Swiftcurrent Creek Gladfly Suite

Open to anyone! Tagging Akavir

She hadn't given up hope, but at a glance the lifeless mound of fur looked defeated. Vystra had been traveling for a few months on her own after becoming lost from her family, and her disheveled appearance was a testament to how well it was going. It wasn't. 

The emaciated girl lay draped over a soggy moss covered log that lay halfway out of the river. The give of the softening wood along with the moss made for a much welcomed respite. After this stop, she had no plans on where to go. She just prayed she would be able to find someone's leftovers soon. 

Her soft pinks fought the urge to close, focusing instead on the silent rushing water. Just as she did the silent chirping birds above and the silent wind that rustled the trees around them.

Returned to the Creek from Riverclan—but just barely.

The trek back had been arduous, the pups even in just the time they had spent in Riverclan were bigger and more energetic than when they had first left, and upon return, they went back to the old den… but Akavir knew it would be time to move them to a rendezvous site.

For now, though, he took to a patrol—aching to get back into a semblance of familiarity despite the twist and turns of his life. Lestan and Reverie were gone—@Moss, for now, missing, according to @Arric.

When his pale eyes met the silken form of ivory—defeated and sodden—he slowed, studying the mannerisms of the other before announcing his presence with a soft rumble in his chest, not realizing the other would not be able to truly hear such a thing.

Vys relaxed her neck, allowing her head to loll to the side, resting with a cheek smushed against a particularly moist patch of moss. She wondered how long until nightfall, as if she had anywhere to be. Perhaps a few errands to run and before settling somewhere for another sleepless night. Hearing twigs snap and critters scurrying could send any lone wolf on edge, not being able to hear those things was just terrifying. Only her sight could keep her safe. The perfect example of this was unfolding currently.

It was in this peaceful moment of cloud gazing that the girl felt herself slip slightly, just her backside. Scrambling back legs to right herself once more, Vystra grunted with exasperation as her claws eroded away at the soft bark. Finally she was back on top. The wolf looked like a pretzel, twisted in the middle, propping her front half up in an unsteady position while working on righting her bottom half next. She looked back at it, and only then found that she had an audience. The female shrieked and in haste, fell backward to take shelter behind the log. Peering around the side of it, one single eye zeroed in on the male. His posture did not seem particularly aggressive, but she was no fool. Unfortunately, she had never really learned how to speak. Instead, allowing the rest of her face to pop from behind her barricade, Vys cocked her head in question. Who are you?

He went unnoticed. Pale champagne eyes scanned the she-wolf—the loll of her head, the relaxation that had settled over her. He felt a pang of envy in that moment—lamenting that in his own youthful years, he likely held the same stance.

At least, until he had become a husband and father.
A widower.
Cuckholded.

Alpha.

He blinked against the sun, and began to saunter closer—it was then she begun to slip against her chosen place of rest, and upon righting herself she glanced back—pale eyes met pale eyes and a yelp of surprise elicited from the girl and she allowed gravity to do the rest.

He paused sharply—was she hurt? Then, a delicate white face peered at the edge of the log, a cant of a muzzle in question—and Akavir wondered at the girl for a moment.

He chuffed softly, shaking his pelt—easing the tension he felt along his shoulders before he slowly settled to reclining upon his haunches. And there he waited—wolfish brows lifting, fatigue weighing his gaze as he studied her.

Vystra narrowed her eyes in observance. Not in an unfriendly way, but in a calculating and careful way. With a shake of his pelt, she took it upon herself to fully emerge from the cover of the log. As he sat on his haunches, the female took a few steps forward before doing the same. His eyes were colorless, reminding her of her brother. But the comparisons stopped there. This wolf held knowledge and experience in those eyes, things you only receive after time lived on this earth. A dusting of salt and pepper throughout his pelt spoke to this, as well. 

The man's overall aura and demeanor earned her trust almost immediately. She felt in that moment, she desperately needed him to survive. She would not make it much longer on her own. Both out of respect and exhaustion, the frail woman lowered herself to lay fully on the ground and expose her belly in an act of desperation. She needed food and a place to sleep, and his scent was all over this land. Can you help me? She hummed to him carefully, aware that if this displeased him or if he wanted her out of there, she was at a huge disadvantage.

When she lay upon the ground, he took it as an invitation for inspection. He lifted himself then, trailing closer, scenting her to ensure illness did not seem to plague her. Whether she submitted in a manner of apology for traipsing so close to his lands, or simply hoping to appease him, he didn’t know—didn’t care to know.

What mattered was that she was not a threat to his family and pack.

She rumbled softly to him—tentatively, as he neared, he bent his muzzle lower, aiming to sniff at her head and nudge along her cheek—testing her.

I mean no harm.

Crooning to him, Vys dare not stop her show of good-will, especially with how close he was approaching. So close in fact, that the man placed a testing nudge upon her cheek. For a millisecond, she turned her head to face him in question, but thought better of it and turned her gaze the other way. Tail patted lazily against the earth as she waited for the okay to stand up again. "Vystra." She stated in a muffled voice. She hoped it sounded relatively normal pitch wise, and that he understood it was her name. For now, she would call him 'Man of Importance' in her own mind.

