The Heartwood beneath the cedars all my love i gave
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the full, fertile spring night was not without its music — crickets buzzed and the wind whispered a thoughtful melody between the leaves.  moonlight filtered in from the cloudless sky above.  ava christine blackwood's eyelids fluttered as she craned her head to gaze at the full moon.  

the pink moon, the sprouting grass moon.  the moon of fertility, of love.  it settled heavily in her chest; her paws drawled across the ground like anchors but her spirit was gone from her earthly tether — it meandered in the heavens alongside one of her two lost loves.

tonight was for morgan.
 
 
 

 
together they collapsed in the grass, breathlessly holding onto one another.  sometimes she looked into morgan's eyes and saw the whole world reflected back at her — something she thought she'd had with hawthorne in the beginning.  

only now it was more; morgan's fertile scent washed over her in waves.  it stirred something inside of her that felt both wrong and enticing and normally she was able to smash it down with effort but now it was becoming too much.  it was strange, considering she never thought she could love the woman who had slept with her husband.

"morgan," she began —

"shh." morgan rolled onto her back, looked at the stars.

so sava took to tending to the scratches on morgan's forelegs and dematting the fur on her chest.  before she knew her nose had trailed down the gamine tuck of morgan's abdomen to the tender swell of her —
 
 

 
 
 
every now and again something brass or blonde would strike her peripheral vision that made her breath catch but when she turned to look they were gone, and ava was left with both shame and a want that could not be fulfilled.


when the sun comes up we'll be nothing but dust
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Fengari blushed, and his loins twitched. It was the season for puppies, for love, and for family, but in all these moons and all these seasons, Phocion was still childless. The burning desire for offspring had waned over time, as he'd pursued new interests and occupations, but it still remained within him, particularly in the bloom of spring.

He was strolling through the ruined forest, bathed in the rose-tinted light, when he came across the woman Cortland had met in the hot springs. He chuffed an amicable hello, meaning to simply walk by, but his paws brought him to a halt as he felt the sadness that hung about her like a cloud. She was looking at the sky.

"Kalnee," Phocion murmured, drawing alongside her, keeping a respectful distance yet wanting to comfort her in some way--any way he could. "What do you see, in the stars?"
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the moonlight shrouded phocion enough that ava thought that it was another ghost that caught her attention — for a moment her graceful and mysterious mien was dropped entirely, her eyes widened and she gasped as her heart caught in her throat.

but it was not morgan.  p-phocion — she stuttered before regaining her composure, her jaw tightening as she registered what he had asked.

what do you see, in the stars?  memories played out in front of her yet as always she was lost for words when it came to her clandestine love.  everyone i've lost, she replied simply though her voice was strained.  

it is the sprouting grass moon, she remarked, wondering if he too was educated on the symbolism that hung over the season.


when the sun comes up we'll be nothing but dust
billions of lighthouses stuck at the far end of the sky
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The boy never drifted far from Phocion if he could help it; sometimes a mood took him and he wandered off on his own, but overall he stayed close to his companion. Since Ava had joined them, he departed more frequently— but it had only been a day, and perhaps was not yet noticed. It was a change from the lifestyle he had grown accustomed to since departing his family. Cortland had never been great with change.
But he was a quiet boy— passive in every sense of the word, so he only hung back. In time, he would adjust. He hoped. The Mayfair allowed a greater distance between himself and the stark male today, somehow overwhelmed at the thought of encountering Ava while with him. Three was a crowd, he was realizing— and suddenly the young wanderer was glad he had not joined the pack on the mountain. Packs had far more than three. These thoughts were swept aside when he scented Ava ahead, heard her voice and Phocion's, and paused. He was not within their line of sight yet, nor could he see them, but he could just barely hear the quiet exchange. No words were clear to him, though; Cortland backed up a few paces and moved to the side, tilting his head so that he might see them. He was too far to hear anything, now, but he watched the exchange with interest.
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He nodded, giving a wistful sigh as he looked up with her, eyes glittering in the starlight. "Erastia," he murmured, looking at the pale pink orb. "Generations ago, when there were two moons, one looked just like this. Now Fengari takes on her form, every spring. It is a sign of love. . .eternal, unbroken."

Phocion looked at her, his gaze gliding over her mottled pelt. He made sure his eyes did not linger too long; in the light of the fertility moon, to stare may seem lascivious. He was simply, as usual, intensely curious.

"You have lost much," he noted softly, sympathy dripping from each syllable. "And now here you are." He drew in a breath, taking in her scent properly for the first time since they'd met. "You smell of the sea, faintly," Phocion remarked, a smile curving his mouth. "It's been a long time since I have been to the coast."
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there was something foriegn and intriguing about this man.  in the same way she had been ensnared by the queerness of cortland's demeanor and pelage and before him, smokestep's domain, there was something powerful lurking beneath the priest's surface.

it causes warmth to raise in her cheeks; modestly, she averts her gaze and finds another ghost.  her eyes are full of sorrow as they meet cortland's, but she did not invite him.  he waas welcome if he chose but she did not want to steal the option of privacy.

i had never been, she admitted, i was taken by it.  but it was not for me.

her shrewd, almost coquettish gaze flit up to bore into the electric blues of the other before turning back to the ground.  i was from the forest.  and there i loved.  they were taken from me, she shuddered and sighed, and i had nobody.

she pointed her nose to the moon, but her eyes were closed.  so the first pack i came to, i begged to be let in.  i was taken with their leader; a man named smokestep.  he was.. the streak of hot silver that splits the heavens before a downpour.  but tonight —

she had fallen in love with a ghost and loved her tenderly beneath the moon.

i met my lovers beneath the pink moon.



when the sun comes up we'll be nothing but dust
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Phocion watched her as she spoke, cerulean eyes twin tongues of flame in the darkness. She talked of love found, and love lost. Her voice sounded bereft and hollow, and he moved to touch his nose to her shoulder, if she would allow, in a small gesture of comfort.

"I am sorry for your losses," he whispered, pulling back to meet her gaze once more. He lifted his muzzle to the sky. "They never leave us, though. They become one with the stars--whichever guided their paths, they join."

From his lips slipped a sigh, as a vision of his mother came suddenly and vividly to mind. Her creamy pelage, her glittering eyes. A laugh more infectious than any he'd heard. He often wondered which star was hers: one of the brighter ones, he surmised. She had been nothing if not bright.

Cortland's scent slipped toward him on the breeze, and he looked round, smiling softly at the boy. Like Ava, it was not a direct invitation given--come if you like, his open face said silently, then he turned back to the woman.

"What do you seek, now?" he asked, reminded of his conversation with Cortland by the alpine lake.

They spoke at length, and didn't realize how long they had been doing so, until the pink moon began to descend below the horizon and the light of dawn kissed the eastern sky.