Deepwood Weald solenne

Ashlar hadn’t eaten in days. He knew that he was starving, but he watched with disinterest as the birds fluttered out of reach. He no longer felt hungry, and even if he had, he could not force his body to comply. There just seemed to be little reason anymore.

She would be furious. But she was gone.

Ashlar wasn’t sure where he was going or what he was doing anymore. He had no home to return to, nothing to look towards, and no hope that some salvation would come. All this time, and everything he had built had been hers. It died with her. Maybe he had died with her too.

He barely saw the forest he plodded through. He didn’t know why he kept moving. He just did.

She felt a lot better after Meerkat’s visit, though it kind of made her itchy feet worse. Towhee found herself heading toward the copse in stops and starts. She stopped every time she remembered she’d literally just seen her daughter, then started again when she remembered Meerkat’s insistence that she was always welcome.

She’d just begun walking again when she halted at the sight of a dark figure trudging through the trees. There was a desolate air about the stranger. Towhee wondered if he was hurt or sick, though a quick sniff gave her no indication of either.

Hey, she called out in what she hoped was medium volume (it wasn’t).

Someone yelled. Their voice was loud and impossible to miss, but it still took Ashlar a moment to react through the fog his mind was currently in. He didn’t know this wolf or why they were stopping him.

I’m not staying here, he replied, after deciding to pause just in case he was trespassing. He didn’t really care about himself right now but that didn’t mean he wanted to cause a problem for anyone else. I’m just… going. He hoped she didn’t ask where because her guess was as good as his.

He didn’t react. Maybe she hadn’t yelled loud enough? Towhee took a step toward him, gearing up to shout again, louder this time. But then he finally seemed to notice her, golden eyes lifting while the rest of him drooped in the fashion of someone utterly miserable.

Oh, this isn’t, Towhee replied, pacing toward him, my land or anything, so it makes no difference to me if you stay or go.

She rolled to a stop maybe two yards away, eyeing the gloomy man. Who died? she thought, though some things were too crass even for Towhee to say out loud. It was very possible—maybe even probable—that this dude really was mourning a death.

You look like life whumped you pretty hard, Towhee observed in what she hoped was a kind tone of voice.

If course it made no difference to her. It shouldn’t make any difference to anyone if he stayed or went. He never brought anything when he came or took anything when he left. He didn’t want to do this anymore.

Yeah. The word rang flat in his ears. This stranger didn’t need to hear about all the ways he’d failed. She seemed nice, but there was nothing she could do to change what had happened.

He didn’t know what else to do or say. But something still kept him from turning around and continuing on.

He acknowledged her remark with the same detached melancholy as he had her presence. Towhee hesitated, not sure if he wanted her to continue engaging him. Did she even want to deal with someone this down in the dumps right now? She already had one foot aboard the struggle bus herself.

Perhaps for that reason, she felt compelled to say, You don’t know me but my name is Towhee Redhawk. I was born in these wilds over seven years ago. As you can imagine, I’ve dealt with a lot of whumps over those years. So if you need to talk about it with someone who’ll probably understand…

She trailed off with a noncommittal shrug. Chances were he didn’t really want to talk about it, especially with a perfect stranger. But just talking to Meerkat the other day had really lifted her spirits. Granted, they didn’t even know one another’s first names but she felt better for offering. If he didn’t take it, that was okay.

He didn’t believe her. Ashlar didn’t even know why disbelief was his first, immediate reaction. But hunger, sorrow, and rage swirled in his stomach like nausea.

It won’t change anything. So what’s the point? I’m the one who thought maybe, for once, I wouldn’t mess everything up. She came back, and now she’s dead, and I was too useless to do anything about it. Self-loathing was thick in his throat.

It should’ve been me. If he couldn’t save Avicus, the least he could have done was die instead of her. It was ridiculous, and there was no world where he would have been able to manage to get between her and that deer. He wished it anyway.

Just… forget you met me. It’s fine. She didn’t owe him anything, and she definitely didn’t need so sit there and feel bad about his problems. He could take them and disappear easily enough.

Towhee did her best to follow, though sometimes the downcast angle of his face made it hard to read his lips. She was glad for all her experience cobbling together context clues, though it really wasn’t that difficult to guess what ailed this guy.

The point is to get it off your chest. It doesn’t always help but sometimes it does, Towhee replied only after he’d finished. You lost a loved one. A mate? A child? she wondered, completely ignoring his command to forget him.

He hadn’t caught that the stranger was deaf, but he could see her intent stare. Instead of turning away he sat down, giving in and using the excuse to rest his trembling legs.

