Sleepy Fox Hollow Sun setting on the brink

backdated to yesterday if that’s ok? <3

Now that things had barely stabilized, Anselm returned to the Hollow. There were satchels of herbs @Etienne needed to treat @Druid (and now potentially @Heda); he’d been tasked to bring them back to Rivenwood. 

There was another reason to return. Anselm slipped into the familiar paths of his once-home, noticing the scent of raccoon in several areas. He sent a howl for @Fiona before sussing her most recent tracks from the dirt and following after them.

fine by me!

Her routine became rote. She ate, she drank the tincture, the roamed the borders, and she chatted idly to @Prowler as if she could actually understand her. The raccoon did not seem to mind, and she certainly appreciated the scraps Fiona threw her on occasion for retrieving this, that, or the other. The hollow is hollow, she mused to the masked creature who plodded along beside her. The hollow is hollow, and we're in it. But if we're in it, is it really hollow? she asked. Prowler looked at her, but gave no verbal response.

When she heard Anselm's voice, Fiona's ears perked up. She wasn't sure whether to be happy or annoyed, excited or worried what he might do next. In reality, she had begun to suspect he had finally figured out what his problem was and had run off into the sunset with Etienne. That would have tracked, considering Anselm had never seemed to give a hoot about anyone else.

The call had been close, and she heard his footsteps before she could properly hide Prowler, who now took a defensive position beneath the witch's belly.

You're back, she said, the smallest hint of a question wrapped into the words.

The woman was not far now. Anselm came upon her quickly, noticing the way she shielded a figure beneath her flank. 

The raccoon. Anselm eyed it with brisk annoyance, but knew he had more important things to discuss. 

Fiona’s words edged in a silent question. Etienne has been hurt. Anselm informed Fiona in his trademark brusque way. And then myself. Ve are okay now, but I have returned to collect the rest of his stores. He paused, realizing that this all might be a barrage of new information. Ve are moving to Rivenvood, Fiona. Heda has asked us to stay to help Druid. There is no point in staying here any longer. My family vill not be returning. 

Vould you like to come vith me? A rare glimpse of vulnerability shone in Anselm then; he quickly shrugged it off with a roll of his shoulders.

Etienne hurt, then Anselm. They were staying in a place called Rivenwood, which had no meaning to Fiona. More names, along with his plan to depart. She chewed her lip. Anselm may not have any reason to stay here, but Fiona did—and it wasn't the masked creature beneath her.

I would like to, but I can't. Not without consequences. I've been using one of the streams here to keep my season away. I don't want any kids this year. There was the growing feeling she would never want kids, but that wasn't what this was about. I have to drink from the herbal water at least every other day in order for it to remain effective—at least until late summer. That was still months away.

Anselm had already proven himself unable to resist the temptation when it was presented to him. Fiona couldn't follow him without that knowledge coming with her. She certainly didn't want him to father any of her children—even if she had wanted them.

I can still help gather the stores for you. Maybe you can tell me how you and Etienne were hurt?

That Fiona had made a specific concoction to treat her season went straight over Anselm’s head. He was flummoxed for her rejection reason; did she really think water could stay the tides of nature? Ve have streams in Rivenvood. Anselm countered, flabbergasted she would think he’d settle somewhere without water.

Women! So dumb.

Did she think catching child was like catching a cold? Anselm’s incredulous gaze slid from her to the Lunchable at her feet. Vhat? It is not like that. He tried to scoff but his throat was dry. You von’t be pregnant unless you —

Did he really have to explain this to her?

Fuck some-vonne.

She couldn't help but laugh at the misinterpretation, even if it meant he was likely to retaliate with harsher words or violence. You dolt! she said. I know how the birds and the bees work. I've been steeping—soaking—herbs in this particular stream for months now. It doesn't work well unless they've been soaking in the same spot for a long time, so I can't just move them. Although, that did give her an idea if he really did want her to come to Rivenwood.

