Swiftcurrent Creek there's something in the static

i have muse so i'm gonna throw this up now LOL. some OOC discussion has taken place so i'm gonna be making a bunch of assumptions here, if anything else happens to change this'll be edited! tags are for ref, by no means is anyone obligated to join <3

The fight had been won. The walk home was more like a trudge.
And regardless of her victory, she felt no pride.
Behind her, ribbons of blood strewn across the grass as the noontime storm had come to a halt. Dirty, flecked with greens and browns and reds and everything unholy. In her shoulder, a snarling pain that causes her to hobble to a stop every twenty feet.
By the time she'd reached the border, she nearly collapsed; a heave, knees buckling as she crouches to the earth. @Mae. The newborn. Moss. @Arric. @Eshe. @Akavir. @Silvertongue. Oh, how she wished she were—
Her head swims. She drags herself forth with the last of the adrenaline that powers her, exhausted, and her broken voice rings out in a call to anyone that would listen.
The pain is secondary. There was a discussion to be had.

This would be the third time she witnessed a horrific scene today—that had to be some sort of record.

While looking for @Akavir, she heard @Wren’s exhausted and fragmented cry for help. She paused, threw her head back, and replied, “I’m coming!” Even though her voice wasn't very strong, it still carried a hint of passion and promise. She would do everything she could to help.

She ran as fast as she could—which wasn’t very fast at all—and stopped by her den to gather some supplies. Although she wasn’t sure what she’d face upon arriving, she tried to gather the basics. With no time to search for something to carry them, she used her mouth to pick up the materials and hurried to her packmate.

Eshe found Wren, crouched in front of her, and placed the medicine at her paws. She carefully examined the wounds, and knew they needed to be cleaned and dressed. “Can you walk any further?” She asked, searching her eyes. Then, she began to rummage through her supplies and found the poppies she’d brought.

“If not, I have poppy seeds for the pain,” she offered. “I can start small with the dose and we can build from there based on what you need.” She would need to extract the seeds, but that wouldn’t take long.

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: some gore, blatant depictions of ptsd

Eshe.
When Wren finds the strength to peel open her eyes upon having squeezed them shut, she finds Eshe bounding over to her, first aid bundled in her jaws.
Pounding deep in her chest, her heart seizes, slows; her eyes search; she doesn't even think to answer her question, but instead has one of her own. W-where is Mae? Is she okay? and then, a pause. With nothing left to hold her back, the shock having dissipated; a shaken breath is drawn from deep in her lungs, and Wren begins to sob.
Not silent, heavy tears, nor sad cries; but screeches, ones of pure horror that echo in the whistling breeze through oak leaves, ones that harken back to the teenage girl she once was and now saw staring back at her through Eshe's eyes.
In her mind are images — Moss, her corpse; the taste of that boy's blood that she cannot get out of her mouth, the sight of him half-dead while his life rested within her jaws; Akavir, how horrified he'll be when he finds out about this; Silvertongue, oh, Silvertongue, oh how badly she wished she was here —
Oh, dear god, what has she done?
She can't see Eshe anymore through the clouds. She can't hear save for the sirens, the car alarms that blister her eardrums. She reaches, trembling something fierce, a muck-covered paw that begs for purchase, begs for a friend. What did I do! What did I do!

“Mae—“ she began, but the rest of the sentence went unsaid.

“She’s with Arric,” she wanted to say. “She’s safe now—protected and in the care of her favorite (and only) uncle.” But she didn’t—no, she couldn’t.

Wren erupted, and then succumbed to every ounce of anxiety, anger, and fear she carried. It was all too strong; her body trembled and a shaky paw reached out.

“Wren,” she said softly, pressing her face against the other woman’s outstretched arm.“Wren, I’m here,” and she wasn’t going anywhere, “and everything is going to be okay.” There was a confidence to her voice, despite how she felt after the day they had.

Eshe lifted her own arm, hoping to draw Wren into a hug—but only if she allowed it. She looked into her eyes, searching. “Stay with me, Wren,” she said. “I’m here—I’m not going anywhere.”

cameo unless shes seen/stopped >D

there was no feasible way for silvertongue to know what had gone on at the creek. the memory of wren's stricken face during their last discussion had kept her awake, however, and now the woman was hypervigilant as to their — whatever it was they each would call it. that and akavir's visit. laid glum, silvertongue nevertheless drifted closer. the sense of foreboding intensified, and in the coreland of the creek she thought she heard wren's voice. heartstrings clutched, silvertongue crossed into the territory and stepped to find her lover; tangled with eshe's scent; eshe; wren — her paws slowed and it was with slow seeking expression that she peered around the foliage in time to see eshe bow her pretty crown against wren's arm, reach out for an embrace. silvertongue was not certain what she saw thereafter, throat singed and eyes blurring, she turned away in as quiet a step as she was able. so that was the reason for the — vagueness. ah. and her mind keeled into a thousand thoughts, and silvertongue carried toward riverclan the guilt she felt jealousy at all, but it was the internal greening that kept her from seeing all before her eyes; wren's panic, eshe's comfort; silvertongue spun gold to hay and vowed not to return for a time.

