Noctisardor Bypass i fell into my fear, and took a lie for a truth

Her previous encounter with Mahler had kept her mind busy. Laurel had started out in this pack feeling as though all that mattered was surviving; she didn't expect to ever be happy again, except perhaps if she would have a family. Xan had seemed the one to make that happen, but now he was nowhere to be found and it seemed to confirm everything that Laurel had learned in her life about men.

But Mahler, he had made her smile a genuine smile but for a moment, and had made her feel like she was alive. It had made her feel as if the future held something good, perhaps; as if there was hope for that, at least. He seemed to have gone through much in his life, too, and Laurel found herself hoping to see him again.

It had no come to be as of yet; all she had met was Sequoia, so far, even though she'd looked around to get to know some of her other pack mates. Today Laurel set out searching for a trail of @Mahler, hoping to catch up. A question had lingered on her mind lately, probing at old curiosities she hadn't felt for anything for years: Why this pass? She hoped she would find him to find out.

laurel would find him staring out across the crystalline expanse of the nameless lake. bordered on all sides by pine trees and stands of silverbark birch, the perimeter of the water was bordered by smooth stones. upon one such broad one the graf sat, watching a pair of osprey beginning to build their nest in a flat tree across the water. it would be some time before chicks or even eggs arrived, but the pair spoke in their loud cawing language and kept close.
"laurel," mahler chuffed down toward her. "you vill be pleased to know that all the snow has dampened very little about spring." a quick smile that crossed his greying features and skipped onward, replaced by a gentle thoughtfulness.

There was something picturesque about the scene that she happened upon. He stared across the glistening lake as if in thought, perched on a large stone. Birds chirped to complete the painting of spring to come. There was something about the scene that put a smile on her face.

He noticed her before she was close enough to say anything, and greeted her amicably. There was a tendril of tear reaching out to Laurel when he said her name, despite the lack of hostility in his posture or voice. She pushed it away, easily slipping into her mask, and reminded herself that she had looked him up herself; she was in control of this.

But are you ever, really? A lot of things she thought she was in control of had blown up in her face over time.

Laurel swallowed thickly and approached further as he mentioned something about spring. It was poetic, she guessed; perhaps he indicated the birds that promised the coming of spring. Laurel smiled at her and initially stayed at a small distance, on the ground below, while she looked towards the birds.

It looks like it. Laurel then hopped on the stones as well, though she kept a distance between herself and Mahler; perhaps a keen eye might spot that the distance was more than normal for a pleasant conversation. It's a beautiful place you have chosen for us, she said with a smile as she continued to watch the birds; though kept the corner of her eye set on Mahler. Just in case. I found myself wondering over the last days why it's this place you picked. I mean, apart from settling my feud with its leaders. Laurel smirked when she said the last bit, clearly joking — because of course, he had only found out when they were already marking the territory's borders — and it felt like a really long time ago that she had genuinely made a joke.

he was pleased to assume that laurel had been taken with the land. he was warmed further that she came to sit nearer at all, despite the respectful distance between them. "i am happy to fulfill such," he hummed with a reluctant smile. mahler considered the roundness of the question, what regaling stories he had told of the territory, and in the end he thought of that distant beautiful face with sharp sunspear eyes — "because i am a nostalgic old man these days."
deprecating. "i loved this place many years ago, and i alvays vanted to come back." the memory of wild wind lashing at his face, of snow beneath limbs much younger. "and so i came back, and i took it for myself." something feral to reward his long years of service, something to mark the last of his legacy with an indelible stamp.
a thoroughly selfish act, so that he might feel the madness of who wylla believed him to be.

Her body felt tense as she settled down next to him. She could hear the voice in her head laugh at her. You're practically asking for it. Laurel gritted her teeth together and forced the bubbly smile to stay on her face as she looked at Mahler and he shared his answers to her question.

Laurel chuckled when he said he was a nostalgic old man, even though there were no signs that he was joking in any way. She couldn't help it. You're not that old, are you? she said as she sized him up, then, You have a few good years ahead of you, at least. He seemed not far from her own age, and it made her feel old to tell someone else that they had at least another few years. Laurel didn't necessarily love her life, but there was something innately terrifying about death nonetheless.

Laurel then listened to what else he said — that he had loved this place many years ago. Loved it... Had he lived here before? Laurel did not remember very much if there'd been other packs here before Legion had settled here.