Listen, if you really want me to go with you, you can take some and soak them there. Then, in a month's time, come back here and let me know. But if that's too much work, don't worry about it. I'll be fine here with Prowler. I don't trust the men of the world to leave me in peace if my season does crop up. And yes, that included both Anselm and Etienne. And whoever else happened to be hanging out with them in Rivenwood. Fiona was pretty sure she caught a whiff of at least one other on his coat, but that could have been anything.

At first Anselm was angry to be called a dolt — but as scarlet flushed his features, he realized this was a soft term for so severe a blunder. For once, he’d been wrong and he’d misunderstood.

Just this once.

Stowing aside the residual embarrassment he felt, Anselm was silent for a long time as he worked through the information Fiona had just imparted. And it made him realize two things — he, who had always been abandoned, was now doing the leaving. He couldn’t reconcile this.

He also realized that somehow — oddly — he didn’t want to leave her to herself either. He thought of big men like Glaukos — and while the man had done nothing to deserve this mental image, Anselm thought of how easy it would be for that great hulking creature to have his way with Fiona. His throat tightened.

Fine. I vill take the herbs. But it vill not make me — He gestured to her with a wave meant to pantomime effeminacy.

Fiona. Anselm suddenly placed his paw down, expression stern but as close to caring as he’d ever come. I do not vish to leave you here alone. Vhat of the men that come here? Vhy don’t you come vith me, and every other day, ve come back here to drink? It is not so long a trip, and it vill take many days to bring all of Etienne’s things to Rivenvood. He wanted to make a joke how they could both use the exercise — but he noticed with some guilt and alarm that Fiona looked much skinnier than he remembered.

She had not expected him to take her up on the suggestion. In fact, she had half-expected that he spit some retort in her face about something or another. Instead, he had another suggestion. A suggestion that sounded downright exhausting. Fiona thought on it, then bent her neck down comically to look directly beneath her chest where Prowler still stood quietly, eyeing the predator before her. The witch knew that she, like all wolves, was a social creature, and ignoring that part of herself was not good in the long run, even if it were only a few months.

The upside-down image of Prowler was enough to make her realize not even the bandit could keep her sane, let alone safe. Fiona sucked in a breath, and resumed a more natural stance. Fine, but nobody can eat Prowler. She works for me. She can help us gather things, and she's pretty useful at picking up smaller items that require more delicate care. She didn't think Anselm would really understand, but this was the most anybody had fought for her since she'd left Greenroot.

Anselm knew as soon as the suggestion left his lips, that it was foolhardy. He waited for the rejection, watching as Fiona did something strange -- and turned her neck down to look at the snack beneath her feet.

He stilled, an ear strained for the conversation he thought might be happening that he could not hear.

When Fiona lifted her head again, it was with an edict that brought the smallest glimmer of a smile to Anselm's face. He cleared his throat. I vill not eat her, but you vill have to tell the others this is your condition. He did not expect Druid or Heda to put up any objection. The vomen vill likely be fine. It is -- He tried to summarize Glaukos into a single word (dick?) -- the guard-dog of theirs you may have trouble persuading.

It seemed Anselm and Etienne weren't the only two men in Rivenwood. That didn't exactly inspire Fiona's confidence in moving away from the hollow. Is that who hurt you and Etienne? she asked, putting the pieces together with concern on her face. She ravenously wanted to know more about the dynamics of this Rivenwood, and that would be enough to get her there. Moreover, why would Anselm want to stay in a pack where some "guard dog" had hurt his very own members?

Prowler wrapped a tiny hand around her ankle, and Fiona looked down as the raccoon chittered at her. The witch didn't know what the creature wanted, but she waved her off anyway, prepared to intervene if Anselm went back on his word. The stores are this way, yeah? she said, beginning to jog toward Etienne's old haunt. Fiona had considered raiding it on several occasions, but given the ~relationship~ between Anselm and the healer, she hadn't wanted to burn that bridge. She would save the stream for last, taking a long, deep drink before they headed to Rivenwood.

Yes. Anselm answered at length, resigned. His gaze fell to the raccoon, who wrapped her thin fingers around Fiona’s leg with a tiny chitter. 

There would be plenty of time to explain later. Anselm followed Fiona to the stores at a loose limbed trot, readying himself for the return trek to Rivenwood.