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: suicidal ideation, ptsd, general whumpiness

It was all too much.
It felt as if some kind of levee inside of Wren had finally broken, something of great force had snapped and the gamma herself was a bomb that had just gone off. Eshe offers an embrace, and sure enough, Wren has fallen into it, head pressed against her collarbone. Her nails press softly into the silver sheen of Eshe's shoulder, and as her body rocks back and forth, she wails.
She almost killed someone. What if she did? What if he was dead and she didn't know it? He was just a boy. What if the neonate doesn't even make it and all of this was for nothing? Oh, what if she loses her pack for this? Akavir, Arric, Silvertongue, everything she had worked so hard for and grown to love so deeply; everything, everyone, everything; it had been slipping, slipping, slipping already, and now here it was and she'd almost killed someone and—
She missed her mommy. She wanted to go home, she wanted to be anywhere but here; she wanted to run for the hills and let them sweep her away to become one with the ridgeline; let the sinew beneath her skin rot away and bloom into something much more beautiful than she could ever be.
I-I almo-ost ki-illed him, Esh-ee, shattered, hoarse is her voice, hardly even a jarbled collection of sound as her breath escapes her. h-ee almoss-t kill-ed me-e, I wish he would've, I wish he would've, I wish he would've—
A smell. A sound, ever vague, but one still that reached her.
Could it? Could it could it could it—
Through her haze, a bellowed, hoarse cry of her name, please, oh please; Silver?

She held the woman close, supporting the weight that’d fallen into her. “It’s going to be okay,” she said, shushing every so often and rocking in sync. “You’re home—you’re safe now.” Her heart broke all over again; their wounds were intricate, some invisible. “Arrics with Mae and the baby, and ,” her voice cracked unexpectedly, and tears pricked her eyes, “They’re going to get help—they’re going to be okay.” Did she believe that? Or was she just saying it? She wasn’t sure.

There was a sound and scent that drew both of their attention, and Eshe turned to look over her shoulder as Wren called for Silver. It was a gift from above—the very person who could break through all the noise.

“Silvertongue,” she called, desperation and urgency in her voice. “Please—Wren needs you.” Her voice faltered; she couldn’t leave, but she needed to if they weren’t heard.

oh, wren; wavering voice building to a silver strain, and she was already turning back, before eshe called. they might have both heard her harsh exhale, as she let go of the sensation she felt she had seen; released it, for now, for now, and cradled wren closer, along her other flank. "what has happened, mi amor?" she asked, eyes flickered to eshe now, to the state of them both. and now she lifted her head, now she took scents and tried to make sense of their entanglement, the lay of the land, of strangers. "what do i need to know?" and now fear began to climb its way into her gut.

Silver.
Wren hadn't truly registered what was happening until she felt the ever-familiar press of her flank, slim boned arms that reach out for her. And even still, she could have been dreaming, could have been losing her fucking mind. She could have fabricated this image of her within her head, could have—
But no, she was here, and she knew it when she heard Eshe too echo her name, and she knew it when her pretty voice drew closer until it thrummed in her ears. She was here.
And for a while, Wren does not answer intelligibly. She tries, she tries, and yet it doesn't come together, crumbling to pieces every time she manages to cough and a string of garbled notes make it through the shrill cries, and she swears through the fracturing of her worldview and every sight and sound and sensation she can feel the touch of her momma, she can feel it, she can feel it!
Her vision narrows to a hissing vertigo and the ringing of her ears is earth-shattering. She rocks, sways, still; and she cannot feel it, cannot feel where she is clutching, but one forearm wraps around Silvertongue while the other paw reaches for Eshe.
But it cannot go on forever. Whether her body has decided to stop letting her, or the firing synapses of her brain just simply could not take it anymore, her cries relent to shallow waves of hiccups and her head is nestled beneath the chin of her lover when she can slowly begin to feel the grass beneath her belly; the gentle sway of post-storm breeze that cools the heat of her skin; the desperate words of Eshe and the breaths that crawl in and out of Silvertongue's lungs against her ear.
Her voice, when she can finally, finally bring herself to speak, is worn and ravaged by a stinging throat. The-- the baby, the newborn, inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Slow, methodical. Moss. Moss had a baby. She's dead, Moss is. Mae, and, the-- a man. He wanted the baby. He, she touched a quivering paw to her chest, her shoulder, where she is coated with blood both of her own and not, and she fights with every fiber of her being the urge to scream again upon the sticky substance now acknowledged by a mind left to pure instinct. he did this. I fought him.

