Firefly Glen watch the flames burn auburn on the mountainside

@Mara Susi
note: I got permission from Methuselah's player to find him dead

 

The golden king had not tracked the days since his fall; amidst his pain, his loneliness, he could not bring his awareness outside of himself. He was lost. Cast from his rightful place in spirit and in body, sent spiraling through the darkness of uncertainty. He had no home to which he could return, no lover to pour his worries to, no brother for him to lean on. Jerrik was alone.
He had scrambled blindly, brokenly from his would-be tomb, and with his first gasping breaths of frigid air he had sobbed. The scents of his beloved companions were nowhere near, and he was badly injured. But that-- that was days ago. Maybe more than days. He couldn't quite remember. In fact, he found he couldn't remember many things... what was his love's name? His brother's name? His home? Jerrik knew he missed these things terribly, but could not recall them; this was the most painful of all the feelings.
The golden king was not roused from his clouded state until he found the first sign. Fur in the snow, black as night and carrying an achingly familiar scent. He ran. Jerrik followed the trail recklessly, without regard for his surroundings or his present state. Heart racing, eyes alight, he prepared the things he would say-- he would never, ever let the other out of his sight again. Though his brain still ached when he tried to remember more than simple things about the wolf who possessed this scent, he did know that he knew him-- and he loved him. He was so caught up in these thoughts, mindlessly following the scent trail, that a startled yelp escaped him when his paws hit something in the snow. It was stiff, but... strangely textured.
Jerrik put his nose down to the lump under the snow, then pulled away sharply, eyes suddenly wide and glazed. No, no, no no, no. That smell. He knew that smell.
No. It came out half-whispered, and then he was working at the snow with his paws, clearing it away. Dark fur showed through the white, and he stopped. He didn't need to keep digging to know-- the scent, the dark fur. It was enough.
The golden king stumbled a few paces backwards, then collapsed with a half-gasping wail. The name came to him now, effortlessly. Methuselah was dead.

A high pitched yelp was what caught the girl's attention, her ears swiveling to find the source of exclamation. Pain burst from the call and worry festered within her chest. Her mind shifted from her own melancholy to the worry of a stranger. Padding through the broken canvas of snow, her paws interrupting a once perfect, blank picture with her footsteps. The sudden wail was what hurried her walk to a run, dashing through the Glen only to see an angelic, golden figure sobbing. It took her longer to noticed the ebony fur sticking from an icy coffin. 

She felt awkward - Mara was good at healing physical wounds, not emotional. For a moment she wished Chaska to be by her side, he would know what to say. As she regarded the weeping prince, her eyes picked up on his injuries. Cuts covered him like fur, a deeply swollen leg, and a torn ear distracted from his otherwise regal appearance. The wolfess inched closer, lowering herself as she closed the space between her and the stranger. "Hello," She beckoned a soft and quiet voice. Her expression revealed clear worry, she knew the pain of losing a loved one - and wondered what could've possibly helped her in that time. Day's conversation truly did not, she feared of doing to this the flaxen male. 

Her heart beat out of her chest, unsure how to comfort one in such an unfortunate situation. For now, she would allow her motherly instincts to take control. "Sir?" Mara muttered, hoping he wouldn't be disturbed by her fret.

The pain brought a strange clarity to him; for the first time in days he became aware of his surroundings-- not a moment too soon. Jerrik both heard and scented the approaching stranger before he saw her. His eyes flitted to the source, and he blinked once, twice. A girl.
When she spoke, he was at first uncertain of how to respond. What should he think of this?
The golden king was silent for a moment, studying her intensely with eyes washed out to a dim blue-grey by his grief. She was soft-coated, patches of striking warm tones against neutral colors-- but instantly that was forgotten when he met her gaze. The strangely pale golden hue instantly enchanted him, and he murmured almost inaudibly: Tilor.
Then he tilted his head, struck by the urge to say something that would make her stick around. Her overwhelming beauty was like a salve to his wounds-- he suddenly desperately wished to see her features alight. Such was his infatuation that he was reminded of a similar situation; he couldn't quite recall the details of it... but it seemed so similar. No matter-- his worries were forgotten in the presence of one so like the rising sun.
My lady. He dipped his head, not rising. You appear in my darkest hour; an angel born of the light, surely. May I know your name, Tilor?