A… a mate. They hadn’t been really. But they’d felt like it, and it was the best way to describe the loss he felt. My best friend. His reason, for the last three years.

He didnt really want this to be better. He deserved to feel this way, and feeling less would mean that she meant less. He wanted to suffer. If she had to be gone, then that was his future. He just couldn’t see anything after. I don’t know what to do. He had nowhere to go.

Her response would’ve been the same, no matter his answer: a soft fuck.

She knew what that felt like. Towhee didn’t repeat herself, though she took a moment to think of Maxim. She wouldn’t say it out loud but she hoped this guy at least had a body. That at least gave him some closure, though any kind of loss was hell itself.

I know it’s not helpful right now and you might not even believe me, Towhee said, but time really does have a way of healing all wounds. Although I’d argue that ‘healing’ is a misnomer. You kind of learn to live with the grief. It’s always there but it doesn’t always hurt as badly as it does right now.

Right now, you have to take it one day at a time. Hell, sometimes you have to take it one hour at a time. Or one minute. Have you tried having a complete and total breakdown yet? It can be very cathartic.

She was right - he didn’t think it was helpful or believable. It wasn’t her fault; right now, Ashlar was in a space to deny almost any help that came his way. Reflecting on this conversation later might bring different results, though it would probably be a while before he truly began to heal. If he gave himself the time to do so.

I don’t want time. I don’t want anything anymore. He hadn’t broken down since the day of her death, and even then, he’d felt more disconnected than anything else. He was so angry, and so heartbroken, but he had nothing and no one to turn that emotion to. He couldn’t face the Rise.

She was everything. How do I keep going, with nothing? How do I even want to? His voice broke, and while she wouldn’t hear the desperation, she’d probably see it in his face. If she was telling the truth, and she’d been through this, then she had to know. She had to have found a new reason.

She knew just how he felt. Back when she’d first lost Maxim, she would’ve given almost anything to get him back or, at the very least, fast forward through her mourning. Time took time. It was infuriating.

If telling yourself, ‘she would want me to be happy’ doesn’t work, you need to find other reasons to keep going. For me, it was my kids. Do you have any of those? Or anyone else you can lean on? Maybe someone who lost her too?

No. They weren’t his kids, really, and they’d be better without him. The pack didn’t need a Hælend who could not do the job, and they certainly didn’t need a father who had never been there. He didn’t think they were even aware. Avicus would have had no need to share this.

No one had seen her the way he did, and no one had ever understood him like her. Avicus had built the pack she needed; Ashlar had lived in it, but he’d never truly belonged outside of the space she’d created for him specifically. They were strong; they’d be fine.

Thanks, anyway. If there was something he could hold onto he couldn’t summon it now. But he had stopped, and somewhere in him he still had to want to try.

Now her ability to relate ceased. Did he really have no one in his life, aside from his deceased mate? Towhee felt really bad for the guy, whose name she still didn’t know.

If you have it in you to make a fresh start, she said, in honor of her memory or whatever, then just north of here is a pack called Moontide. The Alpha, Rodyn, lost his mate recently too. I could take you that way, if you want.

A pack just to the north. He was a long ways from the Rise but he still hesitated. He wanted a fresh start, but he wondered if things would be all that different. I don’t have anything to give them. He could hunt when he wanted to, but he would no longer claim to heal. And he certainly didn’t fight.

This Rodyn might understand, but he also might not. The truth was, Ashlar was hesitant to tie himself to another rejection so soon. It was easier to assume his own uselessness and move in than to have it thrown in his face and confirmed. This way he disappointed no one.

Towhee doubted that, though she said nothing. She really did feel for the guy and she wanted to help him, but this conversation was starting to drag on her. Already she’d lost the will to venture to the copse today, even though she knew it would be worth the trip.

I’m going to head back there. If you change your mind, you can follow me and call for Rodyn. Otherwise, I really hope you find your reason to keep going.

With a slight frown, she turned and began plodding back toward the plateau. Her heart felt heavy in her chest. The conversation had stirred up some of her own crap, further muddying her head space. Maybe she would try to do some “yogurt” once she made it back to her tepee.

Ashlar listened quietly, feeling a guilty and lonely pang as she wrapped up her words and left. She didn’t argue, thankfully, which made sense. She didn’t know him well enough to defend him from himself. Then he was alone again, left to his own thoughts, and it was a clear reminder of how much having someone around - anyone - could make a difference. Maybe he could just see if they minded. He was pretty much useless but he could do whatever was asked.

He would remain in the area for a while and think about it. The worst this Rodyn could do would be send him away, and in that case he’d just be right back where he started.