Silvertip Mountain [m] in the middle of the night

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: mentions of suicide, while not explicit, could be triggering for some.

goodbye my girl, you will be missed The wedding had only just begun when the argent spirit slipped away from the glen, silent as snowfall. No one noticed her absence. Perhaps that, too, was fitting. Each step up the winding slopes was heavy, blurred by the flood of memories that came unbidden, a river she could no longer dam. She climbed toward the peak where, once, she had met her lover beneath a crown of stars.
The decision had been made before her paws had touched the first stone. Still, as she walked, her mind drifted over the faces she could not leave behind. 
Kavik came first; broken, beautiful Kavik. Her only lover, the father of the son who had slipped from her grasp as a falling star: Astraeus. She had not told Kavik about the child growing in her belly on that mountain. By the time her senses returned and she scoured the earth for him, desperate, breathless; he was gone. She had loved him fiercely, hoped to be his mate, his wife, anything he would have asked. But fate, as it always did, turned cruel. And her star, her boy, was left alone in a cold cave, his cries swallowed by the dark. She searched for him, too. And found nothing.
Andraste followed; her cousin, her shield. Agana could still hear her laughter, see the fire in her spirit. Her death had torn a hollow place in the argent's heart. She had wanted to visit her grave, to lay flowers upon the soil, but the vale had been claimed by others, foreign scents now cloaking what was once sacred.
Last came Kukutux: the moonwoman, the first kiss, the echo of something that might have been. Soft fur, the greenstone glint of her eyes, the hearth she had built called Moonglow. She had made a life, chosen another, a mate of her own heart. There had been kindness still, yes, but kindness was not a home, and the wolves of Moonglow had made it clear that Agana would always be a guest, a shadow clinging to the edges. Rodyn had welcomed her with warmth, but rejection lingered in every breath she took there, bitter as frostbite.
The stone of Silvertip Mountain was cold against her pads as she climbed, higher and higher, the way she once had to chase the stars. The night had fallen fully now, the heavens unfurling overhead in a riot of silver and sapphire. A shiver ran through her, though whether it was from cold or knowing, she could not tell.
At the summit, she stood a long moment, the wind tugging at her silver fur like unseen hands. Above, the stars danced, untouchable, eternal. A sigh left her lips, brittle and trembling. Her paws carried her to the very edge, where the world dropped away into nothingness. She closed her eyes. One tear, and only one, trailed down her cheek, catching the moonlight as a sliver of glass.
In her final breath, Agana thought not of the boy she had lost, nor the family she had failed, but of the one wolf she had loved most: the jade-eyed moonwoman who had kissed her once and then drifted away with the tide.
She stepped forward: and the mountain took her.

„common” — „romanian”