He sounded selfish when he said that he took it for himself; as if a pup claiming a toy from their siblings without remorse. Well. He shouldn't feel remorse, Laurel thought to herself. The only way to get what you wanted in life was by grabbing it yourself; the only one you could trust in the end was you. It was doubtlessly no different for him.

After a lengthy silence in which she stared out over the crystalline lake in front of them, Laurel finally looked back at Mahler and said, That's nice. There was something wary and closed off in the way she said it; a crack in her mask, a sign that she was only playing a part and didn't share her innermost thoughts with him.

mahler let amusement soften his features. "this summer vill be six years," the man said. "it is a compliment that i do not look such." the ache in his bones belied this, however; the gargoyle still felt himself appropriately spry, but longer afternoon sleeping had become a welcome part of his day.
death was not something he considered. there were many years between he and death, as laurel pointed out.
mahler was not a correct judge of years in the more feminine, but the complexity of her features, coupled with the sudden close of their conversation, gave her a mien that was older. it was not in her appearance so greatly, only the caution that reminded mahler of his own.
he wondered if he might have offended the woman with some part of his tale, but did not dwell upon it. she would return or she would not.
"this lake does not yet have a name," mahler murmured at length.
the osprey had gone for now.

Six years. Laurel was still a year off from that moment; a year younger than he, but still, also a wolf in the middle of her life. She smiled when he said it was a compliment he didn't look such, even though a lot of her comment had been a reference of sorts to herself; to how she did not feel like she was very old. If he was old, then she was soon there, too.

Laurel asked, Did you live here before, or did you only pass it by longingly? Curious to hear more of the tale, and finding new questions suddenly. He mentioned the lake, and Laurel hummed thoughtfully and said, We'll have to remedy that. With a playful sparkle in her eyes — heavily and skilfully plastered over a layer of fear — she turned her head to him and smiled. I'm afraid we simply can't leave until we've thought of the perfect name. A subtle way to show that she was enjoying the company, despite the voices in her head and the fear that clung heavily to her soul.

"i lived here, for a short vhile. long enough to get a good sense of the land." here there had been music. mahler was not sure that he ever heard arias in these days. "it is not a place vone ever has to leave. much hunting and many things to explore and to know. it is a place that vill uplift the spirit, i hope."
musicality he may not have been able to find, but peace was beginning.
"indeed, ve cannot," he jested back, and pondered the cool light upon the surface of the water. "does anything strike you particularly?" he inquired, looking at the stones upon one edge and forest on another. perhaps laurel might see the name in her own view of the waterfront.

Laurel nodded as he said he'd lived there a while. She wondered when. Perhaps it was when she had been traveling around, looking for her lost children. Uplift the spirit... She could not help but wonder what his spirits needed uplifting for. But then, had someone asked her right now, even this man who had taken her in and offered her a home, she would have shut down. And so she kept her curiosity to herself, knowing that it was wisest to be silent where she might have spoken, many years ago. Back when she was more brazen and outgoing. Back when she had, perhaps, no faith in those around her sticking around... But at least she had had faith that they wouldn't be able to hurt her.

Ahh, the feeling of being untouchable... How she missed it. How she longed to have it back.

Peace was still far away for Laurel, who was even trying to come to terms with the fact that maybe, she might find peace one day. She had given up for the past years -- for the past ever since Indra died -- and only recently, during her first patrol with Mahler in the Bypass, she had found that she felt the feeling of budding hope. That maybe, she could attain peace some day. Not today, not tomorrow... But some day, maybe.

She stared out over the lake that shimmered like crystals. She watched a few birds fly over it, watched the trees on the other side sway gently in the wind. She breathed in deep and felt how tense her body was. Her breath was held for a little while before she breathed it out, humming in thought.

