Hushed Willows But damn girl, since you've come around

It'd taken longer than she would ever admit to calm her racing heart in the aftermath of seeing Mae's wounds. Reverie hadn't asked many questions. It was best if they stayed the night at least, she'd told @Akavir, and with that had scouted out a place for the pair to settle for the night.

Convincing Mae to rest for a time had been a task in itself. The girl was settled now, eyes dressed with a thick herbal paste, and the willows were quiet. This was her chance — perhaps the last she would ever get. It wasn't like Akavir went out of his way to visit.

So she trailed his scent until she found him, calling out quietly. Akavir? She took a deep breath. Can we - can we talk?

Reverie had settled them—and while he had wished to hover nearby like a mother hen as Reverie patched his daughter up, he chose to grace them with privacy… Believing Mae perhaps just needed the gilded woman’s presence just as much as a healing touch.

It also allowed him a moment of reprieve. His anxiety churning each time he was in the presence of Reverie, and after a stressful journey, he found the stolen moments of quiet as a time to reflect on the recent events that had happened—the silent promise he already had to find the man who did this and ensure retribution was made.

Night settled—Akavir lay pressed to a tree, one paw rubbing at the side of his face and temple, trying to rid his headache. When he heard the quiet steps, he paused, glancing up as she spoke his name—limned against the evening sky—and he felt the fatigue press upon him then.

“Yeah,” he murmured—already expecting the accusations to come forward but still meeting her gaze.

Yeah. Such a simple answer, yet her heart began to race again. Reverie hesitated only for a moment.

I um... I know you probably don't want to hear it, but I - I wanted to - apologize, She drew in a slow, slightly tremulous breath, eyes searching his expression for the scorn she already half-expected. For everything I did that hurt you, back at Swiftcurrent Creek. You were only trying to protect all of us, and I was selfish. And what happened with Kel - it wasn't your fault. I'm sorry I blamed you for it. And I'm sorry I didn't apologize sooner.

I don't expect you to - to want to be my friend, or anything, Did she even want that? She didn't know. It seemed too far out of reach to ever even consider as a hypothetical. Akavir had never liked her, as far as she knew, or at least never trusted her. Why would he want to be her friend? I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. You didn't deserve any of that.

She was hesitant—he was expectant. The draw of his gaze over her caught the hitch in breath, despite the initial surprise of the apology that spilled from her mouth. He felt his jaw tighten—the flex reaction one of displeasure at the memories that surfaced, and he found himself shaking his head—perturbed now that she felt remorseful for her actions even after the last things he had said to her.

His gut reaction was to apologize in turn, insist the past remain behind them. Simply let it be.

Instead, he found a dark snort escaping him, fatigue creeping its way to his eyes as he leaned back, shoulder resting to the tree as he looked intently on her—gauging her reaction. “Didn’t I, though? You confided in me how you felt about treatments.”

He paused, his features sobering. “This wasn’t what I thought you’d want to talk about,” he admitted.

Her eyes filled with sorrow. Now it was Reverie's turn to shake her head, resolute in the belief that Akavir was not to blame for what had happened. It'd taken her such a long time to reach this conclusion. She wouldn't give it up so easily.

You couldn't have known that he would... that he would hurt me the way he did... Reverie trailed off, eyes darkening and falling briefly away from Akavir as she remembered that dark chapter of her life. Her gaze found him again with his next words. What had he thought she would say?

But she didn't have the energy to ask, not now. I meant to apologize sooner, but I thought... I thought you'd rather just never see me again. But then Mae... Reverie swallowed, heart still pounding in her ears, and the next words tumbled from her in a rush; I just want peace. Between us. I - I don't want to hurt you anymore.

Maybe she wasn't important enough in his life for true hurt anymore, but neither did she want to cause discomfort. Her eyes sought his then, an unspoken question lurking behind them.

He felt his lips press together thinly for a moment—his eyes intense on her, his mind trying to work back to the past they had endured. Kestrel had been there—insisting Lestan was not right upon his return and he worried the man would hurt Reverie.

Kestrel had reported something about medicating her—something Akavir had questioned and was told it had been done with her compliance.

A darkness had poked at the corners of that story—the way Lestan and Reverie had unleashed on him, angry in their way, and yet still so soft in their direction.

