Ravensblood Forest you walk in your shadow

Dated for the 11th

With Neverwinter around the corner, it’d only been fair to assume they may traverse this forest again, where the trees weep and where Kratos had faced down a feline and lived to tell the tale. Except only one knows that tale, and he knows not of what the land of courts is now up to. He doesn’t care much, either.
Instead he trails after the sway of slender hips, his mind distracted despite the instinct to observe his surroundings and remain alert. How do you know him—Cupid?

The question startles him to a halt, drawing his gaze from the blood-red streaks on the trees as he turns to Kratos. He... helped me after some wolves attacked me, He says after a moment, purposefully vague. He doesn't like the idea of Kratos knowing about his experiences with trespassing; the humiliation of it all is far from faded. Why? Suspicion clouds his thoughts, though he knows it's a fairly reasonable question to ask. Something about the suddenness of it unsettles him a little, though.

It isn’t an answer he expects, but some part of it makes sense when he thinks back to their first meeting. Man, how times have changed and already they have developed. Not exactly into different people, but they’ve grown smarter—maybe more-so in the street sense side.
He’s like you, he answers. Is that when it… He doesn’t know how to word it, really. A ‘tsk’ fills the gap. you figured out about it?

He blinks, caught off-guard when Kratos reveals the intentions behind his question. It isn't at all what he'd expected, though he doesn't know what he did expect. His gaze drops after a moment, ears flushing as shame creeps over him like a blanket full of bed bugs and leaves his skin crawling. He's like you.
Different.
He's always known he's different, but hearing it from his mate stings in a way he hadn't realized it could. He swallows and pushes the feeling aside, tries to answer the question asked of him. No, He says, sullen tone betraying his hurt, but he presses on without giving Kratos any time to address it. I've always known who I am. I realized others see me differently long before I met Cupid.

Maybe it is wrong for him to be curious about it, but Kratos wants to understand more than he already does. The pain, however, isn’t something that is worth causing. Dark ears flicker, twitching at the hurt that sounds in his mate’s voice, and he drops them briefly.
That’s not what I meant— What did he mean? He wants to know if it is Cupid that helped him see him further, that it is acceptable and that he is welcome to find others that are like him, that care for him as he is.
If he’d been important in Zephyr’s life the way the windwalker was to Kratos’.

Silence follows his response, and after a few beats, he starts to feel guilty. He is different, after all, and he knows he can't expect Kratos to never acknowledge it. As much as he tries to ignore all of it himself, it's never been that easy. It's part of who he is, on display for everyone to see whether he likes it or not.
We talked about it, He continues, uncertain at first; he's never really tried to open up to anyone like this before. It's uncomfortable in a way, but he doesn't know what else to do. He gave me advice. I've tried to follow it, and it helped me deal with other people, but it didn't really help me figure myself out. Nothing has, so I try not to think about it a lot. It feels so strange to reveal these thoughts to another, but he tells himself he'll have to get used to it; he and Kratos are mates now, and that means he needs to get used to this kind of closeness.

He is content to move on and allow silence to filter back into their journey—for once Kratos does not know what to say, nor does he wish to tread further on the path he started. It is something he ought to have expected, but curiosity got the better of him.
What information Zephyr does share is appreciated, yet Kratos decides he does not want to hear more—it isn’t a subject his mate is comfortable with. The rust male had wanted to know him better, yet now he knows it’s best to wait for him to reveal information as he pleases.
Which way? He shifts the subject, beckoning ahead at their options. East or west.

The lack of a direct response leaves him feeling anxious, as if he's done something wrong by opening up to him. Maybe he misunderstood what his mate wanted. Or maybe Kratos simply doesn't like what he'd had to say. He swallows hard, silent for a moment before he gestures east. That way? His gaze finally turns to Kratos again, and he's immediately overwhelmed by his guilt and worry. He steps toward him abruptly, seeking to press his face into his mate's neck fur for comfort.

East. The way they’d come prior—Kratos started at the Valley, and ended up curling through the Taiga with Zephyr and Phillip until they reached the destination of Neverwinter. His tail twitches at the thought.
There’s a claim in the Taiga, he pauses, led by a Queen who seeks soldiers. Skaripia, the name he’d butchered. It’d been long now, but if they remain it is something to take note of. Kratos rocks forth, heading the way his mate pointed, only to halt at the sudden barge of his mate into his neck fur. Pale gold eyes narrow, but he tucks his head towards him.

He's becoming too fragile, he realizes as he inhales Kratos's scent, but he can't control it right now. He's just left his home, his mother, and now all he has is his mate. His eyes fill with tears, and he finds himself unable to respond to the words about some queen making her claim in the taiga. Instead he presses closer, nipping gently at Kratos's neck, and soaks in the touch.

He doesn’t hold the same sentiment that Zephyr does—so it is unlikely that Kratos would ever truly understand what he feels right now. All he knows is that he fucked up by starting the conversation in the first place. He sits, allowing Zephyr to stay tucked close to him and keeps his head tucked over his.

He's comforted by their proximity, by the way Kratos tucks his head over him and sits as if he simply knows what he needs. Kratos, He murmurs, nuzzling into him. For a moment he thinks he's going to say more, but then he realizes he doesn't know how to say what he wants. He just knows what it feels like.

He lifts his forearm, curling around one of his mate’s. There is little understanding of what is going on, but he remains close if that is what he wants. Zephyr, he echoes back, beckoning for him to get out with whatever it is he wants to say.

The response seems expectant, somehow, but Zephyr isn't sure how to continue. He can't seem to find the right words to describe the vulnerability and insecurity he feels, nor to ask for the reassurance he needs. Everything he can think of seems like it may upset Kratos, or turn him away, and he can't handle the thought of being alone right now. He needs closeness more than anything. His mate seems to understand that, at least. I want you, He settles with, uncharacteristically shy as he reaches up to nip at his red demon's cheek.

A grumble builds in his throat—although he knows the subject’d been sensitive, one that likely pressed buttons that oughtn’t have been, Zephyr’s meek attitude is met with a slow peel of lips to display teeth.
Fight for it, he replies back, backstepping and bracing his posture. Tail tip twitching at his hocks, pale gold eyes challenging the silver.

Oh. He blinks, stunned for a moment by the rejection, and steps back just as his throat starts to restrict and his eyes fill with hot tears again. Any other time, he would be up for the challenge — but right now he feels ugly and alien and isolated, too full of self-loathing for the game Kratos wants to play. It shows on his face for a few painful seconds as he struggles to remember how to breathe. And then the emotion disappears from his expression entirely, and his next words are wooden. Actually, I need some time alone. I'll find you later, He turns away, hoping to get far from Kratos before the tears really start. He can't let him see him cry again.

It is a jest to return to normal; allow their routine to return to them, yet the moment he goes for the challenge, it ends with Zephyr wearing expressions Kratos never wished to cause again. He eases his stance, a nervous energy replacing the strength that he flexed. Once more, the silver runs from him, and once more, Kratos lets him.