Barrow Fields shine a light into the wreckage

@Mahler <3

He was starting to get homesick. The boy had searched relentlessly for Lennon, had asked anyone who would listen if they had seen him-- which wasn't many. Mostly, he was alone, picking through scents and finding none of them matched the one he sought.
Alarian had traveled far-- he had only realized earlier in the day, when he almost stumbled into claimed land. The shore where he had met the sea witch was now home to a pack; among the scents he had noticed hers, and his heart had quickened slightly. Surely it was a coven led by the sea witch herself-- he could not imagine it any other way.
The idea terrified him. He had taken off for the field just beyond as if being chased, though he had not set a single paw over the border. The place itself was cursed, he was sure.
Bored and a little hungry, Alarian decided to hunt mice. He was entirely focused; his ears stood at attention, tail straight in the air and swishing as he jumped after a fleeing rodent. It was the most fun he had allowed himself in days-- which was really a little sad.

the wounds wrought in the flesh of his foreleg had stiffened; mahler had dutifully limped to the sea each day since the one of injury, to bathe the toothmarks in the brine. yet he had suffered more, and now the stirrings of fever were within the dappled man. setting his charcoal jaw, mahler had turned his mind to more pressing matters.
in a change too swift for the musiker to follow, and one that left him reeling with frustration and worry, wylla had left her post and departed the sound. wounded though he was, mahler wished to follow her, trail the small woman with the humility of a dog. aside from kierkegaard, the she-wolf had been the man's only known packmate.
mahler wandered the borders, meandering with a flush beneath his dark pelt toward the fields where he had fought the brute. tongue stroked his dry lips, but there was no sign of the shadow here, nor wylla. a dour expression covered his features, even as he sat heavily on the thawing earth with a panting at the uncommon warmth along his limbs. he regarded a figure not far off, slim and finely built, arcing in graceful hunt toward the ground. and somehow he hated the creature, if only for its show of sheer delight when mahler hunched so miserably in his own tracks.

assumed a thing, let me know if it needs changing

Just as he was about to catch the mouse he was chasing, Alarian scented a stranger. Instinctively he turned to look-- and tripped in the process, crumpling with an abrupt yelp. He stayed like that for a moment, ears flattened with mortification, and berated himself mentally.
The boy dared not look at the stranger again, not yet. He trained his gaze on the ground, still curled in the awkward, folded position he had fallen in. When he finally dared a glance, it didn't help at all.
Ali froze; even from a distance, even though the stranger seemed to have something wrong with him, he was immediately attracted to him. The wind brought him the metallic tang of blood, and for a moment he forgot his shame. Perhaps it was unfair, but a pretty stranger in distress certainly got him moving more than the one from before had. He rose slowly and made his way to the other, lowering his head as he neared.
The proximity reminded him of his shame, but Alarian steeled himself against it.
You're hurt. The boy murmured shyly, unable to refrain from casting an admiring glance over the other male. He didn't think about any possible danger-- not when the stranger had such beautiful eyes. Only the faint scent of infection drew him from these thoughts; moreover, the scent of pack, though for the moment he did not connect the dots. Why was he alone now? Do you need help?

the prancing form in the distance found the ground for foolishly tripping paws, and though mahler could find no amusement in him, he was grimly satisfied all the same. he had not expected the waifish thing to rise, to approach; the dappled hackles bristled fiercely along mahler's broad shoulders, and he lifted a dark lip to unsheath gleaming teeth in the single warning he would grant the child.
honeyed, androgynous, the cherub peered somberly at mahler, announcing what the musiker knew to be true. it was not a statement he wished to accept, however. hard lavender gaze raked the boy's face, noting the hint of glossy interest there. "i vill be fine."
his were cold tones, the lap of seawater against grimnismal. move along, he might have well said, recalling kierkegaard's stoic nature. perhaps it would suit mahler to utterly veil himself as he once had. the thought shifted to a whisper, and beyond the narrow sandy plane of the boy's shoulder, he saw marigold's inviting grey features, the glow of her pale green eyes. "ehefrau?" mahler whispered wonderingly toward her shade, conjured by the fire beginning to rage in his chest. the boy sadly went quite forgotten for a moment.

The boy's ears flattened to his head at the stranger's response, the softest hint of a whine escaping him. He took a single step back and lowered his posture submissively. The same strange, subtle desperation he had felt upon meeting Engel gripped him now; it was different, yes, but somehow not.
The beautiful stranger inspired a desire to help-- to nurture. Alarian knew he was projecting, of course he knew, but the source of the feeling was unknown. And, honestly, too complicated. He had no desire to address whatever feelings lay behind this, so instead he threw himself into the interaction.
Let me help, please. Ali's offer was quiet, slipped in just before the dark male's whisper. He tilted his head at that, but said nothing about it. I know of herbs to help; I'll do it quickly, and then I'll leave.
He didn't actually want to make the offer, but it was clear the other wanted to be alone. If nothing else, perhaps he would at least allow Alarian to care for his wounds.

marigold regarded him from the glowing space beyond the figure of the prostrate boy, and mahler felt the telltale tremble of his jaw began, as was usual when he considered her. straightening, the musiker parted lips to call to her ashen form once more, but pain rippled weakness along his limbs. how foolish he had been, but it was all in guardianship of his shoreline. or so he told himself; mahler still was unsure of what had compelled his heavy snap toward the insolent boy in the fields.
gathering but a smattering of what the cherub was murmuring, the grimnismal wolf lay back against the cool snow. it quelled for a moment the burning beneath his hide, the heat that prised his jaws open in a low and panting laugh, for marigold; she had tried so to bring joy to mahler. "ich komme, taube."

sorry this is kind of bad, aaahhhhh
also assuming Mahler isn't going to take off LMAO, let me know if that should be changed

He wasn't sure what he had expected, but it wasn't this— the other wolf seemed distant, delirious. Alarian breathed a sigh of relief when he laid back, trying to ignore how deeply the male's laugh unsettled him. The boy could not understand his words— perhaps for the best. He rose slowly.
Wait here. I'll be back. The Governor glanced over him once more before he turned. He would need supplies, if he was to help— and he knew there were few options, cold as it still was. Truth be told, he was getting a little sick of chewing up chervil root, but, oh well. The things he did for a pretty face.
He tried not to think about Lennon, then, and instead put his mind to his task.