The sudden turn in mood caught the girl off guard, in fact everything this stranger did was unusual and puzzling. Tilor. What did that mean? Her bewilderment was not shielded with her head cocked and brow furrowed. To be bowed to forced her gaze to search amongst the forest as if it held some answer to his actions, but found nothing. She lowered her head to be level with his own, shaking in dismissal, ”Please, I don’t deserve to be bowed to,” Mara insisted, herding his head with her muzzle to lift back up. 

So much about this wolf was striking - his golden glow, swoon-forcing voice, and posh formality was endearing. There was no way she could dwell on such romantic ideas though, for she still planned to die and he was likely just an emotional wreck. His words were nonesense in this state of woe, and held no genuine meaning.

”I’m Mara,” She answered, ”Who are you?” Amber eyes danced across the kingly form, picking up his scrapes and wounds. ”You’re hurt - let me help you,” She insisted, ears pulled back and confusion still present as her expression.

He was displeased to see her look almost distressed, and he flicked an ear at her, gaze gentle. The golden king knew he laid before a macabre scene, but a strange disconnect was filling him now; the lifeless corpse seemed to belong to an unreachable past. This angelic girl before him-- she was real, alive, speaking. She had grounded him with only her presence.
Mara. Jerrik repeated, delighting in the foreign way she formed her words. I am King Jerrik Amaranth, in your tongue.
At her offer of help, he was instantly curious. If she knew something of healing, it would be most useful for him in his current state.
I do need help. I'm afraid I have nothing to offer but gratitude in my condition, but I would repay such a kindness when I am able. The sun-child told her, a bit afraid she would scorn his offer. He would not have blamed her.

A king. Such a title was only spoken in stories to her, and she almost didn’t believe the wolf. Perhaps this was all an act, the alluring accent and formal speech all to play a trick on her. One thing that couldn’t be foolery was his sunshiny appearance, from the shimmery gaze and gold covered coat, there was no denying he seemed royal. 

His apparent worry with a lack of payment stumped her even more, not once was she paid for her healing and never expected it either. ”Pleasure to meet you,” The girl admitted, and in truth it really was. Act or not, this character was different. One that evoked a sun within herself that briefly shunned away the dimness of her mind. 

”No need to pay me, I simply want to help.” With that, she nodded. Padding off the find the tops of chervil roots sprouting tiny leaves in the snow. Fortunately, with the trees covering the Glen, snow wasn’t the deepest in Teekon. Not long after her departure she arrived with the root nestled in her jaws, dropping it to the ground before observing his wounds more closely. ”What happened?”

At her words, he gave a brilliant smile, now assured that she was an angel. The kindness she offered him within moments of meeting him only served to deepen his growing infatuation-- no, he didn't know her, but...
Behind the girl's retreating form, the sun seemed to sparkle at him from its perch within the sky. Everything was brighter for a moment as the clouds shifted away, casting golden light upon the king's new acquaintance. His breath caught in his throat, and he knew then that this was a sign from the gods. She was to be his salvation.
When she returned, he had shifted further away from the body, casting it mournful glances every so often.
I... do not know, Tilor. I believe I fell; there is little I remember of recent times. Jerrik gazed directly, then, at his fallen brother. I believe he was with me before I fell. My brother-in-arms. But... He frowned. Not after that.

As Mara began to tend to his wounds, cleaning off any blood with her tongue, she realized he suffered amnesia. Whatever happened must’ve been rough, perhaps not knowing was better. If she knew what was spiraling around in his mind, she likely would be stunned. Maybe even consider the wolf crazed, but would not shy away from helping him. He said it again, tilor. she lifted her head to meet his gaze again, ”What does that mean? Tilor.” She inquired. 

Before he could answer, she continued with the task at hand. Whoever this stranger was, she was beyond intrigued. Though, she didn’t allow her hopes to travel high, after she aided him in his needs he would leave her just as everyone else.

The golden king chuffed almost silently at her question-- he hadn't considered that she would be puzzled by his mother tongue, though he had known to mimic her use of her own. It was then that he realized perhaps something wasn't right with him; how could he have assumed she would know what he meant?
Tilor means beauty among my people. Jerrik explained, careful to keep his tone void of any grandness in the explanation. Now it seemed overly forward to have called her that, and he worried his explanation would cause discomfort. I... apologize for my forwardness. I fear my wits left me when I fell, though they are not wont to return in your spellbinding presence.
It was as truthful an explanation as the young king had ever given, and desperately he hoped she would understand.

