Sleepy Fox Hollow einigung

memories of the hollow filled in its perimeters, its paths, its details. mahler took more easily to it than he had expected, for without the weight of leadership there was only a day of ritual. he woke. he drank. he kissed wylla and turned his warm gaze for phaedra. 
and then he set off in search of productive isolation.
mahler did not leave the hollow. he allowed its nestled land to expand in his mind, to drive back the seeping edges of guilt and grief.
he thought of stigmata more and more, and presently the gargyole stopped. his amethyst eyes searched in the direction of where his brother lay beneath a stone cairn. "warum musstest du sterben?" he muttered to no one at all.

From beyond the veil, Stigmata laughed.
“I am not dead just yet, brother.”

Threading her way beneath the slim boughs of the Hollow, River hunted. Her stomach demanded that a sacrifice come soon, but sustenance was not the only thing the lone wolf hungered for. Her eyes were starved for the iconography of her past; a craving that had brought her back to these mountains in the first place. Arrow Lake was remembered sharply in reverence, but she could not recall the lands surrounding it. Locating her birthplace -- and her father's grave -- was taking longer than she would have liked.

The runaway stilled as she became aware of another wolf's fresh scent drifting toward her on the wind, and her pace resumed at a slow angle away from them, as if to sneak by. Eventually, however, she could see him: nothing but a dark shape between the sparse, backlit trees. Yet something about his silhouette brought a spark to her eyes.

She suddenly knew why one of the scents at the perimeter she had deliberately crossed miles back felt familiar to her. Uncle? she called out across the distance, nose twitching.

:o

mahler turned.
his belly crawled with the cramping surprise that stigmata himself had heard the low imploring and come back. the figure moved with the same ironwolf assurance, but as the distance between them lapsed, mahler heard the voice and his own long-ago title held within it.
"river?" the gargoyle's voice was gruff yet questioning, warming iota by second as the time went on. she was a vision of them both, he felt. and the practiced midwife's gaze could not keep from noting the finer details another man might not have noticed.
so his brother would have grandchildren. where had river tucked them, mahler wondered.
"it is good to see you again. argent too, has returned from time to time." would she care about that? was she seeking her siblings, her mother?

i couldn't resist!

River had been much smaller in their last encounter -- just a few months old, if that -- but Mahler was an unmistakable figure to her. Everything from that time in her life had been seared, image by image, into her brain. And though she no longer needed to crane her neck so much to see his mournful lilac eyes, she recognized them all the same.

His scars had changed: there were many more of them, and some looked unfortunately recent. She was suddenly glad that her own traumas did not show, for she could not imagine what an ugly scar that heartbreak would leave.

She paused just before him, just short of open affection, and her tail swayed earnestly. The mere sight of him dredged up some bitter memories for her, but they were just as sweet in a moment like this; where she could appreciate a time when losing her father had been the hardest thing about her life. She missed it, compared to the grief she felt now. Her left ear flicked at the mention of her sibling -- a tell of her discomfort, even though she smiled.

It is good to see you too, old man, she said in her own brand of fondness. I was glad to hear from Argent that he'd seen you, but he said that you were not in the mountains anymore. River tipped her head inquisitively -- what's up with that?

<3!!

river was direct.
"ve vent into the rising sun valley and became rivenvood, eventually." 
there was so much in the telling and the gargoyle did not know if he was capable of saying it all.
"this past vinter, there vas a sickness in the deer and elk vich lived in the taiga. ve feared the illness might cross into the valley, so ve disbanded and vent our own vays." it was a half-truth stitched together with lies.
what had happened to his niece?
mahler kept his eyes away from her figure, though his midwife's mind wished to offer her care.
"are you only here to remember, river?" he asked softly, poignantly.

Rivenvood. Her ear twitched again. It wasn't a completely unfamiliar name to her, if she recalled Argent's words correctly, yet she could not help the twinge of upset she felt at the reminder that Diaspora was long gone. Killed with her father, certainly. She felt no real attachments to the pack she had been born into, and she understood more than ever how overly ambitious Stigmata had been, but the sentiment was powerful nonetheless.