The boy returned as quickly as he could, carrying what plant-y things he could find. The roots had been more difficult to find than he had anticipated— though, he had been lucky enough to find some of the earliest blooming poppies during his search. He had collected cobwebs as well, finding the two remedies essential lately; Ali would have to start storing both when he returned, and perhaps poppy seeds too, he decided.
When he approached the male again, he dropped what he carried a few paces away to chuff lightly. Here, he paused. Given the stranger's earlier aggression, it seemed wise to try once more to obtain clear permission. I have the things to help you. Will you let me?

the cherub faded and mahler dismissed the apparition as having sprung from the haze quickly entrapping his limbs — thus smote down, the musiker died to himself into a slowly spinning orbit of white flame. 
it was not until the scent of wolf came to mahler, a gentle voice in his ear, that the man dragged himself from slumber with a bleary blink at the seraphim who had come to visit once more. tongue stuck against his jaws, like some poor beached whale, mahler trembled with the the fire's breath, managing only one shaking nod against the snow.

Alarian watched with bated breath as the man roused, half-expecting to glimpse teeth again. But the stranger only nodded, shaking and still incoherent. He swallowed hard, suddenly struck by a spike of panic— did he know enough to make this okay? Did he know enough to make sure the dark male didn't die?
It would have to be enough. He glanced around as if to confirm again that they were alone, that there wasn't anyone more qualified around. No such luck. The boy took a breath, retrieved his herbs to set them closer, and inched forward. He was slow and tentative, moving first to clean the injured leg with gentle licks. The man's fur tasted of salt, of the sea.
To be so near a handsome stranger— touching him!— would have set Alarian's nerves alight in any other situation. Now, he could only worry about the unknown wolf. He remembered the poppy seeds and quickly nosed them in the right direction. You need to eat these. Ali urged softly, not bothering to explain to the delirious man. He half-expected to be refused, so he didn't wait around.
Instead, he bent his head to chew the root; when it was a proper poultice, the boy applied it to the stranger's wounds with feather-light touches. He moved to secure his work, then, with the cobwebs. When he had finished, Ali did not turn away immediately as he had promised. The Governor was still, half waiting to be told to leave and half waiting to find the words to ask if he could stay.

there was movement, and then mahler drew in a sharp hiss of breath as soft tongue touched the tender torn places of his leg, where the dark wolf in the field had sundered it with his teeth. a growl snaked to warn his savior that care must be taken; mahler considered himself a man of control, but this pain was trying even to his patience.
a flick of his tongue granted the bitter seeds control of his wounded frame, and soon the musiker had grown placid, agony muted by the cloudthick tremble of the drug in his blood. through slitted lilac eyes he watched the wavering form of the angel minister to him, smelled the green scent of the herbs used. and when it was over, mahler lay his cheek against the snow, and pondered the other for long moments that stretched on and on endlessly.

The stranger was silent still, and Ali lost himself to his thoughts. The dark-furred male remained the focus of his gaze; an undercurrent of concern for his condition sat heavy in his mind. His eyes trailed features sculpted of charcoal and ash, wondering how he had come to be this way. He remembered, of course, the hostility he had been met with— but he had no way of knowing whether it was in character for the lilac-eyed man.
He settled near, but not near enough to touch him, and rested his head on his paws. Alarian's own champagne gaze settled on the male's face, gentle and almost imploring. The boy knew he needed to get home, but... he couldn't simply leave the stranger in this state. Selfishly, he thought that he didn't want to leave him at all— though he smelled of pack, the Governor still wished he could take him home. Even with the risk that he wouldn't like him much, it would have been nice to have another guy around. Ali spared another glance for the man's injured leg, and chuffed softly; it was a sympathetic sound, not meant to inspire response, but he half-hoped it would.

it seemed that the boy began to blur and to writhe before his very gaze, firelight sending ripples of heat into the air; dissipation; transcendence.
mahler returned to himself from where he had become half-lidded, jaws relaxing in a gape against the snow. grimacing at the moisture of his own spilled saliva, the man gave a low grunt as pain lanced through his body. the spinning cherub had coalesced into a beautiful boy once more, one who had ministered to him. willing himself to remain still, mahler took the sum of himself and the herbage that cloaked his wounded leg. it was with no visible expression that the lilac eyes returned to the medic, who he watched for a stretch of time. "thank you," came the clipped words; a magnaminous expression for mahler if there ever was one.

I think I'll fade here since we have a new one now <3

His heart beat more rapidly in his chest as he watched the male glance over himself, his injured limb; he wondered if the earlier hostility would return, if he would meet teeth for his kindness. Strangely, he couldn't bring himself to regret it— wouldn't, even if it did go badly. Surprise flitted across his face briefly when he was instead thanked. He tilted his head down slightly, eyes going to the ground between his paws for a few beats.
Of course, Alarian murmured, then lapsed back into silence. Off and on he would study the stranger, but he did not speak again. Fear that he would say the wrong thing ultimately held back any words he might have had. Come morning, he would hunt for him— and at some later point, reluctantly depart for home.