When the kingly wolf answered, she was stunned. Her heart skipped a beat - perhaps even more. She never once had been so blatantly complimented, especially on her appearance. Her cheeks grew hot red, and when the king continued an unfamiliar sensation swirled within her. It was almost euphoric to be given such a title, she never looked at herself in such light. This heavenly feeling crashed with the sudden fear, what if she was being used? This act was all a ruse to get her heartbroken again. 

A part of her didnt care though - what was there to lose at this point? Absolutely nothing, so why not delve into this fuzzy feeling while she could. Mara removed her attention from his injuries, staring back at the handsome male. Finally allowing herself to see him in such a way, for it was obvious he was for her. ”I can’t explain how much I appreciate that,” For the quickest moment, she felt she might cry. Water threatened her eyes, but she held back whatever ocean was forming.  

The young king was struck by the emotion in the angel's eyes and voice, and instinctively he moved to press his muzzle against her cheek. Had no one told her before how striking she was?
I am honored to have laid eyes on you, Tilor; your beauty is matched only by your kindness. Jerrik assured her, not yet moving to break the contact. He felt strongly about this wolf, Mara, so very suddenly-- she had appeared like a blessing, and each moment things did not go wrong he was certain they were meant to go right. This was meant to happen. No matter what had happened in the past-- the gods had given him his future now, here.
The young Amaranth expected no less of his own fate.

Her heart thumped, beating agaisnt her chest. This male was so sudden, so charming, moments like this only happened in fairy tales of King’s instantly falling for a girl. She had to be hallucinating or deep in a slumber, maybe even dead and this was her heaven. To be treated with kindness and respect, to for once be looked at as something more than a simple girl. His touch sent flames across the skin, and her stomach became a menagerie of butterflies. ”I- you’re too kind, I’m nothing compared to someone as regal as you.” In her opinion, it were true. She was but a peasant in a world of queens, and deserved no gratitude, let alone to be called a tilor.

At that he pulled back a bit to meet her eyes, still keeping close to her.
Oh, Tilor; the greatest queens of my homeland were of the common people. Your eyes betray you; you are of their kind. He knew this to be true-- countless generations had thrived this way, choosing their queens based on virtue and faith. It was not a long process; those in leadership were expected to know. Religious intuition was a requirement of the job, and Jerrik did not lack in this area. No, he had a connection to his gods; that, he was certain, was why they led him true always.

He spoke like a poem, his words floating into her ears like a song. It was mesmerizing, but also confusing. ”Why do you speak so bluntly?” The girl questioned, hoping he wouldn’t take it in offense. It was just beyond baffling to hear such straightforward compliments - it was clear this man was foreign. ”No ones ever talked to me like this before.” Were females wolves swept off their feet like this all the time? Was she just now experiencing something others do all the time?

The golden king blinked in surprise, thinking that her own question was similarly blunt. He didn't mind it, though.
I am honest. Is that so surprising, Tilor? Jerrik wondered, then, what kind of wolves lived in this place. Briefly he remembered similar words, and in his mind he saw a familiar face. His eyes flitted briefly to the corpse, and he could barely contain the fresh wave of grief. The strange suddenness of his mood changes didn't yet strike the sun-child as off; he was too focused, too dazzled by Mara.
Perhaps those before me were simply too cowardly to speak of your beauty. His tone was light, but he meant the words. Jerrik could not fathom looking at the creature before him and seeing anything other than an angel, a goddess perhaps-- a queen.

It was a fairytale, she had to be dead. It all started to set in and she began to pace back and forth, straying from the knightly wolf. "I- I must be dead,"  She was so unfamiliar with straightforward kindness and care that the only explanation was her spirit roamed in some heavenly new world. Her breathing hitched, heart thumping out of her chest - why did she still feel her heartbeat? Why was the stinging cold still on her paws? Her dimmed gaze locking on to Jerrik's hindered her panic, why was this wolf so strangely perfect? Her nerves relaxed, instantly she looked embarrassed, ears hiding behind her head.  "I'm so sorry..." The girl whispered beneath her breath.