Moonspear raised high, brought low

All of her afternoon's hunts had failed so far and she craved something fresh. This, along with the rising temperatures (and humidity) began to steer her a path towards the nearest creek. She felt sluggish, hot, and cranky, meanwhile hoping a good long drink would help quell at least a bit of the hunger raking at her belly.

When she reached the waters, she submerged her paws immediately and drank deep. After resurfacing with a long sigh, she splashed her underbelly then neck, but still didn't feel notably satisfied or cooled off much. Instead, a vaguely concerning realization followed in which she felt almost feverish -- but at least this time it wasn't quite nauseousness yet. Hunger was outvoting that, it seemed. On this, she attempted not to dwell.

Feeling so sapped of energy did nothing to improve her mood, either. She gave a frustrated huff and lowered her rump to the earth at the shaded edge of the water -- where she could keep her paws beneath the coolly running water still. Halfheartedly, she looked for fish, knowing that small minnows were likely her best bet here in this small waterway, but that was no meal. If she was lucky, she'd find a frog.. and time passed to still yield nothing. But, she didn't feel compelled enough to move yet.

It was near torture seeing Amekaze so deflated and lacking in energy. To see her so wounded was like salt to his own wounds, rubbed in ever so slowly and painfully over time. This was a wound that did not heal so easily; worse even than the death of Ragnar or the disappearance of Levi. Perhaps matched only by Dhole's insolent run-away action. He wanted blood on his teeth, he wanted power, he wanted control.

Part of him blamed her for it, blamed Flóki — if not only to ignore the blame that he, himself, held in all of this — for they had accepted Lazarus here. She had lavished in his attentions and now this had come of it. Charon knew he and Flóki should have ran Lazarus from the pack after his first move of insolence. There had been many opportunities, yet it had never happened, and for that, they were all to blame. But most of all he blamed his mate, for the insolent asshat had listened to her, and she had accepted his insolence for it. He'd grown soft because of that, trustig her judgement, and so had Flóki. None of them had guessed what would come of it, but here it was, and he could not stir the feeling of disgust as he laid eyes on her in the stream.

A mixture of relief — for she was alone and alright — and disgust — for it reminded him of what had happened, it rubbed more salt in his wound — flooded him as he saw her. He did not know whether he wished to hold her close or to chew her out for her poor judgement more.

For some time he just stood and watched her with a hardened expression on his face, standing by the shoreline not far away. It wasn't clear whether he was standing guard, making sure she was not hurt, or if he was simply afraid of what closeness would bring and kept his distance purposely and fearfully. Especially because he remembered what happened to Flóki and Dhole.

The steady motion of the waters eased her just a little, for the sight, sensation, and sound of it all was relaxing.. however, while easy to do, just sitting here, it was unproductive. A twist of her hungry stomach reminded her, tried to motivate her, but she didn't act on it. Instead, she felt a very weighted gaze on her.

He loomed on the edges of her awareness first. She did not make a move, either, curious to see why he was here in silence, watching her do nothing at all. Although pieces of her knew, or could hazard a handful of damn good guesses, she did still want to reach out for him. He suffered too (beyond his physical wounds) and she knew it, keenly so, yet all she could do was press onward with or without. Time wasn't standing still for either of them. 

However with her mood tending towards stormy courtesy the last few hours of bad hunts, she was not at her best nor brightest and leveled him with a curiously questioning look back for now. If he intended to stay here, was that it? She chuffed quietly in greeting -- a small invitation that he could take or leave. She would welcome him, but did not know if he would extend the same back.

For what seemed like an eternity, they exchanged nothing but a gaze. It was one that he could drown in, one that carried a torn love and a painful vulnerability. The door was at a crack, a slit of light through the door teasing him to invitingly. It felt like all of the lust and love he had felt for the weeks of her heat had evaporated, and he did not know if it was simply the absence of hormones or something deeper that had changed this.

He stood and watched, locking gazes for a long time, his expression hardened, like a feelingless sentinel, not allowing his pain to show. He was not sure if he hid how he felt because he needed to be the strong one, make sure everyone knew everything was alright even when it wasn't. Or maybe it was something deeper, something more subconscious; a fear that if he showed his pain, he would inevitably also show the resentment he felt towards her and Flóki — perhaps even himself, but that was one that would likely only surface at the very end, when there was no one else left to blame — for allowing this to happen.

It had to have been minutes — but felt like hours — before he eventually poked his nose through that crack of light and came into motion. His movements felt unnatural and scripted as he slowly walked towards the water. He felt nothing but numbness as his paws hit the stream's cold water and as it lapped at his stomach as he drew closer through the water. He halted, far enough away, but perhaps too far, and looked at her in silence, then looked at the water as though hoping he might be able to catch something to eat. Fish tasted rubbish, but it would be a good diversion away from anything that resembled coping.

