Firefly Glen and time breaks your heart

Akavir

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Morwenna tried her best to feign an innocence after meeting such a young girl. It had her heart swelter, grow three times its size, and remind her that her life was not behind her. Her children, bless their hearts, were in a better place— and they would want the same for her mother, instead of a shell of a ghost wandering the dense forests.

A ghost no longer, she'd become opaque. Seen.

But not in the way she thought. The woman tred through the grove, finding the path that the young girl had taken was not for her. She was tempted to sway her opinion, insist that she'd come with her, but thought it to be moot. Maybe she would see her again— maybe.

With a heavy sigh, the woman continued to make her way through the forest. She stopped at a stream, bending her head down and glancing at her reflection.

What have you become? When she found no answer, she let out a deep sigh.

for timeline/simplicity sake, I'm going to assume this is set before this thread if that's okay?

Commotion is something he is accustom to—at least from time to time. Yet the consistency of it since their arrival in the glen was overwhelming at best, and the darkened wolf trailed along a quieter path for the moment, the sound of laughter and voices becoming distant enough he could ignore them.

He slowed—the loom of trees withholding the brightness of the sun, though they did not fully block the chill of the autumn air. Leaves crunched beneath his paws, but that was not enough noise to drown out the sudden loud sigh.

He paused mid-step—gaze narrowing as he focused—his muzzle canting lightly as he realized the other was not far from him, and he was not alone as he had once assumed.

Shifting, Akavir pulled back the foliage of a crimson red bush, eyes capturing the form of a stranger, staring into her reflection in the water.

He missed the creek.

Clearing his throat, the Mayfair lifted himself higher—gaze wandering from her to study the stream, as if that made his sudden presence less imposing. “Are you trying to escape the chaos out there, too?”

of course!

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Morwenna hadn't heard him. The noise in her head rang loudly as her reflection stared back at her. It was futile how hard she attempted to right her wrongs, they seemed to find her again, again, and again. Needless to say, she was tired. Exhausted from the breaches of her mind, and longed for a purpose to drive her mad.

A short gasp left her throat as she was caught with her guard down. She swatted the water to muddle the clear reflection she saw, and spun from her seated position.

Across from her was a male bigger than herself. Older, by assumption, given the notable scars dappled along his body. Namely the slash across his face.  I... she breathed, alarmed but calmed by his disposition. Yes, it seems that way.

He seemed stressed. Troubled. Morwenna didn't mind the company— nor the welcome of death. Whatever he chose, she'd certainly welcome it. Sit, if you wish. I do not own this stream. And could use company, but the words were held by her tongue.

He startled her, despite his best efforts not to—inwardly, he flinched—outwardly, he remained stoical as he studied the woman. She gathered herself quickly and extended an invitation for him to sit. It defeated the purpose of seeking solitude—but given the sighs she had loosed earlier, he wondered if perhaps it was company that she craved.

The lightest tilt of his head was the acquiescence he gave before pulling the brush back fully to move through, his own humbled sigh barely slipping past his lips before he settled to a sit. “Akavir, of Swiftcurrent Creek,” he offered then, his pale champagne eyes falling upon the marking upon her forehead. “Which pack are you from?”

Morwenna was delighted when the male decided to accept her invitation. It wouldn't have been the end of things for her if he hadn't, she'd been on a streak of losses as of late. It was the little things that sparked enjoyment back into her life, and who knew, it came right here with the shadow-y man. 

His eyes had been like pools of muted gold. When she looked at him, his comment about his name and pack she presumed, it felt endearing to speak to another wolf. Someone who didn't know who she was upon first glance, gasp, mock her, judge her for her actions. Here, she was no queen. Here, she was just...Morwenna.

Morwenna. Well acquainted, Sir Akavir. His name was foreign on her tongue, not like those she'd grown up around. But that's the thing— she wasn't home. And that was the best part about all of this. 

I have no...pack. The word 'pack' was toilsome when she spoke. She'd been from Kingdoms, courts, but here...life, almost, felt simpler. Your pack is...S-Swiftcurrent Creek? Her head tilted to the side, deciphering what he meant, though her voice remained gentle, solemn, afraid to wake the peeping frogs from the waterbed.

He blinked sharply at the use of ‘sir,’ swallowing the amusement that had begun to curl at the corner of his lips as his eyes fell directly upon her now. “Ah—Sir sounds far too gentlemanly to be used in the context of my name,” he bemused aloud—with an unshakable moral ground that did not always align with others and a firm law of ‘tooth and claw,’ ‘Sir’ seemed far too much a stretch. 'Asshole' was usually used within the same sentence, though. “Am I to call you Miss Morwenna?”

It was a gentle tease—though the somber air about her was something that maybe became more apparent at her mention of no pack. A lone wolf then, who had just stumbled upon the large hunt?

“Yes,” he clarified, uncertain if she was simply placing the name to memory or if she had somehow heard of them. The latter might not always be in their best interest. “So you’re not part of this hunt the Moon tribes have organized?”

Oh— it appears they do not use formal titles here. Morwenna cleared her throat, embarrassed, but glad to heed his honesty to adapt her tongue. She did, however, find it amusing that he offered a rebuttal to her vernacular. It brought a smile to the woman's face.

Only when it suits you, Akavir.

And then he confirmed her suspicions of his origins. Committing the name to memory, she nodded. But she hadn't a single clue about the pack hunt going on in these lands now— Gods, how could she have stumbled across such a territorial zone?