There was a shift in the dynamic when Silvertongue returned. Eshe, eager to give them the space they needed, tried to take a step back—only to stop as Wren swayed and put a paw on her. She braced herself and took on her friend’s weight, helping her safety slide onto the ground. She felt a surge of urgency now; Wren was getting worse.

Eshe watched Wren with a frown as she rambled, and then she turned to Silvertongue to fill in the blanks. ” I found Moss dead in the marsh w-with one baby at her breast,” she breathed deeply, attempting to rid herself of both the memory of the scene and the fear in her voice.  ” There was a man and an older woman there, and they wanted her baby. I called for help and W-Wren and Mae came. Mae took the baby and ran away, and the woman chased after her. I tackled t-the woman, and Mae and the baby got back. A-Arric is taking them to K-Kvarsheim to a mother whose n-nursing there.” She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but her mouth was too dry. ”Wren s-saved our lives from the m-man,” she shot her packmate an appreciative look, ” He lunged for the baby and M-Mae.” She cleared her throat and wiped her forearm over her wetting eyes.

”I need to get Wren herbs to heal her up—some poppy seeds for the shock and to dull any pain, chervil root to prevent infection, moss with water …” she trailed. ”I-Is there anything else you can think of?” Her head was spinning. ” Can you help clean her wounds?” She needed to busy herself—to prolong the inevitable moment where it’d all hit her like a ton of bricks.

moss. a child. a hateful trauma ripping its way through wren until silvertongue herself began to internalize it, each nerve ending woken by the clench of teeth and tears and the feel of her lover's body turned to miseried iron in her arms. eshe's explanation gave more, and she looked at the woman with softer eyes, worried gaze she turned back to wren. "i can do more than that, eshe. i can take her home."  a breath, gaze narrowed. "i know you are suffering, mi amor, but know that you did what was right." bloodstains upon her own fur as she held wren closer and closed her eyes against the slender neck. "eshe. leave her to me. you too have experienced something awful. rest," and there was no thought of akavir, only three women harrowed by the waking nightmare that silvertongue could only feel from the both of them. she was glad she had come back, had seen beyond what was there, and reached for wren.

Eshe speaks; paints the picture that Wren could not. Silvertongue offers to bring her home. Home. Was she not home? She blinks swollen eyes, eyes that search rapidly; yes. She knew where she was. Okay.
She did the right thing. She saved their lives. She did the right thing. She saved their lives. Why didn't it feel like it? Why was her throat still so tight and her chest still so heavy? Why—
And the pain; the searing, throbbing, ugly pain that tears at her and crawls up up up into her innards, in her bones, settles behind her eyes. Her head hurts. Her lungs hurt. Her feet, caked still with a thick layer of now half-dry dark bogmud. She shivers.
She searches with the tip of her muzzle and finds the shoulder of the Riverclan wolf that she now presses a dry kiss to. And there were no words, not anymore. Not any that she could find the strength within her to utter, but within that kiss was so much.
Her eyes find Eshe, and silently, she pleads for her to take care of herself.

Last post from me! <3 Tag for reference.

They both urged her to get and rest—which was the opposite of what she wanted to do at the moment. But, after a prolonged lapse in silence, she agreed with a nod.

”You’re more than welcome to take any of the herbs in my garden and den—everything should be well stocked on everything I listed off.” Though, with all the injuries, she wasn’t sure how long they’d last. ”If Wren doesn’t react well to the poppy seeds,” she didn’t know why she wouldn’t, but it was better to be safe than sorry. ”I have some chamomile and dandelion leaves towards the back of my herb piles.”

Knowing she was pushing her luck, she took a step back and dipped her head. ”T-Thanks,” she said, her gaze bouncing between the women. Then, without another word, Eshe turned on her heel and headed deeper into the territory. As she walked, she remembered she needed to find @Akavir and fill him in on everything that’d happened, and she picked up the pace, keeping herself busy for now.

silvertongue watched eshe, her arms about wren; she did not know what to say as the situation began to overcome her. but resolute, she mouthed a thanks and then looked back to her dear one; she wiped the soft sides of the beloved face and kissed the center of wren's brow, then the bridge of her nose. "come on." swiftcurrent would mend, and wren herself would heal in the bower of silvertongue's own den. that much, she believed, the both of them needed.

gonna fade this one here!! <3

There were no more words to be said. Wren found that she did not have any. No strength to argue with Silver or Eshe's whim, no desire; poppy seeds, chamomile, everything was heard through a grave static and she could only nod and let herself be dragged, more or less, wherever she was lead.
She wanted to sleep. Oh, how badly she wanted to sleep. And as soon as her bed was made, wherever it was, and as soon as the pain was sufficiently numbed with whatever she could shove in her mouth, she would find it in the warmth of her lover's dainty arms and the rhythm of a beating heart beneath bones.