Grouse Thicket roll for initiative

"they were put on us before birth, mirwen."

germanicus did not sit for he had not earned the relaxation. his eyes were upon some distant and fixed point. there was no future he could envision, everything before him amorphous. each day was its own moment. 

each day belonged to cornelius, to aquillius, to valiria. that was as it must be.

he said no more.

crossed out all phone autocorrects so one can see how ridiculous it is SMH lmao

His own humor was waning, too, it seemed. She cast him a fertile fertive glance, eyes softening to a cloying curiosity. A more mature woman would have perhaps boldly asked him just what slacksshackles he had placed upon his own children at their birth.

Instead, she found herself wondering idly if the handsome man happened to have a group of delicious sons that would help keep her warm for the long winter months ahead.

Or perhaps he was up to such a task.

It felt inappropriate to ask... but she could not stop the slide of a smirk that teased the corner of her lips before she tried to sunder the thought. You embrace your shackles? Her tone light an airy--and yet a certain breathlessness  in her voice that came from her fogging thoughts.

a fertile glance hahahahaha

he was not ignorant of the way she moved, the tonality of her voice and humour. he was simply unresponsive in the way a tree might find itself. indulgence demanded a high cost and always had, even in the form of warmer words with a mysterious noble.

"they are not meant to be removed. i accept their reality." their discourse was becoming more abstract and therefore uncomfortable. the ranger felt rain gathering coldly in the autumn sky.

"will you allow me to hunt for you before your travels continue?"

Germanicus the tree was a closed book—the blurb had been tempting, and even a teaser that had been enticing at the beginning had revealed something—but now, he remained unmoving, and seemed to bring their discussion to a close at the gentleman-ly offer of hunting for her before she left on her travels.

The veiled indication that she should be on her merry way.

Her smile continued—pleased, at least—at the brief interlude they shared. “That would go against my desire for independence, wouldn’t it?”

"surely you can forgive yourself just this once."

was it humour? it wished to be, this effect which at last lifted the dour contours of his face into something lighter. "if you remain, directly east of us is the sun mote copse, where a woman named meerkat is forming a home. southeast of the copse is the strath, where for now my family has settled."

an invitation? he would not make it so. mirwen would decide such for herself. there were grouse here, and germanicus stirred himself to hunt them.

Knowledge given of a pack forming within the vicinity of these lands—and, a final offer, where his family has settled. As if an afterthought—hesitant, it seemed, and if decorum of her teachings had given her anything, it was that it was only his desire to remain polite that he had placed the final invitation there.

Bruised only that the man would not wish to bask in her beauty for much longer—she instead rolled to her paws, nimble, a light stretch as she tried to shake the final burrs from her fine pelt. “I’ll give you a trade, then,” she purred, the indication of her more illicit thoughts hinted at while her spine arching in one more stretch—the cant of her muzzle before she allowed a tinkling laugh from her lips before slipping away from him, allowing him to ruminate on his grouse while she set to her own work—beginning to gather her own bartering tool from the clearing.

"a man with a man's needs" had been a common refrain upon the march of young men, hardly more than boys. in months of travel, perhaps traveling through unbroken days of torrential rain, there was little else to do but contemplate aloud the spoils that surely waited them.

as one of those boys, germanicus had not joined in their hooting. they thought him spoilt for he was a son of the emperor, but he proved himself no prince. the centurion beat him as hard for infractions as any other peasantborn and it was through those bruises that he slowly gained their respect in his own right and one unattached to the name of his father.

he had never been immune to women, clearly, but his first sensations of desire in young blood had not been for them. it had been for the centurion who had laid him so low so he might rise properly in the legion.

and while such pairings were not forbidden, they were quite improper. as he grew into power and responsibility, into his own command, he saw often among the young men two or three in their number who might watch him for more than the technique of sparring. but his skin remembered the hazings, and his sense of agency was too sensitive. it was why he had denied crowfeather through two marriages and four children.

mirwen continued her flirtations and germanicus wondered if she thought to turn her polished charm upon him for a game. his response was a silent immersion into the shadows, and for a long while he did not return.

the grouse was laid beneath the tree. this time he did sit, though his posture remained upright and watchful. what trade had she meant?

As either party busied themselves, Mirwen was not unaffected the the chill the air produced. She huffed quietly—the tendrils of her breath rising before her having her wonder if she should reconsider her offer and act upon her blatant indications—certainly, it would be a warmer and more engaging activity than this.

Still, she found what she sought.

The acorn top was removed—the contents she sought delicately pushed in, and after, the top placed back on—the leaf stalk of a fern used to weave through the top in a makeshift hoop.

She sat back—admiring her handiwork, and feeling a surge of amusement.

Delicately, she took her creation, nimble paws leading back to him as one ear twitched forward—lavender eyes studying the solid form of the ragged man.

Placing the acorn to her paws, she could feel a grin tease it’s way to her muzzle, unable to keep the hint of laughter from her voice. “So. Wanna trade?”

he touched the acorn softly, taking it up in his paw. 

he was not a maker of fine things. he was not a maker of things that were skilled. a barracks built. no crafts completed.