Directly after Jakoul had fled and left three hungry kids alone with him, Reverie had accused him of not being a good man.

He was now in agreement with her.

“What did he do to you, Reverie?” His voice was sturdy—hollow to him in that moment, and he searched her imploringly.

What had this supposed medic that he had trusted the word of over his own pack mates done?

Reverie went still, struggling with the impulse to deny his request. No part of her wanted to revisit that day. But the words wouldn't come; she studied him for a moment, taking in the imploring way he looked at her, and after a moment the full story began to spill from her.

She couldn't remember the last time Akavir had looked at her with anything but wariness, anger, confusion.

So she told him of how Kel had come to them with Akavir's name in his mouth, how she hadn't wanted the healer there at all but hadn't wanted to further the tension already between them. She told him, in hushed and hesitating tones, of the way Kel had questioned her and the way she'd started to panic, and how she'd tried to leave the den then. Kel had stopped her, held her there while she shrieked. A little shudder ran through her as she recalled her helplessness. He'd been so much stronger than her.

Reverie remembered little after that. She'd come back to herself slowly over the days that followed, but even then, her memories of that time and her flight from Swiftcurrent Creek were hazy at best. Still, she recounted what little she recalled: the fog and the constant trembling, how she'd been able to think of nothing but her own misery. Lestan's anger; his hurt, when she'd blamed him too for what Kel had done.

She realized belatedly that she'd started to cry somewhere in the telling of it, and turned her face away from Akavir to wipe her tears. We should never have left Swiftcurrent Creek, She finished miserably when her eyes found him again. We were - we were both unwell, and I was too young to know what I was doing. I wasn't much older than Mae when I had Blossom. But I thought... I thought I couldn't trust anyone else.

Time stopped.

How could it not? 'I thought I couldn't trust anyone else.' 

Of course she hadn't. Kestrel had held her down. Had forced her. She hadn't been willing, or compliant, as the man had insisted when Akavir questioned.

His mouth felt dry.

Reverie...

I didn't know. That's not what he told me. He said he thought Lestan would hurt you. He spoke of how ill you both were, how...

But these words could not come. No, instead, bile rose and he was swift when he stood, turning quickly to lose himself into the thickness of the foliage where he would empty the entirety of his stomach's contents onto the floor of her home.

Her haven. The place she had tried to build to be safe.

The moments passed-- the unfurling of his guts only continued until nothing was left and he shuddered with the wake of it, leaning against the trunk of a tree and trying to suck in air.

Reverie only caught a glimpse of Akavir's expression before he disappeared. It was enough. She stood too, finding it easier now to fall into the role she'd given herself these last months: healer, caretaker, mother. It only took a few moments to slip into the den where she'd left Mae and back out again. Her heart was still loud in her ears, but steadier now.

By the time she returned, the sounds of his retching had died away. Reverie went to his side, careful not to touch him, and set the herbs down away from the mess. This will help, She murmured, offering chamomile to calm him alongside the herbs meant to settle his stomach.

Guilt surged in her chest. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to - to upset you.

He exhaled--he heard her steps behind him and cast a side eye to her offering. She was giving him something to settle his stomach--looking after him.

The absurdity of it drew a rough, monosyllable ahha... from him, and he straightened, trying to gold the quiver of his shoulders back as he looked to her now. 

She apologized. His eyes closed momentarily before opening, searching her gaze, swallowing thickly. Stop apologizing Reverie... you didn't...

What could he say? He shook his head slowly, as if he could shake this away like a bad dream. A nightmare.

I really wish someone had told me... That's not the story I was told... Another exhale. I'm sorry, Reverie. I'm so sorry.

It wasn't enough. It wouldn't be enough.

I'm sorry.

Tears filled her eyes all over again. All thought fled her. It was pure feeling which drove her to reach out, ever hesitant when it came to Akavir — to reach out, against all reason, to hug him if he'd let her. It didn't matter if he returned the embrace.

It's not your fault, Her voice wavered, but she meant it. It's not. It never was.

Whether he would ever speak it aloud or not, Reverie understood now that he still cared for her. In some small way, he cared. At least enough to feel remorse for her past suffering even now. Whatever else happened, she wouldn't forget that.

