Emberwood Living in a wasteland

For @Tvar !!

When the man had gone, Marina finished digging her den, brushed the last of the loose dirt from its floor, and settled inside. Here she would wait out the remainder of her season — in peace, she hoped, or as close to it as she could get. The ghosts of lost memories were never far behind her.

She closed her eyes and remembered the fiery sunset eyes of a man she'd once loved. His name was lost to her now, but she knew this man had not been hers to love anyway, or else her throat would not feel so tight when she thought of him. Her chest wouldn't ache so much.

Marina wiped her tears away and crept restlessly from the den. Why waste her time mourning? So she'd loved him once, and perhaps he'd loved her too, but what did that matter now? The heart wandered often, following its own whims, but in the end everyone was forced to choose. Whatever choices he might have made, she was not among them.

She was here, after all. Alone.

contemplation had led tvar away from bearclaw, if only for a few days, once he had ensured @Towhee Jr was well out of her heat. he needed to clear his mind.

if anything, to come to terms with what had happened between the two of them. and what it meant for the future.

tvar had been roaming the outskirts of the meadow, when he caught her scent—and as of a result cursed beneath his breath. he was torn, a fraying string. he knew he should go any other way but towards her, but black paws fell into step.

a pale figure beneath the bare branches of a tree. instinct won out and he came closer. no words left his mouth, he only watched. ignoring the burning beneath his coat, stinging and nipping at his taut muscles.

fortunately, it's easy enough to see reason. instead of descending upon her like some wild beast with no common sense, tvar calls out a soft chuff. a greetings. she can meet it, but he wouldn't blame her if she ignored him.

Another man, this time stonewrought; goldfinished. Marina was no more impressed by his arrival than the last. She searched for the sparkle of good humor in his eyes and found them flat; she looked for the pleasant lines of a storyteller around his mouth, and her own lips only tightened. What could she possibly want with him?

She took a step closer at his call, looking him over only once. You belong to a pack, Marina pointed out blandly, as if continuing a round of perfunctory small talk. If he took it as his cue to leave, she wouldn't stop him, but there was a faint stirring of curiosity behind her dark eyes. Perhaps she'd been alone too long.

he dips his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. i do, he says, looking upon her with numb eyes. bearclaw valley, just southeast of here.

his gaze shifts, tracing her form briefly before settling on the crude shelter she'd carved into the earth. for a moment, he considers the effort it must’ve taken to dig it alone. in attempt to lighten the mood: a soft huff escapes him as he gestures toward the dugout with a small tilt of his muzzle. that what you call a den?

Bearclaw Valley.

She nodded as if the name meant anything to her, yet the lack of familiarity was its own sort of comfort. It meant that her instincts were right. Wherever the life she'd left behind was, it wasn't here. Whether that was good or bad she didn't yet know, but at least she knew something.

Are you the local den inspector, then? Her eyebrow raised. She didn't wait for a response. For now it is, Marina continued, her eyes fixed to him even as she watched him glance at the den behind her. Eventually I'll have to move on.

there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes at her quip about being a den inspector. he offers her a relenting, lower of his head, as if to say touché.

so, he turns halfway towards her, black paws heavy upon the ground, and offers her a flick of his tail in acknowledgement. why do you wander, instead of finding a pack to run with? a question he raises her in return.

curious eyes upon her, followed by the quirk of a brow. he knows the solitude of wandering, but he also knows the warmth of camaraderie. perhaps it’s that contrast that makes him ask—not to pry, but to understand.

Marina shook her head, refuting not his question but the idea that choice was involved at all. Anywhere I could go - it wouldn't truly be my place. Anything I could find wouldn't truly be mine. I had a life already, I remember that much, Her blue eyes were somber. A husband, children. A sister-wife. I can almost see their faces, but I can't recall their names.

No one chooses to be a ghost. Life slips out of our grasp no matter how tightly we hold to it.

Marina looked away from him, unwilling to speak the rest of her thoughts. There was nothing left but to try to find her children, if she could — to make sure that they were safe. That they could thrive without her. Perhaps that was why death had refused to take her even when she'd been so horribly battered by the sea; who was a god to stand against the love and fury of a mother?

he feels a faint pang of sympathy as he listens to what she says. loss and longing. he'd been there before, more times than he could count. i’m sorry, he mutters with a solemn blink of his eyes, but he doesn’t pretend to understand the depth of her grief.

but her words move him to sentiments. there’s a place for everybody, you just have to find it. bearclaw... it’s that place for everybody, if you’re open to it. feels like a family.

he huffs softly, a visible plume of breath curling into the cold air. as he speaks, he knows it’s time to return. his duty, his pack—they call to him, as they always do.

if you ever find yourself looking for a home, he adds. come find me.