"yes." 

he did not know what it was, only that it had been given. "eat." and his yellow eyes followed mirwen to see that she did as he bid.

germanicus turned back to the thing and contemplated it longer.

Oh—oh he would accept without knowing?

Shifting weight from one forepaw to the next, the delicate girl soon reclined back, brow arched, lavender eyes piercing. “You should know, in my culture, it is customary for the woman who is being courted to make such a gift for her suitor.”

She pause with a Cheshire Cat grin as she bent down, inspecting the grouse with practically a purr of satisfaction. “Obviously, this isn’t the intention here.” A pause, her body slowly moving to the ground once more, a paw simpering forward, wondering if he would relax more—unlikely.

“But the meaning behind it is genuine—in the acorn are certain herbs and plants. I placed some rosemary, for protection. Mint, for cleansing. Fennel seeds… for new beginnings. All to help bless the home you’re looking to build with your family.”

It perhaps was not much to him—and at times, she had scoffed at such a tradition—but it was indeed something she held to her heart. “Mind you, at home, our warrior men would usually pierce their ear to keep such an item close to them—but you can place that at a place you deem good luck for you and yours.”

so she was a witch.

or so it seemed.

with each mention of herbs, germanicus was reminded of fennec. he asked himself if that garden still existed, and if within that garden were the dark things he had once considered. once plucked.

"you are very bold," he rejoined with a tone that revealed nothing. he turned the acorn over again and this time he lowered his muzzle to catch the variant fragrances. "and thoughtful." she knew him not and yet offered this for sentiment. "i do not believe in luck, mirwen. but i will keep this as a token of companionship. thank you."

something in his face further thawed and he flicked an ear to indicate it would not be pierced for any reason. "your nobility allows you to court warriors?" it was not done in editum. the only leverage from the soldier class was royalty. his blood kept him from truly being one of them, no matter what respect he earned and what battles he won. had he been born on the other side of the palace walls, he would never have been able to marry a noblewoman.

'You are bold.'

“It's all I know.” She began to pluck the grouse—delicately, but with a precision. Her eyes would glance up to him every so often, watching him look over the acorn, considering. At his question, she laughed. “Not at all. I might have stayed, then,” she preened, beginning to tear apart the bird , feathers removed now, it’s delicacies beginning to be divided.

The blood on her lips was divine—a reminder now of how hungry she had been.

“I will be used to as a token to reign in the tempers of men from other kingdoms who might be tempted to overstep themselves.” She paused, nose dipping now to nudge part of the bird to him, lilac gaze beseeching—he should nourish himself as well, should he not?

“Perhaps if I sully myself I will be less useful to them.” A small shrug, a rueful smile—yet a teasing glint. Her display of rebellion toward her brother was a decent start.

germanicus knew this story, did he not? had he not participated in this aspect of a kingdom? she was a coy princess descended from on high who wished to taste more than soft men with heads rich in nonsense.

"there is a word for that. slumming." 

women crossed the wall each day to lie with men of lower classes. many homes in editum held the children unknown to their noble father that they were not his own. 

"surely you will want to meet more men before you decide who sullies you," he added, now drawing closer to the matter's heart.

“Slum…ming,” she repeated quietly, tasting the word on her lips, knowing her naivety was shining through quite clearly now—and yet not caring.

He studied her intricately—and she realized soon that this man missed nothing. She took a bite of the meal provided, hoping he did not think her ungrateful for the hunt—but no sooner did she swallow, did he bring up the potential she might wish to choose her… sullier… carefully. She could have choked—her question surprised. “Sully doesn’t have anything to do with love, in common tongue, does it?”

Had she been wrong in the definition in it?

he had not yet taken a bite, shaking his head once to denote he would not either.

it was for her. she had not given him half an acorn after all.

now the practiced gloss of a young noble faltered and germanicus saw beyond it to her true unsurety. "it has nothing to do with love and all to do with compromising yourself so that you cannot be used as a token."

they were on the same part of the same scroll, were they not?

She stared at him—her brow arching delicately—her features slowly brightening with her delight. “Wait… Are you saying I need to find the best sullier to sully me?”

If he was—Germanicus was downright diabolical and she found herself revelling in it.

And, for good measure: “The least Tawarwaith-wolf there ever was.” She hummed, pulling at the bird—devouring another sample and giving a soft hum of pleasure. "Le athae," she murmured, her amusement dancing within her eyes.

"yes. i am." she was amused and he felt it too in his chest, a spark of something lighter than the muck he usually carried about in a sloshing pail. 

he was quiet as she spoke her unknown words and kept on with her meal. the yellowpaint eyes soon pulled away from her feather-plucking and vaguely in the direction of the strath.

he was not certain that mirwen with her ways would be welcomed by aquillius. if his son saw witchery, it perhaps would even be dangerous.