Her embrace was gentle, but unexpected, and at first contact, the man stiffened almost painfully—disconnected a moment as confusion swept through him—and then a rugged arm would lift, wrapping gingerly across her own side as he relaxed into the hug. She smelled faintly of mothers milk and whatever herbs she had probably worked on Mae with.

He might have leaned in further—but the idea of what his own breath likely smelled like in this moment gave him pause and wisely he did not—why burden her with sour breath on top of everything else he already had?

“It is,” he responded, pulling back now and shifting away. They could argue it all day—but had Akavir not invited a strange man into their lands to do as he wished, it wouldn’t have happened. Exhaustion set—his eyes glancing up to the tepid sky. “How’s Mae?”

Reverie had half-expected Akavir to reject her touch entirely, and had already been prepared to pull away in response to his tension when she felt his arm around her. They were each tentative, perhaps a bit awkward, but even so it felt — it felt nice. For just a moment, their contact existed as irrefutable proof that Akavir did not hate her, at least not so much that he couldn't stand to touch her.

She still wasn't sure if she was forgiven, but that was alright. She could earn his forgiveness. Arric had been right, after all; he was as much her family as Gunnar and Bjarna, and now she was realizing that Akavir was, too.

So it didn't bother her as much as it might have when he remained distant, when he disagreed, when he shifted away quickly and turned the topic elsewhere. Reverie surrendered the hesitant embrace easily, taking a small breath as she prepared herself for this new conversation. It wouldn't be any easier than the last.

I wish she had let Arlette help her, Reverie couldn't quite help the complaint, distraught as she was over the state of the girl's eyes. She reached out with a paw to press the herbs she'd brought toward Akavir, a silent beckoning for him to take them, and went on. She said she'd let you do it. I could show you how before you leave - I'll send some herbs, too, but I'm sure you have more at Swiftcurrent Creek... She was beginning to ramble, she realized; avoiding what she did not want to say.

The infection will heal. I - I don't know about her vision. She says she can't see much. Sometimes it... it comes back a little, once the eyes heal, but not fully. And that's not a guarantee, It wasn't a death sentence, not for a pack wolf. Reverie's heart ached for the girl all the same. What... what happened to her?

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Something had shifted in the air—he might have been drowning in his guilt and misery, but it wasn’t lost on him that it was Reverie who was throwing the lifeline now, when in truth, she had every right to let him sink.

His eyes remained distant, even with the sound of her voice—but it was the brush of her paw that caught him once more—eyes sharply glancing down as she nudged once more with tenacity the herbs she had offered him before. The roil of his stomach was not forgotten—but it was only on the grace of her persistence that he plucked the herbs forward, thoughtlessly chewing—withholding a shuddering grimace.

“I don’t know why. I can’t help but think that if the wounds had been looked at it sooner, then maybe…”

Then maybe she would have had a better chance. Maybe, the news Reverie reluctantly delivered him now would not have been so bleak. He lifted a paw to rub at his temple, barely withholding the hissed “fuck.”

Mae was probably blind for life.

“It happened in the marsh. Of course it happened in the marsh,” he rumbled darkly. The goddamn witches swamp. “I found her in some fight with this mountain of a man, three times her size.” His lip curled.

The man had a death warrant. Signed with a fucking flourish. “I had him pinned in submission, Reverie… and I let him go. I didn’t realize until we were home, because she took off. She didn’t want me to see. I don't know why.”

Like in her shock, she felt she could hide away. “I had him fucking pinned.”

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But she'd never wanted to see him sink. Reverie wasn't watching him when he took the herbs, but she knew by the scent of them filling the air — an improvement from his soured breath. She hadn't minded it, really; she'd trained as a healer from the moment she was old enough to understand the purpose of herbs, and was long used to it by now. She was just pleased he was making some attempt to feel better.

Hushed Willows had never been meant as a place of suffering. Not like the marsh where Moss had died. Reverie's gaze darkened with the grief of both old and new tragedies as Akavir went on. It wasn't as puzzling to her that Mae had tried to hide her wounds from him. She'd been reluctant even to speak of them with Reverie.