It might be a while before something good comes along, she said with a smile to the side, I'm enjoying my present company too much to make up my mind so soon. She thought again to how funny it was that he had lived here so long, and so had she, and yet they never passed each other in their time here, in this side of the Teekon. While we wait for inspiration... Why don't you tell me where you grew up? If you don't mind, anyway. Laurel smiled again; but this time, a more fragile smile, showing a glimpse of her fears and a glimpse of how much courage it had taken her to ask him such a personal question.

they were both individuals who found comfort in long silences. mahler did not seek to fill the quiet with his own words, instead studying a patch of sedgegrass along one curve of the lake. soon they would bloom, he knew, purplish flowers that would seem almost indigo against the placid blue of the lake in beautiful spring.
somewhere to remain for the rest of his days.
a deepened pain he had been holding for several weeks broke within his chest.
praimfaya had told him of what she had learned upon her trek toward moonspear; 
the agony worked through his muscles until he dropped his head as laurel's voice sounded again, in time to catch the fear beneath her smile, tempered by an edge of resilience. mahler was not a fool, but he was a man, and as such realized oft belatedly how he had appeared.
of what are you afraid? he wished to ask, but a tautness in his soul suggested he perhaps knew the answer.
he was caught off-guard; mahler answered laurel without any brief hesitation to gather himself: "in a place of thorns, very far avay." and now realizing he had not wanted to say anything of his first past, the gargoyle added, "not so beautiful as this. my father vas the leader. i vas the son." fathers drove sons out and sons wandered until they found their own start.
but he had never put thade out; the boy had only gone.

The question seemed to make him less comfortable than the silence before it. Laurel didn't necessarily mind making others uncomfortable, but perhaps her new leader was not the right place to start. Especially if she didn't intend for it. The past could be a fickle thing.

She apologetically looked at him and said, I'm sorry, I understand the past can be a big thing to ask about. After a short moment of silence Laurel continued, Perhaps I can make up for it by sharing some of mine. Me? Of course not. Never him. I grew up without a father because my mother took me away from him, I grew up without a mother because she left soon after. It was always just me and my sister. Indra... Oh, sweet Indra.

She paused, hesitating clearly.

.. She was the only wolf I ever trusted. All the rest of the wolves of the world had been disappointing most of the time. They tried their best at best, and manipulated her and broke her beyond repair at worst. Yeah, she wasn't taking any chances. She wasn't so sure why she shared this with him, now.

It wasn't just about making him feel better about sharing, anymore.

What was it about, then? Laurel couldn't quite pinpoint it herself, but she felt her cheeks flush and felt like an idiot for sharing such personal information without prompt. Laurel looked away, embarrassed (a usually unknown feeling to her).

mahler did not mean to make laurel apologetic, but she delved ahead into her story: children taken from their father, raised with her sister. mahler heard the was and did not ask after where laurel's sibling had gone, for from the sound of it she no longer walked this earth. 
a softer part of him wished to reach to her, to assuage any pain that recanting this might have begun. but laurel and mahler did not know each other well enough, and she had shown him the tense fear beyond her soft words.
"such figures only show themselves rarely," he commented. "there vas vonce a man i called brother here, in these vilds. he died. he is buried in the mountains and i have never loved anyvone with such trust as i did him."
the interlude had become poignant. the graf cleared his throat, pointed out a bluebird that had alighted in a pine nearby.
"beautiful music those vones bring. it comforts the soul, to listen and to watch spring come every year, despite all that might have gone on before."

Laurel expected that he would not care very much about her emotions or the story she told him. She regretted telling it right away; regretted opening up. You know what happens when you open up to us, love, he hissed in the back of her head. Laurel felt the urge to shake her head or talk back to him, but she resisted it, knowing full well how insane that would make her look.

Before she knew it though, he was sharing a similar story — a wolf he had called brother, who had died and was buried in the mountains. Laurel was surprised. Surprised that he didn't turn around and look at her with pity or amusement for opening up like that. Surprised that he shared a story of his own, opened up a little in return. She blinked a few times. Before she could truly respond — muster a response — other than a soft hum, he glanced at the birds and said that they brought beautiful music.

Laurel smiled at the birds as she watched them for some time, quietly. Even Iliksis held his breath in their presence.

What was his name? she asked after a while, a sudden question. My sister Indra — she's buried by the large stones of Easthollow.

indra, buried. "i met her vonce," mahler realized with a soft start. "only vonce. i exasperated her." a smile, quick smile; how odd that they had both once shared the name of someone past. "his name vas stigmata." the humour fading into something more wan. "ve built diaspora together. i vhelped his children."
grief, trickling into his heart, first for the ironwolf and then for the daughter he had lost upon moonspear. and nyx.
he must go to moonspear; he had been so bound and failed again.
"i built sagtannet for him. and from that ash came rivenvood. finally. it is my own."
a breath stuck in mahler's throat.

