Hushed Willows [m] high on the hill where the foxhorns blow

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dated for uhhhhh the 22nd? ish?

Four days of straight travel north had led them here.
@Reverie at his side, up through thin air and frigid cold, barren mountainsides and lush caverns in between, and at the end of the road was what seemed to be an oasis of greenery. Hilly, yes, but not too much so; a golden gate of low-hanging willows and magnolias, fern tendrils and moss snaking the rocks. A sanctuary.
When his feet first touch the forested floor, it was as if he instantly knew.
Whad'ya think? he whistles, tired eyes searching for wife and stepdaughter; their opinions mattered just as much as his.

In light of their marriage, Reverie was more open with her affection; she made less of an effort to hide it from Blossom, aware that she would soon need to explain. She wasn't sure at all what she would say. But if she knew her daughter as well as she thought she did, Reverie was certain that she wouldn't mind. There was too much love in Blossom's heart to be sorrowful for something that brought so much joy to their lives.
Reverie pressed her flank to his as he surveyed the forest of willows, a place she'd seen once before and had been enchanted by. That he loved it as much as she did only further confirmed what she already knew; that they were meant for one another, that this new beginning was more than chance and impulsive decisions. She watched as Blossom ran off into the forest, swallowing that instinctive flutter of worry at her throat. Her daughter would be safe here. There was no danger, and besides, Boone would protect them.
It's beautiful, Reverie breathed, leaning her head against his shoulder for a moment. Close to the sea, and the valley. It would be a good place to raise a family. She hesitated a little as the words slipped thoughtlessly from her, abruptly realizing that they'd never discussed that in particular. Of course they had Blossom to raise, but — more children? Did he want that? Did she want that? She pulled away slightly to cast a glance at him, studying his expression for some kind of reaction.

Boone paces ahead of his companions, tongue flicking from his lips in animalistic inspection. As far as he knew, there were no claims; no wolven scents upon this land, save for his own family and ones threaded in distant wilds.
His back presses to the trunk of a spruce, old bark pinching the skin beneath his fur. The first of many scent claims; instinct alone guided him. He'd hardly even heard the words from his wife until he wrought over them once, twice, thrice in his mind; a family.
He'd always longed for children of his own, to look down at a little squinty-eyed dumpling and see himself. To provide, to be the father that he had missed, the father that had been ripped from his boyish hands. You're right, he cracks a sheepish grin that says everything he could not before he continues onward.

For a few moments it went unacknowledged; Reverie trailed after him, hanging back with Blossom and beginning to regret what she'd said. Maybe he didn't want children after all. And if she was honest with herself, that was for the best. She had never been made for motherhood. It was something she'd chosen for love of her first husband, something she continued to choose for love of the daughter she'd brought into the world.
She watched him start to mark their territory and wondered at that. This was something she'd never learned to do, growing up among nomads, and —
You're right.
Reverie paused, sent into a bit of a tailspin by her husband's rejoinder. So he did want children. She went quiet, thinking now of pregnancy; of her own with Blossom, and how difficult it had been, and how painful it had been to give birth. In silence she parted from him to mark elsewhere, brushing her flank along a boulder. When she returned it was with a thoughtful expression.
I want to find a midwife. Before we - She stopped herself, then went on without finishing the sentence. Maybe it will make things... easier.

Their vision for a home, at the moment, was merely the three of them; birds coo in the emerald branches that embrace them, there's a rustle in a bush that sounds unmistakably leporid, but besides that, nothing wolven remains. And there were others they'd met, but as far as he knew, none were midwives.
The way Reverie speaks of pregnancy and the desire for a doula says there is a story behind Blossom's existence; one he, perhaps, should be concerned about.
Well, a loud thump sounds as his back hits the earth in one fell bow, a dragging motion of hefty figure across the wildgrass. we've got quite a while before we can even really think about it, yeah? We'll figure it out.
He whirls back up to his feet with a quiet huff. I do want it, his voice is marbled, quiet; a family. Always have. 

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: Mention of (intended, future) abortion, suicidal ideation

Always. He'd always wanted a family. Her throat suddenly felt constricted. Reverie hesitated, glancing at Blossom briefly, then back to her husband. I - I grew up in a big family, She said finally, quietly, eyes dropping to the forest floor. I was the youngest of ten. But... my mother, she always struggled with pregnancy. My father was - he learned to be a midwife, so he could help her.
I never really thought about being a mother. And when I found out I was pregnant - I was scared. It was - it was hard. And when I had her, I - I almost died, Reverie finally dared to glance up again, searching Boone's expression. She could not handle a repeat of what had happened with Lestan. If Boone, too, would run from her illness, from her, then Reverie would not let it happen again. She would find whatever healer she could, take whatever they gave her, poison herself until her own heartbeat faded into nothingness if she had to. I love Blossom. I love children. But... I'm scared that it'll be like last time. That you'll... that it will be too much for you.