Oh? Her voice came a little louder, as if she were finding her courage from within. No. No, I...am quite new here. I hadn't a clue there was such events going on.

She felt like a burden.

If this is your kind way of asking me to leave, it's no issue—

An ear flickered idly to what he thought was laughter in the far distance—but the solitude where they both sat was what truly spoke to him in that moment. Still, when she spoke, there was a hesitancy—not necessarily one of shyness, and he blinked in surprise at her offer to leave.

“If anyone asks you to leave, you can remind them this land doesn’t belong to anyone,” he offered, feeling a certain fire at the notion one would be brazen enough. Many packs gathered—surely, none of them were so arrogant?

“Though if you’re looking to find a place to settle for the winter, you’ve an interesting opportunity of many different pack leaders here to talk to.” If she were so inclined—his eyes traced her own gaze,  a brow arching. “If you were hoping to just find some quiet introspection… Well, looks like it might be poor timing, coming here,” he finalized, the faintest trace of a smirk pressing to his lips.

Morwenna noted that this land hadn't belonged to anyone. She thought so, given by the surplus of mingling scents wafting through the air, but she could never be too careful. It's moments like these where hubris often overcomes her, and she is met with tooth and claw. 

But with the shadowed gentlemen, Akavir, she got a smile. A smirk, if you'd prefer. 

Her face visibly brightened at his suggestion— she supposed she was in the perfect spot to find a home for the winter, or the years to come. Morwenna was a deeply loyal individual, and didn't find the benefit of crowd surfing other's hard worked achievements. 

Morwenna gave a soft laugh, her gaze drifting thoughtfully over the landscape as he spoke. 

Quiet introspection? Here? It seems I may have misjudged the season’s charm, she quipped, a hint of mischief in her eyes. I suppose I’ll need a sharper wit than usual to claim my spot if I'm to survive the winter here undisturbed.

Her expression softened slightly as she looked back to him, the flicker of humor remaining. Though, it seems I’ve wandered into quite the marketplace of pack leaders, haven’t I? I’d hate to seem… eager. She gave a mock sigh, rolling her eyes with exaggerated exasperation. 

I'd like to meet one. If you know any.

He withheld a huff of amusement—her own laugh and the way her features seemed shifted seemed to imply she was less uncomfortable now. “Sharp wit is highly recommended in these areas,” he warned, his own tone bordering on teasing.

Wit and humor—otherwise, how else could one face the mundane day to day tasks? The darkness that was pushed upon them all, at one point or another?

Her inquiry drew a soft rumble from his throat as he considered, eyes briefly gazing skyward in thought. “The packs that have come are from across many regions. From Rising Sun Valley—where my own home is—there are two other packs: Kvarsheim, and Bearclaw Valley. To the south from there, a desert, where Muat-riya is claimed. They are… a secondary home to the wolves of Akashingo—highly religious. A kingdom, I suppose. These two packs have just left the gathering—there is news they are under attack. There is now a call of arms to assist them,” he continued, his eyes drifting downward to once more seek her out—was she a warrior? Or did her skills lie elsewhere?

“Closer to here, there are the Moonpacks. Three different villages—each have their own sanctioned leader, but it seems the one they call Kukutux, or ‘Moonwoman,’ is the figurehead of them. A matriarch. They are the ones who have organized this hunt for the packs in these lands to mingle and meet one another. They are traders, mostly.”

“Brecheliant and Sun Mote Copse make up the other two closer to here—the former was a pack I was once in, years ago… When my mate was alive.” His tongue clicked against his teeth—his jaw clenching before he continued on, unwilling to dwell on the topic for now. “I don’t know much about the latter, to be honest.” They seemed quiet—small.

“Near the coast, somewhere, a pack called Sapphique. I don’t know much about them, either.”

Morwenna’s gaze softened as Akavir spoke, her eyes tracing the sky as if reflecting on his words. It sounds as if you’ve seen all corners of these lands, Akavir, she murmured, voice rich with quiet intrigue. But these places—the kingdoms, the hierarchies… the structure of it all seems like such a weight. A faint sigh escaped her, and she looked away, shadows of her past flickering in her eyes. Religion, royalty—there was a time I was wrapped up in it all, but I've had enough of crowns and titles to last me a lifetime. I’d hoped this gathering might bring something… simpler.

She looked to him again, her expression softening with a hint of vulnerability. I’m sorry to hear of your mate. Loss is its own kind of kingdom, isn’t it? Not one I’d wish for any soul. She paused, letting the sentiment settle before her voice grew lighter, warmer. But... maybe that’s the hope for all of us, really. A chance to leave the burdens behind, to start over. To write a new story.

Morwenna let her gaze linger on him, studying his expression with a caring warmth that softened her sharp edges. But enough of my old ghosts—tell me of Rising Sun Valley, Swiftcurrent Creek, she urged gently, her voice carrying a tender, almost maternal note, as if inviting him to share whatever burdens he carried. Surely a place you’ve chosen to return to has some hold on you… perhaps something that feels like home, even with all that’s been lost?

She leaned a little closer, her voice softening further. I imagine there’s something in those lands that offers you peace—or at least a place to lay down some of that heaviness, maybe even find a bit of comfort. Her eyes searched his, warm and sincere. It’s good to have somewhere to return to. And perhaps, in time, you’ll find that those old wounds have a way of mending when you’re where you’re meant to be.