Silvertip Mountain this i know: the snow won't fall on me
billions of lighthouses stuck at the far end of the sky
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There was a certain chill to the night; the hints of humidity in the area told Cortland the clouds overhead would soon sag heavy and spill their burden upon the mountain. He lingered nonetheless, having dared a climb further up the mountain's side than he normally ventured. The Mayfair was loathe to leave the spot he had discovered. It was rather perfect for stargazing— exactly what he was doing now.
He watched the night quietly, gaze occasionally drawn downward. From so high, he could see for miles; the fact lent a strange sense of security to his position. Inexplicably, however, he felt lonely. There was no reason for it— @Phocion kept him company much of the time, and Poet when he could not. Cortland had friends here... but that wasn't it, he thought. He sighed softly, turning his eyes to Ypsilos in the north and half-wondering if the star would have answers for him, would point him in the right direction. It seemed almost impossible; he wasn't even certain what he was missing. A moment later, the first drops of rain started to fall.
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Ooc — Miryam
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The closer to the heavens, the closer to god. So said the tribe he had joined many moons ago, and it had stayed with him since then. That was part of the reason why he had chosen a mountain for their home: it extended into the clouds, the stars. An ascent to paradise.

He himself climbed frequently, but it was a small surprise to see the golden Mayfair's pelt so high, looking at the skies. With a soft bark to let him know he was coming--lest Cortland startle and tumble into the abyss again--Phocion trotted up the slope, coming to the boy's side and pushing his nose into the ruff of his neck. He smiled, a silent expression, then pulled away, looking out at the sky.

The clouds had gathered, and rain was beginning to fall. A large drop hit him directly on the nose, and he shook his head, sniffling before looking over at Cortland.

"How are you?" he asked gently, his mouth still curved upwards, ever so slightly. He was worried about being this high if a storm was approaching; at the first sign of lightning, they would take cover immediately.
billions of lighthouses stuck at the far end of the sky
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Phocion's arrival didn't startle him; it was rather welcome, actually. He accepted the touch enthusiastically, turning to lick his friend's face several times once he had pulled away. Good, The Mayfair chirped softly, pressing his flank against the priest's and laying his tail over the other's back. You? Seeing the rain bother him, he licked a few more times at his face, this time to clear the droplets from his fur. Though, he knew they'd come back— it was partially an excuse.
He was quiet for a few more moments, studying his friend with an expression that spoke clearly of his thoughts: he had something to say. Something to ask, actually. Cortland averted his gaze for a beat, suddenly shy. He wasn't certain if he could ask— or how Phocion would take the question. Did he want the answer, truly? Could his friend even provide it?
He debated agonizingly for another minute before he finally spoke. Phocion...w-whhhhy did... did En-gel wa-ant to— He swallowed, hating the way the words sounded coming from his mouth and hating that he needed to ask this. He continued far more slowly: Have... s-ssex... with... me? I don't— un-understand. It was something he had wondered about relentlessly— as far as he knew, there had to be some sort of reason, right? With Ava it had been the scent, but with Engel... that was a mystery. He hadn't asked for it, so why had it come up? It did not yet occur to him that some people just went seeking such things from strangers; that was an odd concept to him.
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"Good," he responded back, smiling as Cortland groomed his face. There was silence between them for a few beats, and then his friend began to speak--halting and broken, but still. . .speech! Phocion was so overjoyed by the sound of his voice that he almost let the words roll right over his head, meaningless. It was only when Cortland had finished and there was quiet again did he comprehend the subject matter.

Oh. He pursed his lips, trying to think of how best to word this. He knew Cortland was young, but he hadn't realized he was this. . .innocent. "Um, well. . ." He trailed off, and after a couple of further false starts, he finally found his footing, at least somewhat. "Engel wanted to, um, have sex with you because he saw something in you that he liked," he explained.

Phocion nosed at Cortland's pelt, pulling back. "It could have been the color of your pelt, or the way your eyes shine when the moon hits them," the priest continued, giving Cortland a watery smile. "Or the length of your legs, or your figure. It could be anything, really. But whatever it was, he liked it, and he wanted to. . .um, enjoy it. Enjoy you."

Ugh. This was grotesque. Once a more bawdy wolf, Phocion had faded into someone who danced around the subject of sex whenever it came up. The desires of the flesh were trivial next to Fengari, in his eyes, and he had a hard time relating with someone who just. . .saw something they liked, right away, and moved to suddenly seize it. That was not his nature.
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The pause gave him just enough time to regret the question, but before he could take it back, Phocion was speaking. His eyes were wide, fixed on the priest as he hung on to every word. They fell like the rain; soft and slow, but they built ultimately into something that washed across him overwhelmingly. For several beats he was quiet, thinking.
It was hard to imagine that Engel had been paying attention to any of that, but that wasn't what he was thinking at all. Engel had not said any of those things. Cortland's gaze drifted to the ground, ears flushing hot now. The way your eyes shine when the moon hits them. O-oh... He breathed softly, an unfamiliar warmth filling his chest. The Mayfair glanced back to Phocion shyly. He could not think of anything to say, but perhaps his expression said enough. Engel had been forgotten entirely.
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And as soon as he'd regained his speech, it was suddenly gone, a breathy syllable escaping his lips. So much for that. Phocion kept his smile, but it changed, somewhat, as he registered the look in Cortland's eyes. Adoration, in its purest form. Or perhaps not. Only Cortland could tell him what he saw, truly.

So, not speechless entirely, but only for now. By virtue of the subject, not by a tragic accident.

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" Phocion asked, for lack of anything better to say. His smile faded. "Sometimes when wolves like another, they like them too much--they like them so much that they aren't afraid to take what they want." Anger like the storm clouds filled his gaze momentarily; it dissipated, but the worry did not, as he stared at Cortland, waiting for his response.
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He smiled slightly at Phocion's worry, shaking his head and pressing gently into the priest. No, he d-didn't, mo airgeadach, Somehow the words fell more easily from him than those in the common tongue; again he was reminded of how much he missed his sister. Cortland tucked himself closer with a shiver, feeling the chill of the rain in his pelt now. He was grateful for the warmth of their closeness.
After several more beats, he said softly, Phocion, I— I'm... gla-ad you fo... found me, Twice— no, three times, now. He wasn't sure where he'd be now without his moonlit priest; would he be as happy elsewhere? The Mayfair allowed his own argent gaze to meet Phocion's brilliant blue. No— no, he would not be happier anywhere else. He was certain now that this was where he belonged.