What caught her attention was the tone she recognized from so long ago, the look in Akavir's pale eyes. She was reminded of the hunt for the witch. And Reverie, too, wished to see the assailant dead — preferably with his eyes strewn out for the scavengers beforehand — but she also felt she knew the look of a man in a spiral. If Akavir set out to kill the beast who had hurt Mae, Reverie had no doubt that he would do so. He was more than capable. But it wouldn't be worth it if Mae lost her father in the process.

She doesn't want us to worry about her, She murmured, still not looking at Akavir. She told me you saved her life. She also asked me to drug your food so you'd get some sleep. I told her I'd just talk to you. A faint half-smile flitted over her features as she said it.

Her expression turned somber again quickly, a sharp glint in her eyes for a moment as she added, glancing at Akavir from the side now, If you find him - I want to know. We only have a couple guardians, but I'd like to send them with you, It was an unspoken truth, she felt, that the man should die. But... until then, Mae is going to need you. Someone should be with her all the time until she relearns... well, everything. She's so stubborn - I'm afraid she'll hurt herself.

Then she sought his eyes more fully again. It's hard to say if looking at it sooner would have helped anything. The... the damage is... extensive. But I know you do need to rest, as much as she does. Were you hurt? Reverie glanced over him as she said it, but remained carefully outside of his personal space until invited.

‘She also asked me to drug your food so you’d get some sleep.’ He paused—his tongue sweeping back the final remnants of the herbs he had just finished taking on Reverie’s insistence—his eyes casting her a sideways glance. Huh…

She wanted to  offer some of her pack members to contribute to the hunt—idly, he shook his head. Not because he felt they were incapable—but simply… it was a matter of the creek. “I don’t plan on taking anyone with me,” he confided—perhaps unwisely. “Arric is going to be a father soon, I’m sure… Viinturuth would be more than willing to take out the man who hurt his niece. But…”

It was too much to ask.

And he felt a flicker of reluctance when she spoke that he could not do this as soon as he returned—because she was right. Mae couldn’t just be left alone.

Quiet acceptance shrouded over him—Viinturuth could scout the mans whereabouts in the meantime. Until then…

“What will I need to do to help her?” Herbs—guidance. Everything.

He could rest when he was dead. And given the size and ferocity of the man in the marsh… It was possible that his hourglass was nearly up.

Maybe it was unwise of her to push back against his disagreement now. The air between them was still so fragile. But for love of Mae, Reverie was unflinching as she brushed right over his question and countered firmly, Mae is family here, too. And you - you can't just go off hunting some giant by yourself. Have you thought at all about what would happen to her if you died? She - she's lost so much already - and I'm not her mother, Akavir. I'm doing as much as I can, but I'm just not. All she has is her father.

And if the cost of fighting for her to keep that was shattering the glass-woven peace between them, well — Reverie had never counted on Akavir's friendship anyway.

If you want to help her, don't take that from her. We'll talk about herbs in the morning. Just - just get some sleep. Please. For her.

Reverie took a step back, lingering only a few moments to let him say what he would. But she feared his anger all over again — and she was tired, and she wanted her daughters. She turned then, meaning to go to her den for the night.

Reverie’s take on it was a nice spin on matters—vehemence laced her voice, and she bore into him, stirring his own eyes to sharply look up to her own. The question was one that should truly only be posed to fathers who deserved their titles—men like Arric, perhaps.

Not fathers whose kids ran away from them.

Reverie stepped back—he could see exhaustion emanating from her, and he held his tongue—she made her mind clear on the matter, and he would allow that to settle between them. “Goodnight, Reverie,” he murmured as she began to turn—if she expected a scathing reply it would not come. Instead, he would drift over to the moss-covered ground next to a tree trunk—stiffly settling himself against it. Whether sleep came or not, all that was left was to wait until morning. Reverie could show him what he needed to know—and soon, they would return to the creek.

Goodnight, Reverie.

She hesitated, lingering a moment longer.

She really loves you, you know. You were all she talked about.

Was she jealous? Did she have any right to be? Mae wasn't truly her daughter, never had been, yet Reverie couldn't help but wish that she was (other implications notwithstanding). She hoped that Akavir understood how lucky he was.

Goodnight, Akavir.