Jade Fern Grove No, I’m not a go-getter

@Figment

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Nobody likes a piteous fool, not even the piteous fool herself who steals a moment, ambling along an overgrown footpath, hunting for decent eats and anonymity. They were demented thoughts that bit her brain, the ones that craved isolation and the irrevocably guilty ones that came just after.

It wasn’t that she was ungrateful for this new life. She truly was. She was growing in respect for Gunnar and Taktuq. She was growing in love for Skáld. But she knew inevitably she would come to disappoint them. She grapples with the fear of that even before it happens- or does such rumination will it into existence?

The trees scatter half-light into the bracken and it’s peaceful if not for roiling thoughts that blind her to another presence in the wood, who is now privy to the dramatics of anxious pacing.

Fig hadn't meant to fall asleep during his meditation, but that tended to happen from time to time. He stretched his limbs across the fern-covered earth, enjoying the feel of the leafy green fronds tickling his toes. He rolled over onto his back and wriggled around a bit, hoping to capture the scent of this place in his fur for a while. He paused then and debated just going back to sleep, but ended up being fully roused from his rest by the sound of footsteps.

The black wolf rolled again, this time up onto all fours to peer through the wide spaces between the trees. He eventually spotted the stranger, seemingly in her own little world. He smiled at that, able to relate entirely to the somewhat nervous way she moved. He stepped lightly across the ferns then, closing some of the distance between them before giving a light huff to call attention to himself.

"Are you alright?" Fig asked once her gaze turned to him. He set himself to a neutral posture, not wanting to give her any impression of threat since he had none to pose.

There was a stranger here.

Of course there was a stranger here. You couldn’t roll over without slapping your tail into some roving pilgrim’s face. Even here, apparently, in the unclaimed lands. She was agitated enough to believe it could have even been the spirits above who forbade her any scrap of privacy.

But also agitated enough not to flee from said pilgrim, this one presenting as dark as midnight sky and thoughtfully neutral in his stance. A show of goodwill.

She blinks, roused in-part from troubled thoughts. Maybe a neutral party was just what she needed, at the risk of making a fool of herself. But she’d been established as a fool so long ago, and it's not like she was going to see this rogue wolf again, surely.

“You there- unsuspecting stranger,” She deems him. He looks…wordly. Of sound mind, too. "You don’t happen to be a therapist, do you?”

Fig blinked in surprise at the greeting he received from the woman. She seemed harmless, but there was something a bit alarming about being referred to as “unsuspecting”. He wondered if this is what had happened to his father, if he too would wake up weeks later with no leg and no recollection of ever encountering this brown-eyed girl.

He was gonna go ahead and dismiss that thought.

”Not officially,” Fig answered, intrigued, ”But I’ve played the part a few times in my life. I take it you have troubles to share?” He quirked a brow and settled onto his haunches, ready to listen and experience this unusual encounter.

“Of course you are!” She nearly cuts him off with a sigh of relief, “Got that… helpful look about you.”

She’ll pratfall then into a smoky heap among the ferns, about to spill all her woes to this complete stranger before allayed by the first sensible thought she’s had-

“Hey there’s some sort of a therapist-client confidentiality agreement in play here, right?” She quirks a brow. She has a standing to uphold, now. She can’t have her distress being made a public spectacle. Even though…well, she was practically doing that now. But wasn’t there a trustworthy gleam to his evergreen eyes?

Fig smiled as she made herself comfortable, amused by her comments and her antics. It wasn’t the first time he’d been accused of looking kind or trustworthy. He supposed there were worse attributes he could be assumed to have. And he couldn’t exactly complain since both were accurate.

”Of course,” Fig reassured her, ”I would never risk losing my license after all those years of medical school.” He looked at her expectantly then, wondering if she was ready to share or if she’d stall with a few more jokes first. Or perhaps that’s all this actually was—just a game to entertain herself with. Either way, Fig was onboard. He enjoyed her.

“Thank the spirits. Was worried I almost avowed my darkest secrets to an unlicensed professional. Now that would have been embarrassing.”

A little tongue-in-cheek smirk given. He’s a good sport. She’s grateful he plays along. She has no one else to turn to. Reverie is busy with motherhood, and she’s sure as hell not going to lament to Móðir or Faðir. At this point he’s as good a therapist as any. Better, even, because as far as she’s aware he’s an unbiased opinion. She settles into the ferns, eyes finding their focus on a distance dance of leaves.

“Well you see… hypothetically speaking, there’s this girl. Who’s been alone- for a very long time. And I think maybe she forgot how to be around others. Now she’s got responsibility and duties and a pack who relies on her. And… well there was another girl even, before this girl, who was very beloved by all of the pack, whose footsteps the new girl is meant to follow. She was special, one of those healer-types, you know the kind,” She fixes her therapist with a terse nod before glancing away again, her voice growing almost wistful now.

“She was clever and gentle and… beautiful in her own way. She knew how to take away pain. And well, this new girl isn’t anything like that. And she worries that she never will be.”