It surprised Laurel to hear that Mahler met her once. She found herself let out a curious .. oh? but the lack of elaboration lead her to believe it was an inconsequential meeting. It was funny how she had lived for so long in the same valley as Mahler, and had never him before. She didn't know half how intertwined their fates were despite their lack of meeting up before.

He elaborated that his brother's name was Stigmata. Laurel looked as if she recognised the name when it was said — she did — but she found herself wondering where she knew it from. Diaspora... Wasn't that where Pipes had been, where they'd found her? I knew Diaspora. My daughter Piper was a part of it, once. She smiled lightly as she thought of Piper. Her second best child (and easily pushed to the front now that her best child was dead); even though she'd gone from Easthollow once more. Maybe Lucas' death had been too much for her to bear. Laurel did not feel she deserved to feel that way, felt that she should've stuck with her mother to support her through the difficult years that had come after, but such were children. Selfish and ungrateful; and the good ones? they died young. Too young.

Mahler continued to mention he'd built Sagtannet for him — presumably after he died, then — and Laurel glanced at the songbirds while she heard the story. He had had many packs. Laurel had had many packs in her life, too. It seemed they shared a restlessness of sorts. Do you think this will be the final pack? The final home..? she wondered out loud. A bit intrusive, perhaps, but with his history she could not help but wonder. And perhaps a part of her was asking herself this question rather than him; wondered if maybe, it could be her final home, too.

piper. redfurred and quiet insofar as mahler could recall. but there was indeed a family resemblance. it was the first time she had spoken of older children, and again he wondered where xan had gone, what part he had played. whether or not he would come back.
she had known diaspora, and it both warmed his heart and caused it to ache. more and more their paths converged, and mahler silently questioned what more laurel might reveal.
"yes. i vould like to be buried here." the woman beneath her age and the gargoyle jumping early into his grave, tired. "many years off," he added with a chuff. "perhaps i vill enjoy being a retired member of leadership who is perhaps sought out for their visdom." a joke, as he had little of that.

Xan's disappearance was an awkward elephant in the room, Laurel felt; they had come to Mahler's borders seeking a home, a place to bring forth more family, and instead it was now just Laurel, who felt like she was drifting in an ocean of uncertainty. She was at a crossroad. She could ask Mahler about children, but would he deny her because she did not have her mate by her side now? And who would father these children? She trusted Xan because he resisted her even when she told him that he could have her when she was in her heat last year. He realised that something was wrong and he did not lift a finger to touch her. That was why it had to be Xan. Could she trust another man like that? And if not... Would she still allow another man to touch her like that, even if it would tear apart her mind? Could she?

Worries for another day, archived in the back of her mind and only occasionally rearing their ugly heads.

Mahler said he would like to be buried here, although he hoped it would take years. Laurel nodded at the sentiment, though she missed the joke. Mahler seemed like a wise man already to her; but then, she did not know him very well yet. That's a sweet thought. She looked out over the lake, pondering about its name to avoid trying to think of the obvious question: would she stay here the rest of her life? History suggested not very likely, but she could not help but feel an itch in her soul for a home. For a good ending of a life that never started well.

Seemingly out of the blue Laurel suggested, How about... Birdsong Lagoon? Or perhaps 'songbird lake', or something. Laurel did not sound entirely set on this name, but perhaps it was a first step towards a good name.

Since he had lived here for a long time, Laurel could not help but wonder, Do you know of a place called Larksong Grotto? It's where I lived with my — She considered a moment, as if unsure what to tell precisely. When Indra and I were little, my father promised us that we would be princesses if we came with him, and invited us to stay for a bit at his home. At the time, it felt good to be fought over. Now, not so much. Laurel didn't think her mother was a good person, but her father was far from it, too. She often wondered if they wouldn't have been better off staying home, but at the same time, at least it had solidified her and Indra's bond. My father lived in Larksong Grotto. It's a large part of where I grew up. I think it was also somewhere in these lands. Laurel was not so sure why she felt the itch to visit it now. Perhaps because

