Noctisardor Bypass I've got a distant memory of previous lives

Memories unbidden had woken Etienne from a groggy sleep. Suzu was tucked safely and securely a few feet away. She slept and he didn't want to wake her, with her growing new life and all. But Etienne couldn't calm his mind.

Gentle wakefulness to tell Suzu he'd be back. And he headed for rivenwood. He took the time to fell a rabbit and carried it in his masked maw. There was a distinct wildness to him now. As he and Suzu traveled.

A rangey motion and more agile figure than he had started to build, while at the sea. None of those good fish fat and grease. The Feathers he wound in his fur from suzu and Ava giving him a little bit of a crazier look and around his neck his pearl.

Golden eyes fell on the border and dropped the rabbit at his feet. He wouldn't wake them. But he took a moment to sniff the border smelling Heda and Amadeo and of course @Anselm.

A pang of longing rose up and jolted his chest leaving him to make a small pained gasp. But he shook his head. Stood still for a minute and stared beyond the borders fur ruffled around his shoulders. Nose in the wind.

Every now and then during patrol Anselm found himself analyzing his life so far. His hopes, his failures, his victories, his defeats. He could not fit Etienne into any one sector; and there were times his mind turned over to the seaborn against his consent. 

A warm wind carried through the pines, bringing Etienne’s scent to the ruinwood. For a time Anselm wrestled with what to do with this. At last his stubborn pride got the better of him, and he turned towards the borders with a scowl on his face. 

The Etienne that greeted him was different. The eyes were the same, but the fur, the condition, the feathers — all spoke of a tiring journey. Anselm steeled his heart against the pang of empathy he felt for his once-kill brother, reminding himself that Etienne had chosen this. Over him. Over Rivenwood. 

Vhat do you vant, Etienne? Anselm asked the man at his doorstep, unable to hide the bite of fatigue in his impatient tone.

Etienne didn't look at the world in the same way as others. He didn't consider things in his life as failures or victories. If something didn't work out. It was an attempt of something in a wrong way and one must simply try again.

Etienne's golden eyes fell upon a beloved face and the glare there stopped him cold. He was going to have to wrestle with the thought that things would never be the same. Very possible he had broken everything. And yet he knew he had too or he would have broken himself.

But the ratcheting up of his heart was still the same. The pang of longing still the same. He wondered briefly if that would ever go away; and would he mourn it's loss if it did.

He could hear the tiredness there in Anselm's voice and Etienne wondered at it. And wondered too should he say a word.

A raise of a wolfish brow and a look to the hare at his paws. Which he stepped back from.

I don't be wantin' anyt'ing. Brot you and yours food.

Etienne looked around and felt his heart pang of it's own accord and he lifted his head. He couldn't ignore the fatigue in the man's voice. Nor could he hide the concern in his voice when he spoke.

You be soundin' tired Anselm? You be takin' care of yourself okay? Yea?

Anselm didn't know what to expect, but when Etienne looked down at the hare and then stepped away, he was suddenly filled with a surge of irrepressible anger. Did Etienne think he was unable to fend for himself? Did he think Anselm stupid, or useless -- or worse, some doddard that needed constant care? What was the contractual nature of this offering -- was it meant to appease him, or set his guard down? And why? Why did Etienne do this -- and why did he care?!

Anselm bit the tip of his tongue so hard he felt a spark of pain and tasted iron. He trembled with the effort it took to bite back his tongue. 

But he could hold it no longer. I do not need your charity. Anselm barked, letting the dam that held back his ugliness break -- so that now a torrent of red hideousness rushed down from levy, flooding his senses. 

Don't pretend to care for me -- His face contorted in a snarl as he spat: You left -- you have no right to come here and pretend you care. Go, Etienne. Go before I lose my patience. Fighting back tears now, Anselm stepped forward with a show of teeth. Go!

Like a storm coming. Etienne saw the darkness gather on Anselms face and he felt fear skitter along his spine and then an almost grotesque calmness.

Etienne gathered himself together and lifted his head. A glitter of steel in the golden depths of his eyes. He was tired of this constant battle and that was what this love he held for the mountain born felt like, a war. And he always came out of it on the losing end.

You dare to call me a pretender, Anselm.

There was a cold bite to the words of the seaborn. His tail lashed behind him.

Dis is not some sort of pity prize! Dis is me bein' nice. Tryin' to be kind to someone dat I care about regardless of.