Germanicus the tree man agreed with her—and she chuckled, pleasantly surprised by the man. He fell to silence, as did she—stealing only a glance to the acorn near his paws in quiet consideration before finishing her meal.

There remained much meat—her own appetite taught over months that a lady was only to eat until her stomach was not ravaged for food, and she begun to preen further at her fur.

“Well, then, since you’re so knowledgeable… Where’s the best place to have a… royal… be sullied, then?” She hated the title—wishing only for a life of fulfillment, adventure and... to just be her.

Not princess.

Not the jewel of Tawarwaith.

"the kingdom of which i told you. akashingo. it is a den of iniquity."

and he had slept there for many nights.

"you may also continue on alone and announce your intentions to each man you meet. it is not something with which you seem to struggle."

mirwen did not move to finish the bird. germanicus ate it in quick precise bites and moved away into the shadows to dump the bones elsewhere and thus break up her trail for any that might indeed follow from tawarwaith.

A soft sigh at that— “Another kingdom doesn’t strike me as… something that would deter my brother,” she mused quietly, stretching, catlike.

And then he spoke again—bemusement flickering on her features. “Is intention something many women struggle with?” She turned then, studying him intently—lavender meeting the chest of the man, broad—scarred. Impressive.

“Is a woman in this land supposed to remain diminutive and be solely for a man’s breeding purpose and pleasure?” She paused, muzzle settling coyly to an outstretched paw. “If I said I wanted you to teach me the more unsavory ways of life, would you be appalled? Am I so distasteful to you? Or is there another your heart simply can’t deter from?”

Pleasure was one thing. Love was entirely another beast.

"your brother is not the Lord of Two Lands."

their entire discourse had been punctuated by her physical restlessness manifesting in the tilt of her body, wanting his eye and gaining it though not in the way she wished.

"you will have to ask many women that question. another quest for your travels, mirwen."

now the elf struck at him with her true desire; thwarted. "you are young and in the world for the first time. you have met a man pleasing to your eye, so you choose without thinking. you know nothing of me and you are used to having your way. it is tantalizing."

his voice was even. "i have no distaste. only self-control. when you learn it, you will not choose so hastily. and yes. you may even choose love."

mirwen would be scorned; this may very well be the end of their discourse. she was objectively quite beautiful and twice had his mind meandered to thoughts of remarriage once more, this time predicated upon fertility alone as he approached his waning years.

and how unfair and without respect it was to contemplate this young wolf for such a loveless fate. such a transactional purpose.

“He is a man who has only known whatever it is he has wanted—is there anything else more dangerous?”

She shot the question back—but it wasn’t with disdain. And as he gently let down her invitation—even going so far as to indicate her path choice would be best presumed elsewhere, she could only find a spark of humor in the entire moment. And so, conversationally, she leaned forward, closer to him—hoping to captivate his attention. “Then tell me… When you say I must humbly ask for an audience at these pack borders—is it frowned upon to ask how many men in which I may peruse for my taste?”

She knew the answer. She simply wanted to test how deep his diabolical schemes could run.

hes playing tool loudly in his apartment rn

"he is not a woman who has always had what she desired."

mirwen was persistent.

at last he allowed a small smile, cast to one side and quickly removed from his countenance. "that would depend on the pack. it would be a new adventure each time to find out, do you not agree, domina?"

and now his own humour was apparent, a thrum in his throat.

"i am coming into my middle age. i have been married twice and the last time was woefully unsuccessful. if i look for another woman, it would be a wife who would give me more children while understanding i will never love her."

and now the good sensation was gone, his eyes veiling themselves once more. "choose someone who will only sully your body, not your very soul."

A paw lifted to stifle the small giggle at her mouth, cloying as she rolled to her back, haunting lavender eyes on him. “Is that’s what dangerous? A woman who has always had what she’s desired?”

But she did not miss the hint of a smile upon the man—there, and then gone, as if she had blinked, and it had been non-existant. He was toying with her now—the encouragement of an adventure to each pack border she came to. “You try to set me up for failure,” she purred—accusatory, and yet the unspoken question as to why—he was so eager to see her on her way, was he not?

But his statement was serious. Her humor drained from her features—and she shifted back to her belly. Lithesome, pulling herself to her paws, she closed a distance between them—persistence, perhaps. But there was more to it, her muzzle just grazing his shoulder, should he allow it, as she encircled him. “You’re hurt,” she murmured then—not with sympathy—an observation. He believed he would never love again. Perhaps that was true.

"much moreso than a spoiled man. and i do not think you will fail. say what you have said to me to any other man, and i assure you your lessons will be known."

grass fell from her shoulders. germanicus allowed her touch until it became indulgent. he softly rose and in doing so, separated their contact.

"you misunderstand. i am the one who has done the hurting."

he surveyed her with his yellowpaint eyes once more. this is why you choose in caution.

an ageing man attempting to impart wisdom for a young wolf who knew only her own mind.

it was pleasant to be wanted.

and where had wanting ever gotten him?