At once, there was nothing and so very much. He did not need to say anything. She knew, or could perceive something close enough to knowing to get her the general idea. After all, her own depths existed between the lines as well yet knowing all of this only felt like an icy chill. He ached. The only solace she could find was in that he lived, persevered, and now she felt like the distance that spanned between them she could not cut straight through to cross. It was result of a long string of disappointments, one right after the next and each worse, and that was enough to wear her down to the bone.

She would not press it now though, she didn't have the energy to tax herself on it. He moved towards the water and when he did, her ears flicked forward before resettling back to halfway splayed as she watched him and the water bend gracefully around his legs -- all in all, a welcome distraction, even with the space he kept from her. He seemed poised to fish and she caught herself looking forward to his potential success (even though she had not seen anything worth catching, let alone eating), maybe even greedily so, or that was just the ugliness of a picky hunger rearing its head. 

She watched him for a while, almost wanting to slip into comfortable contentedness because that once felt just right -- had everything not been skewed, of course, but eventually she pulled herself up and out into the stream too. After a soft sigh, she edged closer to him. Not by much, but she assumed her own spot in the waters near his, glancing between the current and him. "Only saw minnows from the shore," she mentioned quietly, almost off-hand.

He felt himself stiffen when she drew nearer, drawing herself from the shallows a bit deeper into the river. She kept her distance and it made him feel that his own distance had been appropriate. He watched her briefly, although the glances he stole felt almost inappropriate, as though they may be too much to bear for her. Ears perked in her direction momentarily before falling to the side, splaying in near-uncertainty and he looked back to the water, as though he was back to looking for fish. In truth, while his eyes watched the water, his mind watched his tattered soul, trying to find ways to fix the holes that current events had left in his heart.

The words were almost too much when she spoke, like a hammer breaking a glass wall; her words the hammer and the glass wall the peace that had fallen between them. She said nothing, nothing of importance. Charon didn't remember ever hearing Ame say nothing of importance, small talk. She only spoke when it mattered, and every time she spoke her words made sense.

There was little sense in her words now, for he had eyes to see; to see that there were mostly minnows flitting around them, to see that she hadn't caught and eaten a fish. Yet these thoughts remained in his head, the outside of his face blank, having found himself the purpose of fishing. He wanted to say something — anything — for with her words she had broken the peaceful existance they had created wordlessly between them, she had outspoken her desire for words between them. He was not sure if she wanted them there to have anything between them, to keep the distance, or because she wanted the closeness back, wanted them to be able to speak freely.

But when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a low, hummed "hmm-hm." He kept his gaze on the watery wall between them; not much distance to cross, and yet so very much. From a distance, the scene could look serene and sweet, like an old couple that just shuffled about, looking at this thing and that. But the truth was far from it. He just didn't know what to say to her. He wanted to fix her, but he was also angry at her, at everyone who had stood by and let it happen. And he couldn't change it now. There was no easy fix. He didn't want to push her away, and yet she felt so very far away. Yet any step closer would make him feel as though it was too close, as though he should take more distance, as if he was making her uncomfortable, fear of the closeness arose, and so he was stuck where he stood.

Charon lazily swatted a paw at some of the minnows, as if hoping they would make place for something bigger. He wanted to get her some food, so that he could at least do that for her, but somehow even that seemed like a task he could not manage.

He looked at her again, briefly, before averting his eyes and wondering, a hoarse tone to his first word due to disuse, "Are you expecting?" Because he thought she would be, what with the culmination of their mateship, and she looked bigger than before; but she would know better than he.

Her limp offering at words fell unsurprisingly flat and she didn't feel like picking up all the pieces of it -- not right now, not with his walls up firm and her torn between wanting so, so badly to be with him, like it was, full of life and passions, and just slinking back off to her solitudes to mind her own business wherever she ended up. She didn't want this chilly distance between them -- him and her. The bitter taste it left didn't help any, either, and she glared at the waters to will the nausea away before it could take its hold.

 Her ears swung back and his reply was barely more than a grunt, so she made note and narrowed her eyes at the waters. Nothing worth catching swam by. Still she watched, although less intent and only kept together by the hunger continually bugging her that was beginning to feel poorly placed; how could she have any appetite with things as they were?

