would say yes and all of his dreams would be made reality. he dreamed of what it would be like to be mates, to share stories until their words and bones failed them -- until that last day, where he hoped they passed alongside one another as his parents had, but far more peacefully.

he'd dreamed of so many things, so many what-ifs -- but never once, had he dared to dream of a life without wraen.

he remained silent under wraen's recount of her meeting with kukutux. there were so many things he wanted to say -- so many tiny protests he kept under his tongue -- but in the end, arcturus was left reeling and more bewildered than wraen. how had kuktux learned of it? he had never told a soul of wraen's condition -- at least not directly.

it was then the mountaineer connected the dots. that day he had dared dream of fixing wraen (how selfish of him, never once considering someone else's dream in the pursuit of his own), he had come to kukutux for aid. he had never told her wraen's name, nor indicated anything that might lead her to believe it was wraen he spoke of -- but later, when wraen came to the mountain with him, kukutux would come to face to face with the soul that had arcturus' heart entire.

his visage visibly crumbled. all of these hopes and dreams, all of these worlds imagined swirled around him like autumn leaves in a tempest -- there and then gone the next.

"wraen, i--" arcturus started feebly, realizing it wouldn't matter what he said. the trust had been broken -- he could see the hurt in her gaze and he knew he had been the progenitor of that ugly emotion.

arcturus realized in chasing his dreams, he had let wraen's slip by the wayside. how much good had she gotten out knowing him? had he ever done any good to her, being present? his selfish pride had cut him down from the spear; if he had not been so pigheaded, would wraen have ever left firebirds -- her home and true family?

furthermore, what good had he done to her when he'd gone to kukutux to 'fix' her? what if, there was nothing about her needing fixing at all, and he had acted on his own selfish behest?

and -- what if he was just pushing on for something that would not be? what if he was the forest, and she was the ocean? what if their pieces did not fit together at all, and by trying to coerce them together he cut her time and time again?

this was not what-if anymore. this was the way things were, like maia's story: this was the ugly truth, and arcturus could not withstand it.  that was the brutal knife that divided dreams from reality like the proud arch of the barrier mountain's spine. the suffering that was always conspicuously absent in dreams ran amok here, in reality -- where arcturus had acted a selfish prick, and wraen paid the price.

and yet, he could not force his tongue to work. he'd held onto the stupid dream he'd confess his love to her in a perfectly romantic moment for the longest -- it was the dream he held onto perhaps the most stubbornly. and this moment was anything but romantic: it was raw, it was ugly -- it cut him down worse than the bite of any wind or kin.

"i didn't --" again, did it matter what he didn't do? it was what he had done that lead them to this moment where he felt his hopes were a thousand shards of brittle seaglass; one wrong word and they would all be swept away under the roaring of reality's furious tide. "i never told her it was you. she thought it was me.. but i wanted to help. i--" so much good his help had done him, pitting his two friends together. and kukutux -- he could scarcely make sense of wraen's accusations she had been crazy, hostile, or cruel.

of this moment, arcturus was certain it was neither the right moment nor the moment he'd dreamed of. "i wanted to wait until the right moment." his voice trailed off shamefully, but arcturus hit a roadblock and couldn't continue for fear of losing his composure. "and i've ruined it all. i'm sorry, wraen."