Shrewd silver eyes naturally scrutinized Mahler's expression with each word he gave, and her heart ached to know that hardships had come to define this part of his life. She had expected -- or rather hoped -- to find him, but not under these conditions. And despite her sympathy for his plights, understanding eluded her as he explained that Rivenwood had disbanded simply because of the sickly herds. She almost didn't believe it. Almost.

She suddenly wondered if his new scars had anything to do with it.

I'm sorry to hear that, she said quietly. River had many questions -- Why wouldn't your wolves stick together? Who set their teeth to you? Do I need to hunt them down and repay the favor? Are you in good company now? -- but Mahler, by simply being who he was, had earned the benefit of the doubt. In lieu of interrogating him, she declared: If there's anything at all I can do to support you, I would be happy to do so. It would be a welcome distraction, at any rate.

To his query, she gave a rueful smile. Not only, she replied. To escape, more like. This may sound stupid, but I actually came to talk to my father. I no longer know what my place is in this world, so I'm looking for... some sort of confirmation, I guess you could call it? She felt no shame in admitting this to him. These mountains were the only place she could think to run to after the loss of her first children. She couldn't fathom what else to do at a juncture like that.

mahler almost asked river back to the hollow. what paused him was his immediate consideration of how wylla might feel. her whelping den had always been a protected place, and with their new home only holding their family for now, mahler wondered if she would take so soon to a new face.
but river was not new to him, and hunters would be necessary.
he put it aside for now, turning mind upon her words. "that does not sound stupid at all." the man cleared his throat and looked down toward the earth before lifting his lavender eyes once more. "i think of him also and often."
for mahler knew long and forever where the cairn lay, where it had been tumbled over with stones after the great quaking.
i no longer know what my place is in this world
inferring that something grave had happened, to leave river so, the gargoyle gently turned. he would find the way up through the sunspire, if she would allow.
"i do not need anything, river. only to stop ruining my own peace."
mahler gave her a tight smile and trudged on.

River knew she was chasing ghosts, both literally and figuratively, but Mahler did not disparage the practice. Apparently, his seemingly bottomless compassion had yet to leave him over the years. She felt relieved at this -- grateful, even -- and took up an easy gait at his side. Though she had never quite yearned for a father figure before, she found herself now appreciative of the fact that he would always be one to her whether she wanted it or not, distances aside.

Only to stop ruining my own peace.

Was this what she was doing now? By running from her mate and her pack. Was she finding a path to her own peace, or had she only caused more harm to herself and those she was purported to love by doing so? River sighed. How do we do that? Not ruin our own peace? she asked at his shoulder. An inexorably heavy question. It sounds as impossible as it feels.

river fell into step alongside him. "it is easier said than done," mahler said with a dry twist of his mouth. "for my part, after diapora, i attached myself to land. every place i lived after this became part of my identity. not the volves who lived there. not those who i led."
perhaps with stigmata had been the first and the last time that mahler had truly led for the passion of it. since then he had stayed at the helm only because it made the most sense. a sense of duty rather than drive, and through the years it had cracked and bled with the dryness of boredom.
now he had no one to lead and it had never made his chest feel quite so freed.
mahler knew in this moment that if the hollow became something more than he and his family, he would not wish to step up into that role again. wylla was more than capable should she have the want.
the land was expanding, rounding into the soft edges and jagged detailing of the place above the lake. and the familiarity burned him; the way he knew each rugged path plagued mahler, until he fell into a warm if solemn silence.

It is easier said than done.

River didn't know whether to laugh or cry. That's not helpful, she asserted with a coltish snort and a teasing scowl. She wanted definitive answers; or a three-step program that would solve all of her problems and bring back the light into her life. She knew no one could provide such things, but desperation made her crave the impossible, and as Mahler explained further, she found only a dry lump forming in her throat, growing harder and harder to swallow.

I wish you'd been there to tell me this sooner, the once-mother said softly after a prolonged, contemplative silence. I've already chosen to return to the lake at the expense of all else. She could go back, she supposed. But that didn't feel right either.