Heavy steps stop in their tracks; his ears swivel forward.
He listens. A family history of struggles with pregnancy; Blossom, nearly killing her; and the implication that this Lestan fella had left her to deal with the aftermath of his dance with the devil alone.
His lips contort into a thin line, and all the while oakwood eyes remain tender. I would never, and now he reaches out for her, one strong arm reaching over to wrap around her shoulder. ever—
Should he tell her?
When I was a kid, maybe-- Blossom's age. I lost both'a my folks. I spent most a' my life alone, I raised myself, and I always-- I always said that if I ever had little rugrats of my own, I'd be the father I never had. Which is so goddamn corny, but, his expression lifts into a small, crooked grin; a feeble mood-lightener, even as his gut twists with a long-buried sorrow.
I'd-- Reverie, I'd never do that to you. Leave you to deal with the birth of our kids, alone. But, a breath; your safety comes before any... fetuses. I-if they hurt you, I'd never forgive myself.

Never, he promised, and perhaps she was a fool to believe him. Hadn't Lestan promised the same? But Boone was different, a different sort of man entirely, and Reverie found that she did believe him. He wrapped an arm around her and she shivered as warmth snaked down her spine, pressing close, leaning her head against his chest. And as he went on, Reverie began to understand, for the first time, that Boone knew as well as she did what it was like to feel alone.
She'd never been on her own, not truly; not like he had. But Reverie had known abandonment all the same, the suffocating loneliness of being surrounded by those who did not seem to see her at all. Her heart ached to imagine her husband feeling that way; her husband, so young and so alone. She could not erase the hurts of his past, but —
I'm sorry, She murmured, eyes shining a little with the beginnings of tears. But she blinked them away and went on, I don't think it's corny. I think it's beautiful. And you don't have to be alone anymore. We'll - we'll do this together. Start a family of our own. And - it might hurt me, but it's - well, it's a risk we'll have to take if we want children. As long as I have you, I know I'll be okay.
Besides - my mother managed, even though it was hard. Three times! I think - I think I can do it too, if we find a midwife, Reverie pulled away just slightly to meet his eyes, never breaking their contact. But her gaze wandered after a moment, drifting over his cheekbones and his lips, the pretty dark mask over his eyes, that dark stripe under his nose and over his chin where she so loved to plant soft kisses. She was struck with the urge to kiss him there now, but refrained in favor of their conversation, only studying the features she had come to love so fiercely in open admiration.

It was true, how he yearned for a family to call his own.
He found himself often daydreaming of big, brown eyes looking for him in the reeds, the squeaky laughter as he tosses a pudgy figure over his shoulders. Of first hunting trips, of the trill of cicadas at a rendezvous.
Someone calling him dad.
And she wanted this too, his wife; his partner. But not everything was so simple. His chest tightens. We'll talk to a midwife, and we'll assess the risks, a chill works its way down his spine. Was it worth it? The hypothetical, this image of children with his eyes and her smile; he reaches for it oh-so longingly, but he did not think he could forgive himself if that life meant only seeing her again in the golden flecks encircling irises; only hearing her voice in the hum of young voices.
Decidedly, he would think about this later.
We've got a lotta markin' to do, baby. He motions her forward with a sweeping motion of a forelimb.

I - I might know someone, Reverie offered softly, sensing Boone's uncertainty. Now she feared that he would have the same reservations Lestan had; that he would see what pregnancy did to her and vow never to touch her again for fear of the consequences. She didn't think she could stand it. Her name is Kukutux. She - she knows a lot about these things.

If they did this — she would have to send him away for the birth, the worst of it, as much as she did not want to do it without him. There was no other way. But these were thoughts for another time. There was work to be done here and now, though Reverie was uncertain what was expected of her.

Can you - can you show me how? She asked a little timidly after a moment, embarrassed. Her ears tilted back. I um - my family was nomadic. We never marked borders or anything like that. There were always so many fires - we had to keep moving.

Kukutux. A midwife, if he had to guess. The continued thought brings a sinking, toiling feeling to his gut, this fear — he pushes it from his mind again.
You gotta put your scent places where other folks can smell it, his cheek brushes the side of an old conifer's trunk. anything that says 'hey, I live here,' y'know? Roll around, rub against trees n' bushes... pee on 'em. his voice quiets rather bashfully. Pheromones.
Hey, you see that, uh, that l'il pond out there? Over by the trees? he crouches beside her and gestures eastward with a tilt of his nose. We'll start over there.

There was no judgment from Boone, and for that Reverie was grateful. And it was cute, the way he turned shy when he mentioned peeing — but she had never shied from such subjects! I don't think peeing in the pond will help anything, Reverie teased, kissing his cheek and ending it with a playful little nip.

Alright, lead the way, Mister Alpha, She nosed under his chin lovingly and let him take the lead. Reverie was attentive after that, watching what Boone did and imitating him until she felt confident enough to part from her husband in the interest of covering more ground. It was odd, she thought; a year ago she'd walked into a forest and questioned why the trees smelled so much like the wolves there. Now she knew, and she was claiming a place of her own. These were her trees — and Boone's, and Blossom's. She'd never thought she would own trees!