Qeya River dance the ghost with me

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“Yeah, Wren. You did fucking lie to me. That’s what I just said—you said you would let me know how you were doing. You said you would check back. You lived in fucking Riverclan and sure as fuck tried to make sure we never found out about it.”

Akavir had played the role of villain in many of the lives of those he held dear. He had been the villain in Ibis’ story, in the end—the bad guy in the lives of his kids who had insisted he was never around, even when he had been trying to protect them from the darker aspects of life.

He had played the evil husband in Eshe’s life, for a time, it seemed—had broken Silvertongue, too, when he had stepped aside from her to do right by Eshe—and yes, by Wren, who had sorrowfully told him many times of her own love for the same girl.

The villain in Reverie and Lestan’s tale—countless times, the bad guy.

The fuck he would be taking credit for this goddamn spew of vitriol that came flying out of her—all from a sardonic sound. Maybe her explosive reaction was something she should consider.

Buried his head in her tits—used her to just feel better about himself. Didn’t actually give a shit about her—should be happy for her now that he just accidentally stumbled across her—when she’d been trying so hard to avoid him. Laughed in her face.

Or was he just mad that she had married Silvertongue.

This was her reconnecting.

“You know what, Wren?” His tone was seething—his voice quieting. “You love to play the self-proclaimed victim of every situation, don’t you? I’d love to know when I became the bad guy in your little story here. What the fuck did I ever do to you? You left. Spouting some shit that you ‘saved me the trouble’ of having to deal with you and Kvarsheim. That’s the biggest amount of bullshit I’ve ever heard and don’t fucking insult your intelligence by trying to pretend that's true.”

His eyes a flame—his chin jutting up—she wiped the back of her wrist to her eye—crying now. His claws gripped the earth. “Gunnar didn’t want your head, don’t be so fucking melodramatic. And what… you think after any of that situation, that by removing yourself from our lives we were going to go prancing in the valley meadows with one another again? Fuck Kvarsheim. You don’t think a day doesn’t go by when I still don't look for the two assholes that attacked you guys? You know what? I can at least understand where Gunnar was coming from. I would move fucking mountains for those I loved.” You? You just fucking run away and claim it’s for the best.

“Why don’t you try some fucking honesty, Wren. Make it make some fucking sense. You told me you loved me and you were afraid of losing me to Eshe—and days later you fucking bounce, never to be seen again and leaving behind empty promises. You didn’t leave because of Kvarsheim. You sure as fuck didn’t stay away because of Kvarsheim. You knew I loved Silvertongue more than—” He cut himself off—it would do no good. Was it not even good enough for Wren to realize that Silvertongue had chosen her in the end?

Her hackles bristle—she moves to stand and he sneers, catching her very clear intent—for him to leave. A flash in her eyes—and she demands one more thing from him. “Silver,” he snorted, beginning to skirt away. Message delivered—

—Message certainly fucking received. “Are we not allowed to talk because you two are married?”