birdsong lagoon. "that is a colorful name. i enjoy it," mahler told laurel softly. he wanted to comment more upon the title, but the small, appropriate distance between them rippled with another shift. this time laurel spoke of her father, and mahler's mouth grew quietly taught. an impossible situation for two children, guilt setting hands around his throat next with the inner thought, and you put all five of your own into one.
good humour paling beneath the intersection of her words and his mind. ciri was gone.
why had not he not yet gone to moonspear?
larksong, larksong. a hollow of birds set against nova peak, where phaedra had first been happy, and then had grown swiftly away from him.
he and his inattentiveness.
"northvest of here, tovard the ocean, there is a mountain called nova. you vill know it, for it stands alone upon the plain. if you come onto it from the direction of here, of rivenvood, you vill come to the grotto first." he was pleased that he had remembered so well, but of course he had loved nova. and he had loved sagtannet, that wild sprawling place. 
suddenly curious, suddenly knowing, and now wondering if laurel meant to leave the bypass for her father's lands, he felt a sense of perhaps patriarchal protectiveness stirring in him. she had not come here alone; she should not be alone when she went so far. "the pack who lives upon the coast, rusalka, keep clear of them, if you intend to go. before ve came here, i struck a quick truce between ve and them. but conflict vas coming svift between us. they vill know you as sagtannet. they are just beyond the mountain, and patrol up as far as the tangled wood."
informative, pleasant; could laurel see the strain in his lavender gaze? he watched her face and then looked upon birdsong lagoon again.

Laurel smiled as she looked out over it — Birdsong Lagoon — and sighed thoughtfully.

She knew of the Nova mountain when he mentioned it, because she'd been there before and she had seen it in the distance as well. She had lived here for a long time, after all. She imprinted the name of Rusalka, and thought back to Wyatt. Hadn't he lived there? No wonder they were a bunch of thugs, to take in a young boy and not go looking for his parents. She did not mention Wyatt to Mahler, though, for he was a bad memory she rather erase, same as with her youngest three. As far as Laurel was concerned, Piper and Lucas were the only children that she had, and Lucas the only perfect one. But he had been stolen away far too soon.

The story that Mahler told was a bit difficult for Laurel to grasp: he mentioned a truce, but it seemed that not all parties intended to stick to this truce. So she guessed, anyway, if she were to steer clear of Rusalka. Ironically, Laurel pictured them as brutish men and that made her fearful after Mahler's stories of them.

She looked towards Mahler. Would you come with me? Laurel asked, almost a little bashfully so. She did not like having to ask such a thing of him, and the thought of being alone with him frightened her, but he knew where the place was and there was something enticing about spending more time with him.

You and I both know why, my sweet dearest. Her hackles rose involuntarily and it took everything in Laurel for that to be the only signs of Iliksis' hot breath in her neck as his voice whispered poisoned truths in her ears.

mahler, perusing the sky for birds, found himself surprised when laurel asked him along. she had evinced fear of him at the beginning of this meet; even as their words continued and they had uncovered different parts of themselves, some piece of that still curled in the newest rivenwood wolf. mahler knew it as truly as he knew the wind among the proud trees.
"yes," the gargoyle said all the same. no matter why he had been chosen for this, the graf saw it as his duty to fulfill. a pause, a pondering, and then the lilac eyes came to rest upon laurel's face, only lightly and only for a moment. "vhen vould you like to go?"
impetuous, perhaps, but if she bid him rise now and depart the bypass for nova, he would heed.  praimfaya was here. it would be good to leave out of doors again, good to stretch his legs in preparation for travel, head ready to be dazzled by beautiful things outside the profusion of springtime that had come to noctisardor.

Even Laurel herself did not truly know why she asked Mahler to accompany her. She did fear him, dreadfully so, but she also felt that she needed to find someone whom she could trust as her leader. In Easthollow, she had feared Greyback more than anything and it had turned into a beast, a demon that manifested itself at every pack meeting and every time she dared even take a walk in the territory. She needed to be free, and she needed to free herself from her demons.

Even though you know I'll never leave you alone, dearest. Don't worry, when he chews you up and spits you out I will be there for you to remind you what a lovely little snack you must have been. Laurel shivered visibly as these poisonous whispers in her mind were paired with Mahler's 'yes'.