She seemed nervous but still relaxed against the soft ground of his home. He inspected her gently—testing her—her gaze seeking the other direction. She spoke one word—her voice different in fluctuation than normal—and his suspicions began then.

She had not heard his announced presence because she could not.

He considered this a moment. She was youthful—thinning as the life of a lone wolf took its biting toll, but otherwise seemingly healthy. A gentle thing—a wolf their hardened pack could use, perhaps.

Or, she would crumble amongst the roguish warriors.

“Akavir,” he offered then, but not before lifting his muzzle, his face pointing to her to allow her to see the movement of his lips—could she read them?

“Swiftcurrent Creek,” he offered then, his own words forming more slowly than normal. And then, a tilt of his head, his forehead bending down to bump hers softly. Welcoming, should she wish it—placing his scent upon her in acceptance.

It was difficult to learn names. Nouns were one thing, those never changed. Vys understood a couple of key words fine, but names were always so... well, personal. They were completely new every time. She had never met two wolves with the same name. Likely because she hadn't met many wolves until recently. 

As she continued to relax on the ground, the loner strained her ears forward, as if they might work at any second. Vystra lifted her head to closer herself to him, furrowing her brow as the man spoke what she assumed was his name. At least, that was what "Wigan" did after she introduced himself to him. First, she mouthed the syllables along with him, then she tried it out with voice. "Agavir." Unfortunately 'k's looked much like 'g's to her, and for whatever reason she always assumed every word had a 'g', not a 'k'.

But he wasn't finished. The raven cloaked male spoke again, this time she admittedly had no idea what he was saying or referencing to. Swifgurrent Creeg? Still, the female nodded in understanding as she eagerly pressed her forehead into his, her paws wiggling excitedly in the air, ready to carry her to wherever 'Agavir' was going.

An attempt of his name—the same distinct tone in her voice all but confirmed his thoughts. Her forehead pressed to his, her pale form wriggling on the ground—an eager and gentle soul, he assumed, and something they could truly benefit from within the creek ranks.

“Vystra stay?” Again he pulled back, lips viewable from her gaze. If she was not interested, he would see that she was fed and escorted further from their lands—despite her good nature he could not have loners lingering about.


Pained, he was reminded of Jakoul. Not deaf, but of little words. As dark as the night, where the girl before him was as pale as the moon.

Akavir looked thoughtfully into her eyes, and so she returned the courtesy. Vystra wondered what thoughts swirled behind his champagne gaze. They held a knowingness that she would not understand for years to come. Luckily for her, it seemed her well-being was at the forefront of his mind today. 

He spoke her name again, a soothing rumble could be felt reverberating through him. She didn't quite catch the following word. Whether it was due to her not having come across it before or her inability to pay attention now that she was sure he accepted her, it did not matter. Vys righted herself slowly onto all fours, trying her best not to startle him, before high stepping away and then back to Akavir. I'm ready to go.

Whether she fully understood or not—he surmised it meant little importance for now. She stood, eager in the way she moved back and forth, stirring the hint of a smirk from the fan. “Come,” he crooned, leading her, and if she should near, he would graze his shoulder to her in camaraderie, marking her as pack so that none would question her presence here.

He would lead her to one of the caches, drifting from her side to dig at one—tail sweeping the air in open invitation for her to join—to eat. She was thin—and he was not willing to leave her just yet.

If his suspicions of her kindness were correct, it was possible he had found a rather suitable pupsitter for his brood—at least during the next weeks trials and duty that would potentially see his presence in and out of the creek for lengthier times.

Whether or not she could handle the spitfire Mae, his daughter, though, was to be determined.

Vys stuck to Akavir like glue as they moved, her bright fur intermingling with his shadowed pelt in harsh contrast. She looked up at him although he stared ahead. The intent to procure her a meal and a safe spot to rest burned brightly within him, speaking to his duty as a leader. She hoped, and was pretty sure, that this would be permanent.

Her family was likely relieved to be rid of her. Until now, her mind was quick to protect itself from the pain of reality. For weeks Vystra would play out all sorts of scenarios regarding their disappearance and why they didn't look for her. But it was now clear that the snowstorm merely gave them an opportunity to trim the fat from the pack. Her gaze cast to the side, away from Akavir to hide bleary eyes. 

As reality began to sink in, and repressed emotions began to surface, the young girl felt utter panic as the warmth of the man next to her pull away. Vystra froze in her tracks, tears building as relief swept over her to see that Akavir had just left her to dig up a meal. Coming up alongside him, the emotional youth nudged his shoulder thoughtfully before allowing herself to dig in. Thank you.

If she was emotional, he did not notice—unfortunately. Instead, he focused at his task on hand—feeding the girl, while remaining oblivious to the emotional turmoil within her and the fact that perhaps a different nurturing was required.

Still, she brushed past him in gratitude at the reveal of a cache, and with an encouraging nudge to her own shoulder, the man settled back, after dragging a small bone from the pile, stretching his own dark frame to the ground and casually gnawing at it. He remained quiet—remaining near her, but giving her space to take the fill she needed.

A fresh start, he would hope, from whatever had been before.