Her pace slowed to a complete standstill -- as if she had suddenly lost the will to walk. Are we going there now? She knew the general direction, but couldn't be sure of the way from here.

was that not simply the way of things, after all? no clear-cut answers, no lists, no guidebooks. only the endless toil, of turning the soil of your own soul over and over until you were able to see the dark seeds of your own past. and then the unrecognized work of plucking edible from poisonweed.
"yes," mahler answered, and then there it was: arrow lake, with its tiering of waterfalls and the way it rose from the sharp-edged earth like a pristine jewel.
there the copses of pine and oak and birch; there the smooth sandstone shores he had walked with stigmata, with ruenna, with ketzia, with thorn, with too many to name and too many to remember now; recollections rose and gathered, bumping up and colliding with one another in the back of his mind.
but still mahler stoic stayed; he would not shift nor change, not when he could tell himself that river needed the stability of his being to see her through this now.
the shape of the world around the lake had changed, no doubt from the long-ago rockslide.
but its essence remained: feral, charged, commanding.

River found herself paused, holding her breath so that the sight before her would not steal it. She stared into the trees for a long while, motionless except for a faint quivering of apprehension, and then she looked up to Mahler. I want to go alone, she told him, unconcerned with how he might feel on the matter. But I'm not ready to leave you yet. It was the truth. Her heart ached for him -- longed for the familiarity of his protective shadow looming over her, even though she was no longer a little girl in mourning. Instead, she was a full-fledged adult ensnared in true grief, and she needed him all the same.

Can we hunt together? Could he even run long distances anymore with all those scars? Or have you gotten too old? she asked slyly.

mahler nodded. he would let river alone as long as she wanted. the lake was not a place he wanted to linger, for now that so many images had returned to him, he felt himself beginning to buckle beneath their weight. the man was not expecting her next pronouncement, and so only looked at river with a slow amethyst blink.
and then he let out his breath in a bemused chuff, and jerked his head away from diaspora's once-claim into the shadows of rocky footpaths leading away and up. 
"i suppose my old bones might still help you find a goat," he said dryly, though the glint in his lavender eyes told of a welcomed delight.
mahler turned, paws finding one such trail, body remembering as he moved higher.

Mmmm, River intoned, perking up. Been a while since I've had goat. Her tail swished as she glided alongside the stone sentinel, keeping half a step behind so that he might properly guide them. It seemed he already had a destination in mind, and the marl huntress was eager to learn from the seasoned veteran. I never could catch those rockhuggers myself, but it's always a nice treat when the eagles leave a carcass behind. How do we snag one?

"vell," he hummed, looking out not over the lake but a sheer drop on the ridge's other side, "currently the younger male goats vill be focused on vone another and not vatchful." they would soon come to a plethora of hoofmarks in the hardpacked earth; he pointed them out with a tilt of his scarred muzzle.
"they squabbled here. boys are the same in every species," he declared in a grunt, setting off down the pocked path until he came to crushed bowers of grass — and movements beyond.

River hung on Mahler's every word and mimicked each of his motions. She turned her nose down upon the earth as he pointed; her silverhawk eyes searching the scrambled prints along the ridge's brow. There had been a scuffle here. It brought to mind the telltale mountain echoes of horns clacking together during the annual rut.

Her mentor confirmed her suspicions in his next breath, and River couldn't help the smugly satisfied smirk that passed across her muzzle. The expression was tempered by a bittersweet memory of Marrow -- one such boy, as alluded by the stoneguard -- and the way he had blindly followed her like a lost pup during her season.

I almost feel bad using that against them. Almost. There was mischief in her eyes as she forged the way forward now, more eager and more sure than before. Her ears stayed alert for the sound of clashing. Is it cruel to go after the virgins, you think? Or is it a mercy?

mahler laughed, a rich and winnowing sound. and it felt more genuine than a laugh he had felt in a while, with nothing of rivenwood bouncing inside it. "a mercy," he chose in the next. "for them as vell as their counterparts."
not all boys grew to men.
he stopped to ponder the silhouettes trotting before himself and river, ensconced in the blue-black shadows of the mountainspanned forest. the instinct to protect her was suddenly great, sharpened by her renewed presence with him and the physical evidence of her body. she should not run first.
all these words were set aside.
"ve should keep them back from the side of the cliff. if they go over, ve cannot follow," mahler instructed, moving left with a confident stalk that would intend to encircle their quarry.