When, he asked. Laurel was unsure, but perhaps now that she was in such a mood, it would be a good idea to go soon. Now? No, she needed a bit more time to grow comfortable in Rivenwood's ranks first. Perhaps she'd be better able to contain her fear then. Soon, she answered in the end. Perhaps a few weeks? I'd like to settle into Rivenwood a bit before going to travel again.

can I make a Larksong Grotto thread set for present times and tag you there? :)

absolutely <3

"as long as you vould like, laurel," mahler said gently, with a gentility that forced his rusted heart-chains to turn him into a better humour. for the quiet lapses in their talk, and the way each word was lifted and polished before being spoken, he enjoyed himself upon the rocky lakeshore. "look," he said after a moment. a pair of hawks, twining their talons above the water in a freefall that ended before they struck its surface.
up the predator-birds arced. "magnificent," came the heavy myrrh of admiration in his voice. mahler loved the natural world, for all the years he had starved himself of it and focused upon more selfish things.
the aria returning. the musiker meant to make himself whole again.

It was left up to her, and that was comforting somehow. Laurel looked at the lake for some time. She still did not feel entirely comfortable. Perhaps she should've asked one of the women to accompany her to the Grotto instead. Now it was too late though; to retract her question would be a potential offense, and potential offenses to a man's face... Well, you would not want to burn your pretty paws on those, do you now, dearest?

His single word — look — caught Laurel from thoughts of this and she looked up at the hawks as they plunged down, only to catch themselves just before they would reach the water.

Laurel herself had never found much beauty in nature, so it was strange to see this phenomenon through the eyes of one who did enjoy it. She had found beauty in many things — having fun with or at the cost of others, manipulation, her love for her sister — but never very much in nature. It seemed that he was very much the opposite. Or perhaps it was an acquired taste. Could she learn to see the beauty in these things? And moreover, would she be forced to, living in Rivenwood under this man's watch?

Beautiful, she said, though she could not still the nervous tremble in her voice.

mahler watched the feathered pair until they decided to take their courtship elsewhere. there was a tremulous quality to laurel's tones that kept his eyes from her, lest the weight of them force her into a higher anxiety. he wondered what had happened to her, what had befallen her life that had placed such a seed of fear in her. and yet there was a greater strength here. it had bid her come to rivenwood; it had kept her here even when it did not seem that xan would return.
"it seems as though i should eat something," mahler mused dryly, at last shifting a glance meant to humour. "you are invited, laurel," and the graf made to stand.
thoughts of how wylla had looked during that — the stumble of a thousand moments, the expression in her stare
— i'll do whatever you want and how the words sickened him even now to recall. he had become, then, monstrous.
perhaps that was what laurel sensed in him.
shifting away, meaning to descend the stones slowly as the woman made her choice.

Each wolf had their own story revolving around their heads; Laurel that of men, and how they were the same, how they would take and take and never give back. Of how it seemed that he was different, but she could not truly trust in him. Of how she needed to know for certain whether he could be trusted, because he was her leader and if the answer was 'no', then all she could do was either convince the women of the pack to get rid of him or, the likelier option, to move on to a different place once more. She wanted to outcome to be positive, though.

His story, she could not even guess the depth of it if she had been open to trying. But of course, Laurel being Laurel, she did not see any of it. She only saw the gentle interest in nature and the way that he seemed to genuinely care for his wolves and this place, not all of the pain that was hidden behind that. Just as how she showed only a fraction of the pain that was hidden behind her own gently trembling words and fragility.

The role of the perfect fragile flower, the woman that men wanted, because she was too afraid to be Laurel anymore.

He invited her to come along to eat something, and Laurel was torn, uncertain which would be the answer that he wanted her to give. She felt fairly comfortable considering both of them had shared some of their past, considering he'd known Piper, and she had been unhurt when Laurel last saw her, after her time in Sagtannet. There were many reasons to trust him, but all the same, being around him — this man — cost her a lot of energy, and the prospect of food reminded her of that. Of the fact that he was a man. Of the fact that him bringing her food could be seen as a sign of something other than just kindness, just a leader taking care of its wolves. Even if she would hunt, too.

She shook her head in the end as she tensed up. No, thank you, she said, I think I'll explore the territory a bit more. Laurel offered a kind, somewhat apologetic smile that was meant to be disarming. She shifted her weight slightly as he got up to leave, but she didn't instantly leave herself, deciding to sit here and watch the lake for a bit longer before eventually getting to the promise of exploration.