“...hypothetically.” she finishes awkwardly, not daring to look at her therapist.

He laughed softly at her quip, enjoying her quick wit. He didn’t offer one of his own back to her, though. He allowed her room to speak her mind, and she eventually took the space to do so.

Fig listened quietly as she spoke of two girls, one following in the footsteps of the other and feeling out of place because of the differences between herself and her predecessor. He suspected he knew who this girl in the story was, though his companion clearly didn’t feel comfortable naming herself as such. But that was alright, Fig could do it for her.

”So if I’m understanding right, your friend—let’s call her… Sunflower—is feeling insecure that, in the eyes of her pack, her own character and abilities won’t measure up to… how about we call her Tulip?” Fig asked.

She word-vomits. He listens.

And she does not think it only for show, either. He is thoughtful, asks questions to better understand her meaning. He does not laugh at her, even if the whole situation they’ve wound up in is admittedly ridiculous.

Maybe he is a therapist, after all. A dark doctor of the woods.

“Yes,” she lifts her head, stealing a curious glance before again fixating on some distant elm. “I think that is the crux of it. A Sunflower can’t hope to transform into a Tulip. And inevitably… the Sunflower will disappoint the entire meadow when she cannot.” She clicks her teeth, finding the analogy alone somewhat helpful to put things into perspective.

“And I know what everyone would say: ‘Sunflower just needs to focus on being the best Sunflower she can be’. It’s a lovely thought. It’s hard in practice.”

She shifts in full, to regard her therapist with a raised brow. "It's doomed, isn't it."

The girl had no way of knowing, but Fig had decided a while back on the road that he truly did enjoy offering advice and helping others with their problems. He had been through much in his life that had made him pause and reflect, and he'd had to learn how to take care of his mind and his heart. It was something he'd learned was necessary for his own happiness, and that others often neglected. It brought him joy to help them, just as it was to be speaking with "Sunflower" now (as had officially become her name in his head).

He smiled at her when she declared the situation doomed and gave a soft shake of his head. No one was ever doomed. "It's true, sunflowers can't be tulips, no matter how they aspire to be," Fig said in his calm, steady voice, "I'm curious, though. Have you ever looked at a tulip and wished it were a sunflower? Or a rose? Or a lily? Or anything other than a tulip?"

He paused for a moment to let the question stir in her mind before continuing. "In my experience, it's never the other flowers in the garden that look at each other and wish they were something else. Roses are happy to let tulips be tulips and lilies be lilies. Just as I suspect sunflowers would never expect a tulip to be a rose. It's only ever a sunflower that looks at itself and wishes it were something else, even though it can look at all the other flowers in the garden and know without a doubt that all flowers are needed to make a garden beautiful."

“No,” comes the quiet confession.

And yet, flowers were flowers- lovely but latent, lacking complexion. Living in a world without fear, without politics or judgment. She could not say the same of their wolven counterparts. She was a creature; flawed and fickle, capable of inflicting so much damage. As much as she may have wanted to compartmentalize herself in such a convenient way, she could not.

“It’s beautiful, really. But… I have wished for people to change. Family. Friends. Only, mostly myself,”  She considers this, wearing the backs of her teeth with a nervous tongue ears falling in shame. 

And if this was all in her head… well, she wasn’t sure she liked that answer either! Yet here she is seeking out a perfect stranger for life advice, in what can only be a clear lapse in common sense. Maybe she is losing it.

Fig listened to Sunflower's quiet confessions without judgment. He would've been a hypocrite to shame her for her feelings since he'd certainly felt the same way in his life about wanting those around him, especially his loved ones, to change. Fennec rose to the surface of his mind at that thought. She lingered there while he took a moment to contemplate how to respond.

"Lack of perfection is a common ailment amongst us all," Fig commented with a small smile, "I myself have been known to have the same desire from time to time, to wish someone else was different. It's hard not to in those emotional moments when you're up close and personal with their flaws. But, we're all flawed, and yet we all still receive love and acceptance from those who get up close and personal with ours, just as we give it to them once we've stepped back and taken a better look at them."

He watched her for a moment before asking, "If you don't mind me asking... What do you say to yourself in those moments? When you're feeling down about yourself or insecure?" It was a very personal question, and part of him suspected she wouldn't answer. That would be fine, though. He simply wanted her to consider it.

His question rushes her ungainly mind and she sinks back into her bones, stilling like the wordless moon that cannot speak but stares bright-eyed. There was little more than bark and bite in her cold Northern homeland, she’d certainly never before thought to confront her insecurities in such a way. She gave an internal wriggle beneath her therapist’s loupe, that she was rather transparent as far as he was concerned was a little unsettling, but mostly validating. She was not alone.

Though she often felt it, surrounded by so much competence! Everyone seemed to know all the right things to say, as if they were born with wisdom and silver tongues. Of course she knew they had their demons, she wished she might be better at hiding her’s, too.

She forces the ramblings to dissipate and blinks her eyes, returning focus to the question asked.

