Broken Boulder if there were any more left of me, i'd give it to you

backdated to before head cronch

Truth be told, he had scarcely left @Zamael alone since he had followed him to Broken Boulder. It was likely rather suffocating. At that moment he actually wasn't with him; he had slipped off to eat, and in a fit of self-doubt had decided yes, they actually did need some time apart, or he'd drive Zamael away again.
Now he was curled up among the wildflowers in Paradise Garden, grooming himself and trying not to think about his brother. It would get easier to leave him alone if he just didn't think about him, right?
Alarian tried to focus on the butterflies flitting around him, the scents of the various flowers. All he could think about was home; Sunfil Grove. Not all of it had been like this— just one of his favorite parts. He hadn't yet brought Zamael here, though he had been meaning to; he wondered if he would see what he and Eris saw in the place. If he would remember things as Alarian did when he came here.

heeeeeeeeeeeere's JOHNNY

He didn't want to be apart from Alarian. It was as if he were reclaiming all the minutes, all the little moments, that he had missed out on while they were separated. So when he didn't find him at Broken Boulder, and discovered his scent meandering away, he followed it, coming across a flowering meadow, an oasis in an already beautiful territory.

It was much like Sunfil Grove--at least one part of it--and Zamael padded through the flowers a little reverently, watching the butterflies flutter and feast. He found Alarian easily enough, and gave him a chuff, the ever-ready smile coming to his face as he sat down next to his brother. . .the only wolf that ever really merited his smiles.

"This is nice," he remarked, fiery eyes casting round the meadow. "Pretty. How you feeling?" he asked, thinking of Alarian's appetite problems.

Alarian's self-esteem was ever-fluctuating; often he made reasons within his own mind for it to plummet again, but the smallest things soothed these self-inflicted hurts. His brother's arrival was one such thing. At once his imagined feelings of being unwanted dissipated, and he couldn't resist touching his nose briefly to Zamael's leg. Sometimes it still didn't really feel real, honestly.
He considered the question for a moment, briefly pleased with his brother's comments on Paradise Garden. Dead, He decided, tone slightly wry; he meant it, though. Lately he felt like a walking corpse, and it was entirely his own fault. I ate something though, so... less dead than usual. How are you? His eyes lit slightly with curiosity, obviously expecting a better answer than the one he had given.

"Well, 'less dead' is an improvement," Zamael responded, smirking. He butted his head gently against Alarian's shoulder, then straightened again, giving a shrug in response. "Eh. Fine, I guess. Still trying to get settled in. Meet all the new faces. Get the boring stuff out of the way."

No one had been overly friendly; there was a black-furred girl who looked nice, but she didn't say anything, and a shy pale one that really dug the stars. Mottled Queenie, with her babies, was standoffish; Delight was a little better. Truth be told, Zamael had always been more of a solitary creature, anyway. He didn't need friends, here--his brother's company was more than enough.

He looked around, admiring the flowers. "Remind you of Sunfil?" he asked, unwittingly touching upon thoughts already in his brother's mind. "At least there was one bright spot in that hellhole. You could hide in the greenery. I used to love going there at night with Carv--" The name stuck in his throat, and he swallowed, glancing down. "Carvel," he finished, looking like a puppy who'd just been kicked.

Sounds fun, He offered with a slightly wry grin, tail swishing absently. He was glad to hear Zamael was making an effort, though; he knew better than anyone that his brother wasn't very social, at least not by nature, and he'd admittedly been a little worried. He wanted to say more, but then Zamael was speaking again, so he listened instead.
He nodded affirmation to the question, and only moments later his expression fell slightly. Honestly, he'd had a long time to build up resentment toward the long-dead male; he'd taken his brother from him first with love, then with grief, in such a short period of time. He never wanted to hear the name again, but he couldn't bear the hurt in Zamael's expression.
He leaned his head gently against the other's shoulder. I'm sorry, He murmured, voice soft. There was little else he could offer. He couldn't bring Carvel back, nor could he take away the pain— but he could be here, now, and maybe in time it would hurt a little less.

He didn't miss the way Alarian's face fell, but he took comfort at the weight of his brother's head against his shoulder, leaning slightly back against him with a sigh. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, swallowing slowly, the rush of blood in his ears and the chirping of birds and insects amid the flowers the only sound between them.

"It's in the past," Zamael said simply, though with some effort. "He's dead. So is Arnlith. It's over. No use dwelling on it, I guess." But he did dwell on it, more often than he would admit. Zamael wondered if he would ever get over Carvel. That bullshit cliche about never forgetting your first love was true, he supposed.

Hearing their father's name, he couldn't help but wince, though he tried to hide it. He swore he could still taste blood coating his tongue and throat for a moment — could still hear Arnlith's gurgling death throes. But he was dead, and it was in the past; Zamael had said it already. He pressed closer to his brother, trying to pull his thoughts back to the other's lost love.
There's nothing wrong with thinking about the past, He said after a couple beats. I do — a lot. He paused, taking a moment to think about all that had happened since he and Zamael last saw each other — and all that had happened prior. It's... normal, I think, to dwell on some things. It was all pretty fucked up, wasn't it? Not that easy to just... forget and move on.
But somehow, he'd managed to forget so much. It occurred to him then that maybe he treasured reminiscing so very much because of the myriad of blank spots in his own memory — the empty spaces he was so torn between appreciating and hating, knowing the memories would only be bittersweet at best but wanting them so badly nonetheless.

He shook his head. "I'll never forget it," Zamael murmured, twisting to rest his chin on the top of Alarian's head (with some effort, since they were around the same size). "Not any of it. It's all burned into my brain. I just gotta. . .I dunno, shove it all back. Because I can't change anything that happened. No matter how much I want to."

He didn't know whether it comforted or horrified him to know that Alarian often thought of the past, too. He wanted so badly for his brother to leave everything behind, to take full heart in his new life--but he also was relieved to know that he wasn't alone. That their childhood had been so traumatic that it had left an indelible mark on them both.

"It was all fucked," Zamael breathed. "We both deserved better than what we got. At least we have a chance to start over." He pulled back, a rare smile blooming over his face as he stared at Alarian. Marveling at how different he was. . .yet how little he had changed, over the years. He still saw the child's milky blue eyes in the man's face, if he looked hard enough.