Yet his question straightened her and this subject matter was one she knew was very inevitable, and very important. For the time, he would be the only one privy to the details, as she believed it concerned him first and foremost. The pack could go ahead and assume all they wanted. It would be obvious soon enough, anyway. She didn't even want to discuss it much with the more medically-inclined wolves yet so to avoid unnecessary hassle about it --although there was an appeal in hearing some fresh guidance on what to expect, she could do without it to learn on her own anyway. It was her body, and her whelps in question. "I believe so," she answered with a nod, one that trailed her sights up onto his scarred face to see how this news may settle. She crept a step and a half closer to just test it, but it was not with any real vigor that she closed in on him.

Nevertheless, symptoms indeed pointed to yes -- their efforts had been successful, and assuming nothing else went awry, the Spear should greet its next generation shortly. Her own inexperience be damned, she doubted the overactive bladder, fickle appetite, and sour stomach were caused by anything else. Plus she knew she'd gained weight -- some of which was replacing what the famine had taken from her, but not all. There was something different about it, too.

When the words eventually came from her mouth, Charon was not sure whether to be happy or not. He wanted so badly to believe it was a good thing. He wanted to be a father, was eager to further his legacy — their legacy — but that was before... Now everything seemed so fragile that he was not sure he was ready to add children into the mix. And what if they looked like him, rather than Charon? He was afraid that the puppies, if they weren't his, would only further the resentment and blame he felt towards Amekaze for what'd happened.

And so the first thought of reply that came to mind was are they mine? He opened his mouth to speak the words but they refused to come out, and so he answered with a simple "ah." As if she had just mentioned that she'd picked up a rabbit on her way home, or that she'd patrolled the southern borders so he didn't have to. He swallowed dryly because he knew he couldn't ask her all of the questions present, ready to roll off his tongue, for she didn't know the answers to them. She would not know whether or not they were his until they were born, until they were older, until they'd be a few months' old and started to resemble either parent... Or a third party.

The thought of having a pup that looked like Lazarus made him mad, and he didn't know what to do with that feeling. He would have to love the crap out of these pups no matter what happened. He waved through the water off-handedly, swallowing again as he near drowned in his thoughts, and closed his eyes briefly. To an outsider, he might look like he was enjoying the water and this cool, relaxing summer's day, but the truth was far from it.

"I'm looking forward to meeting them," he said, his voice hoarse and not full of any form of enthusiasm. He was terrified to meet them — his pups, their pups — but he could not divulge such information to his mate. He didn't want to be afraid. He didn't want to be unsure of how close he could get. He desired the closeness and he desired for things to be normal.

Yet they were not, and never would be. "Are... Are you hungry? I could look for food." Anything to get away from here, he thought, then felt guilty, then felt mad at her because she made him feel guilty. He wanted to help her through this, but found that he simply could not, because he would always put his own hurt first. And, what with being unable to find Lazarus' body so far — whether because he could not access the exact point that his broken body lay or because he'd somehow gotten away — he had no way to process it, for all he wanted was revenge. As if that would somehow make it better. As if that would somehow mend his torn pride, his broken ego, and the terror he knew his mate was going through.

All he wanted was for things to be normal, and for her not to turn into Dhole and run away. She was stronger than Dhole, but would it be enough? He looked at her and exhaled sharply, wishing things would not end the same way between them.

After she'd said it aloud, a weighty admission like that marking a great change to come, she felt unfamiliar nerves begin to rile. She licked the backs of her teeth, fighting any unease back down as fast as she could. It made her realize how much banked on his reaction, and when it was borderline indifferent, her eyes narrowed in a deeper, far more unspoken question. She could think of practically infinite reasons why he may worry because she did as well, but she felt herself quickly zeroing in on one in particular that would concern him above all things.

None of it settled well with her. Not knowing.. how this may pan out, exactly, was unnerving. From her own health to these little extensions of herself (of unknown number, genetic makeup, and status, no less) she was building. It was strange. All of it, and his coldness was not helping any at all, leading her to believe she likely was right to keep consider keeping distance because she was better off. And thinking that stung. She still believed they would be his. He was the first, her first, and had been attentive to her during the season before Lazarus had come upon her. While he was young, she had seen him grow even during her many moons with him at her side, and time tangled into his embrace had been loving and passionate. Lazarus.. she preferred not to dwell on because it was a lot to recall and hoped that by whatever powers existed in this universe, that her body would see to making this right. Odds had to be greater in Charon's favor.

He had been far more interested in this idea before, perhaps even more than her although she recognized that her bloodline needed perpetuated into the future -- the efforts of all her ancestors would not go to waste on her, so when his words and tone contrasted as they did, she was getting wary. She didn't like that, although nodded when she somewhat felt like barring her teeth instead. It was small, a tiny gesture that he might miss entirely.