“I suppose I remind myself how small I am: a tiny sapling in a big forest. Infinitesimal. Only, that doesn’t shut me down, it wakes me up. Reminds me that I am anything I want to be in this world, while I am here.”

And there’s the answer on her own lips.

Blinking, soft, but not ashamed. She knows now her therapist will not criticize her for funny thoughts or a little indignance. He has the capacity for perception and empathy, even for unknown weary souls who he might cross paths with by mere chance. He was… good at this. She angles towards him, widening that stirring stare like he may hold secrets of the universe.

“How’d you get to be so smart?”

Her response was unexpected, but brought a broad smile to Fig's face. It was so refreshing to find someone who intentionally spoke to themselves with positivity and optimism. It was something he'd had to learn how to do, and if he could just teach that one small trick to everyone in the world—what a difference it would make to so many lives.

"Good for you," Fig said, authentic in how impressed he was. He felt his heart stutter a little as she looked to him then, something in her eyes that just made him pause in the best way. It felt so good to truly feel like he was helping someone, and if there were any doubts before that his words were effective, they disappeared with her next question.

He laughed aloud at her comment, looking down at his paws with modest embarrassment. "I've had to do a lot of this kind of coaching with myself, honestly. I have the same fears and insecurities as everyone else that I've had to learn to live with," Fig said, taking a breath before turning his gaze back to her. She'd been so open and honest with him, she certainly deserved that he do the same for her.

"I'll let you in on a secret, actually—what you said about how you speak to yourself?" he began, hesitating only a moment before diving in, "I actually do something very similar. Whenever I feel down about myself or like a failure, I tell myself that I'm just a wee little bunny rabbit, trying to figure it all out..." His ears slid back with embarrassment, but he chuckled at himself.

She tries first to stifle the laugh that puckers her lips, escaping in little spurts of air before exploding in full. He’s been so patient and sensitive with her and she endeavors to offer the same show of goodwill! But the idea that such a dignified man is comforted by the softness of little bunnies catches her in giggles she hopes she shares with him.

“I’ll have to remember that for next time,” She sings with amusing lilt, thinking she should like to be able to see the world in shades of his humor. It is no small gesture that he is open with her, and Tauris wants him to know she appreciates his candor.

“Thank you,” her laugh fades to a long look of appreciation into the eyes of the wolf she will not know the name of, but suspects she knows the character of.

And she is guilty of stealing so much of his time in aid of her trivial problems when he could have logically told her to bugger off. To her paws she lifts, taking a ginger step a bit closer to her therapist, the tip of her tail ticking expectantly behind her.

“So what’s your hourly rate? I have to do something to repay your kindness and wisdom.”

Fig didn’t mind her laughter at all. In fact, he enjoyed it. He soon found himself laughing along with her, surprising himself with how very nice it felt to confess something so silly to a complete stranger. He felt some need to try to explain his reasoning, but he let the defense fall from his tongue. It was what it was, and her reaction begged for no explanation.

The Redhawk merely nodded at her appreciation, offering her a smile to show his gratitude for it. He would marvel over how wonderful it felt to help her in this way for days to come, but for now, he merely perked his ears with curiosity and amusement when she asked about invoicing.

”You owe me nothing—it’s a pleasure being able to help, truly,” he said as he too stood to go, ”Besides, the only things I need these days are a safe place to sleep and something to eat. And maybe…” He hesitated. It hadn’t come up yet, so he wondered if that was perhaps intentional. But still, he wanted to know…

”Your name?”

Inside her chest there’s a thrum of nervous heart, reluctant to unbind herself from the anonymity she’s clung to. This is a steeper price than even a hunt for a bull-elk! But, if she has ever believed in the designs of fate, this moment might be one of them- that their paths crossed here when at most she needed to hear the words he had to give.

And half in this little sliver of wood she’ll endeavor to stay, one foot building for the pack of Kvarsheim, the other keeping in communion with matters of the heart and mind, that clarity which was made possible by the kindness of the stranger-therapist.

So, without a breath of shyness and a full curling lip of gratitude, she gives her name.

“Tauris.”

Fig wondered almost immediately if he'd gone too far. It wasn't usually such a personal question, but after the exchange they'd had, he could see how much it was. He couldn't help himself, though—he liked her. Her open honesty had been refreshing, and she'd truly given him a gift by letting him help her.

"I'm Fig," he replied, relieved when she responded. Tauris. He wanted to ask her more about herself, but he held his tongue. Perhaps another day. "Take care of yourself..." he paused thoughtfully, then went ahead and smiled, "Sunflower."

He dipped his muzzle then and turned to go.

Thank you so much!! I loved writing with you!

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Fig.

Whatever name she’d expect to hear, it certainly wasn’t that one, but she found it’s easiness upon the tongue as she gave it a thorough trace in her mind oddly suiting. Even more so when she recalls the taste of the fruit: honey-like sweetness. As he parts from her to fold back in with the forest shadows that his pelt shares, there’s another flutter of heart. Different this time.

And only in the secrecy of this wood she will smile in memory of being called sunflower.