He bit it back. But oh he wanted to rage to tell Anselm that he had taken to bed a harlot of bigotry, that he had given and given and got nothing. But he would not be a victim.

I pretend nothin'! If I did not care for you I would not 'ave stayed and dealt wit' dey abuse over and over and over again! i would not 'ave stayed to smell the sick stench of female in 'eat all over you! I would not 'ave taken care of your wounds or your soul or your poor poor attitude. You sit Dere on your 'igh 'orse and you pretend you are dey victim! W'en you are dey perpetrator.

Etienne moved forward so fast he almost didn't know he was doing it.

You want to attack me Anselm! You want to take your pound of flesh because I left to take care of myself? Den you do it. Go ahead do it. Rip my throat out or beat me to a pulp. But you don't ever get to say I don't care. Because den you know not'ing. You want to know why i left. I left because i love you so muc' dat dey site of you wit 'eda made me sick. And it made me jealous and I 'ated 'er for it. And dat was an unkindness.

Etienne stood in the mountain borns space knowing he may get killed or hurt and not caring because he was tired of this go around.

Do it. He snarled. An uncharacteristic lift of his lip, pearly fangs showing. A hard cold stare.

So much was brought into the tense air between them that Anselm reeled from each forceful word. It was as if Etienne was a storm and he the parched crops below; but for all of the storm's threatening of sweet summer rain, it blew past and his fields were left singed and bitter.

Anselm croaked out a laugh; first, that this was Etienne being nice -- then the acrid mirth lost its pall as Etienne wedged the truth right between the thorns of Anselm's protective heart.

His pupils darkened as he registered what had been shared. Any tenderness that moment could hold was drowned by a deluge of fury -- this was not how people loved! This was not --

Etienne swept forward, a taunt in that steely gleam of golden gaze. Anselm's fur stood on end as he felt that old, familiar emotion curl like a content cat around his sunken chest: contempt.

Etienne's admission threatened his very being, for it exposed a part of Anselm that existed in spite of all attempts to eliminate it. In Anselm duality warred -- and in Anselm, every tower was crumbling.

He looked like he might strike, his teeth bared with a serpent's ire -- but in the end, something shadowed his face and every part of him seemed to take two steps back. If that is vhat your love feels like, Etienne, I vant no part of it. He grit, lifting his chin so that the seaborn might see his throat and know he was fearless. And fuck off - I'm not gay. A lie, he knew -- but truth and love held no quarter in the gruesome court of his withering heart.

Etienne could no more stop the words than stop the frightful pounding of his heart. It was painful. It was searing. It was awful.

Each word that he forced past teeth each tense movement. It was like ripping a scab off of old wounds. Now new pain and old pain mixed and it was horrible. It burned and it stung. But it was the truth.

But what he said didn't matter. Because Anselm proved yet again that he didn't care one whit about the seaborn that loved him.

Etienne curled his lip an uncharacteristic glare on his face. It not be mine Anselm. It be yours. Sucks doesn't it.

Etienne nodded his head. I 'ope you find 'appiness Anselm. Because if not you will die alone and bitter. A victim to the last.

Etienne twitched his tail and blinked. The corners of his golden eyes wet.

Goodbye Anselm.

Then he turned and walked away. Head held high. His stomach twisting in knots. His heart absolutely breaking. But he held onto what dignity he could muster. He would break down later.

It not be mine Anselm. It be yours. Sucks doesn't it.

Lobbed his way like a spiteful crone's curse. He's right and Anselm doesn't even need to think of Heda to know it. Now his only salvation was his children; if he could love them, maybe -- just maybe -- he could come to love himself.

If he wanted to, he could unzip Etienne's proud heart from spine. He could lay waste to the man and let him marinate in his own desolation -- he could do so many awful and hideous things that his muscles tensed in memory-knowledge of it.

But in the end he could muster no rebuttal. There was no lie in Etienne's words. No tall barrier in which to lodge one's wallspike into, to systematically climb and destroy. Truth was a smooth surface, its exterior impermeable.

Anselm stood tall just long enough for Etienne's figure to disappear. It wasn't the words -- or the profession of love -- that cut into Anselm today. It was that single glittering tear etched against that golden gaze.

Knowing he had cut Etienne deep to inspire it.

Knowing he was unlovable, and Etienne loved him still.

And knowing there were parts of him that he denied, that Etienne saw the truth in.

Anselm loosened a long held sigh that cavorted across his lungs as a whimper. He turned and did not revisit this spot.