"Always, lately," she half shrugged, although tried to ease the hardness out of her stare just some to slight success. At a normal time, a smirk should have punctuated this all, she believed. "My hunts were poor today," she sighed and was loathe to admit it to him here and now feeling so sourly about everything. She wouldn't make him do this for her, not if he was going to make this worse than it needed to be. Hunger or hunting for her own may just be easier than dealing with him.

"...are you worried?" she asked after a thick pause, and prepared to really not like what followed just in case. It could have been a chance to let the subject shift in full, or it could circle it right back around to exactly where it hurt. She had to find something.

When she said that she was hungry and that her hunts had been poor, he nodded and offered, "I will go look for some." Yet her question pierced his departure and he stiffened at it, because he did not know the answer. Perhaps if he had known this conversation was going to be this difficult he would not have joined her in the water. Perhaps he was too young to understand the full gravity of everything that had happened, too impatient to wait for things to calm down so that she would be truly his again. It would get better — but he wanted it better now.

He didn't want this conversation. He felt the urge to flee, he felt the urge to just jump at her and have her, like they used to, like he should because he was the fucking damned alpha male. This thought scared him, and when he felt his penis roll out in the water at the thought, he was quick to turn away so that she would hopefully not see it.

He swallowed thickly and said, "I don't know... Should I be?" He awkwardly lifted a hind paw so that he may hold it in front of the exposed horrid thing, because he imagined it would only bring offence to her now should she see it. Fear, maybe, even, if he considered how fragile Dhole had been when she... "I guess we just need time." He craned his neck as though wanting to touch her face, but he fell short in distance and considering his current condition he didn't dare move, lest she might see it, if she hadn't already.

By volunteering to find her something, he inspired a mixed response and maybe, her stomach would win that round. She nodded again, almost feeling her mouth open to say something about what she'd observed so far on the hunting, what sort of appealed to her anyway, so on and so forth but instead all she could do was draw her lips into a stiff line.

Nevertheless, it did appear she had struck him somehow but there was no telling by his silence how exactly that would be. She was tense waiting to see it play out and he seemed awkward, turning away and all. "I am, somewhat." Amekaze admitted alongside a frown. Which to a degree, felt natural. This was all new and she proceeded without noteworthy guidance into the unknown. She worried about her health, theirs, her viability as a mother.. just for starters. "But I do wonder if.. not for the same reasons you would worry," she offered with a squint, one that drifted towards his lifted leg when he did it. She did not understand, immediately, and she only caught the briefest of glances at his exposed bit -- which arced her brow and posed several more questions, the first of which was if she had seen right. She splayed her ears at him, perplexed.

Time, though. Just time. She knew it was true in part for her. What she could not yet understand was what he needed from this to mend, if anything. Would finding Lazarus' dead or alive help? Or was he going to keep up the strange indifference towards her for good? "If you think time will help you," she quipped with a small nod and began to move from the water as well. Once on dry land, she shook her fur and hid her grimace the best she could. She didn't move towards him after, although paused to look long and hard at him like there was something more she was supposed to say. A piece of her waited for him to go on first; he'd said he'd hunt, after all.

He wondered if she had seen, if that was why she was leaving. Would she be offended by it, or only flattered? He nodded as she announced her departure. He'd find her food to bring her later.

"Hey, I... I do love you, you know." He didn't remember if he'd ever told her that. He remembered telling her she was his. But not if he had ever said this.

After that he departed from the water, like she, and cast a glance backward before he went off to cool his body down and search for food for his mate.

This encounter had troubled her enough. On an already thinned patience, this was treacherous ground underfoot. With ups and down, she was plenty justified in feeling quite done here.

But here he was poised and ready to inspire conflict in her heart. He'd made her feel more shut down than before, then gone on to make her wary about his own reception of her pregnancy, then turned around to speak of.. love, and with his dick out no less. Amekaze could generally pride herself on a good grasp on most things, or at least some semblance of an understanding because she could resonate with the nature of the beast, but this was apparently not one of those times.

His words made her pause her steps. It felt like hesitation. Her chest burned and she made a little noise -- one between a whine and a possessive growl. She loved that speckled yearling far too much for even her own good, so she hated feeling her mouth be too dry to even make words. She'd never understand why, completely. He was fierce, he reminded her of the reality and the ruthless beauty of life when she threatened to drift away into the ether.

And he was hers even after all things, the first to be bold enough to stand alongside her and perhaps the most consequential bond she'd ever built. Nothing that had gone on with Lazarus alone would change it for her, but she did not know if he still felt the same towards her because of him, and she would not waste her energy when the exchange was not equal, not when she had better uses for it now.

She was hurt, too. It was not only him. Amekaze moved on then slipped away in silence, leaving a fading trail of wet pawprints.