Swiftcurrent Creek I lied I'm not picking a thread title

Her daughters. She shook her head, trying not to feel offended. Blossom is with them, Reverie supplied softly. They were safe, or else she never would have left.

As hard as she tried, she couldn't quite loosen her grip on her hurt. It was just —

Reverie knew she’d been wrong to trespass; there had been no thought in her but the need to flee, to find safety, and she'd been selfish again. Akavir and Arric weren't wrong to be upset with her — and already they'd offered her more kindness than she had any right to expect. She didn’t expect it, not really.

But she'd hoped for more than that, if only because she had given more than that. There had been so few moments of true vulnerability between herself and Akavir, but each time she saw even a sliver of the softer side of him, she was careful to be gentle with it. Even when it wasn't expected. Even when she had so many reasons to meet him coldly, or turn away, or hurt him the way he'd once hurt her. She tried to be gentle with his wounds and his mistakes.

But Akavir? It seemed he could never see past his own anger, the insult to himself and his own principles. That was his right, she supposed.

It still wouldn't have killed him to say something like hey, no harm done every once in awhile. They'd taken nothing, they'd hurt no one. But no; she'd insulted his precious pride, and whatever help he offered now was held out with suspicion curled beside it in a hesitant hand even as he expected her, somehow, not to be a stammering mess every time she called to mind what had happened with Everett.

If she’d been perfectly composed, she knew that too would have aroused Akavir’s suspicion against her. In his mind she would never be anything but a snake coiled among soft grasses. No matter how small and defenseless she made herself, he would see fangs waiting to strike. Another wound just waiting to happen.

He couldn't see that she'd never been more than the aftermath. The little bird swallowed whole, nothing but feathers left behind; not villain or victim but a tragedy. A series of events spiraling out of control and finally shattering to dust. The problem with Akavir, she thought, was that he stubbornly believed everyone always did and said what they truly meant — all the while, he failed to maintain his own standard.

If Reverie had been someone more like Tybault, she might have said something like, your shit stinks too, but I care enough to pretend not to smell it when you're down.

She might have said something like, I didn't assault and drug any of your wolves, but I can if that would make you trust me.

She might have said something like, no wonder you can't keep a woman, you're too busy stroking your own righteousness.

Because it was never I’m sorry you were hurt, it was never you’re safe here, not with him. Always it was that suspicion, that frustration, that look that said what did you do this time? Akavir had apologized for Kel, yes, and he'd been sincere. But she saw now that he'd missed the point entirely. That he would do it again if given the opportunity, not deliberately but because he refused to believe even in Reverie’s capacity for basic decency. And she deserved better than that. She deserved to be able to tell him as much.

But she was not Tybault. So Reverie only greeted Arlette with a hesitant sway of her tail and a step toward her.

I um... I'm a little hurt, She glanced down at herself, beginning to realize that she was more hurt than she'd thought. And if - if you have anything that might help me calm down... But she was distracted now as she finally took in the damage. She'd hit the ground hard, and twisted even harder to get away; the skin along one side of her ribcage was thoroughly scraped, her elbow torn, bruises already showing through in dark purple and scarlet dappling where her fur was thinner at her chest. If Arlette inspected more closely she would find that the bruising patterned up her flank and shoulder into her nape.

It was a stark reminder of the fact that she'd just been assaulted by her own brother, that he'd known just how to throw her to the ground as their parents had done so many times. Remembered, perhaps. Tears welled in her eyes all over again as Reverie realized the extent of it. Nothing life-threatening, but — but her brother had done this.

It was the brief motion of Dusty Rose's tail as he glanced over to her again which lightened her grief. It was the way he looked at her, the soft light in his eyes. She took in a breath to steady herself and turned her attention back to Arlette.