Firefly Glen a bigger man than you, he stepped on me

@Winterbourne HI

in fields far away he imagined yami resided; pranking some other wolves, possibly making some other friends. a feeling chilled his heart and his gut sank - what if that was true, and she had moved on? why hadn't she talked to her brothers -- especially him? he picked solemnly at a rock with his paw, thumbing it between each leg.

maybe she hadn't gone willingly.

or maybe she had.

he couldn't decide which was worse.

like revui, the boy was starting to become vigilant about his family -- always aware of their comings and goings, suspicious when they left late, or arrived home in the quiet early hours of morning. he didn't like hydra leaving, didn't like that lyra had her own missions to attend to -- and more than ever, had become possessive of his two remaining siblings. yama and revui might grow sick of him before he let his guard down; but first...

he had kind of hoped he would find yami here, but as he stared at the open expanse of snow-blanketed field, it was obvious he was alone.

and suddenly, loneliness sunk through him heavy as a stone.

❤!

Loneliness is a feeling Winterbourne has come to know well; it'd struck him first with the death of his father, sinking cold claws into him as his mother and siblings withdrew and pulling him close when he'd departed Morningside. Sometimes he thinks the feeling has swallowed him entirely by now. Maybe that's what draws him toward the dark figure in the snow. He hesitates at first, pacing over the cold ground some distance off from the other wolf before he decides to approach, chuffing to announce himself. A more empathetic wolf might catch the aura of sadness around the other boy, but he's oblivious to any feelings the other is experiencing as he draws nearer, however obvious they might be. Instead, he worries about what he'll say, chides himself for thinking this was a good idea at all. It's been awhile since he's really tried to interact with other wolves in a friendly way — maybe he's forgotten how.

as he stared into that muted landscape, it made him feel as desolate and turned over as the snow. arcturus, on the cusp of reaching maturity but still very much a child, grappled hard with the emotion of defeat that racked him. it was far too big an opponent for so inexperienced and soft a boy; in the end it steamrolled him like an avalanche, and might have teabagged him too as it went.

he looked up as a form approached; its presence lingering tentatively in his peripheral. a lean, young wolf - not so different in age from himself -- wrapped softly in shades of silver and pewter. arcturus could only manage a quiet waver of his tail, noticing guiltily that it appeared the boy had none. he looked away abruptly, hoping winterbourne had not caught the surprise that flitted in and out of his features.

as much as he wanted to say something, anything at all, he was still too taken by surprise (and maybe a bit of melancholy) to speak.

He watches the dark boy glance in his direction, taking the opportunity to study his features. The slight wave of his tail is encouraging, though the silence is not. His ears fold back slightly when the other looks away, immediately feeling a little rejected, but he can't bring himself to abandon his efforts entirely just yet. Hi? He tries quietly, starting to belatedly catch on to the air of melancholy around the dark wolf. Noticing it doesn't mean he knows how to deal with it, unfortunately, so he decides to pretend he doesn't notice.

ever so gently, a quiet, near-questioning hi? probed the air between them. arcturus' sunny gaze lifted, catching the uncertainty he had fostered between them. arcturus was used to poor communication and the mood it saddled the room with; in a way it had even grown into a learned helplessness that might even persist well after his childish disabilities long took flight.

he was only encouraged by the fact that the boy seemed as shy as him -- did that mean he wouldn't judge him, if arcturus couldn't find it within himself to speak?

his tail picked up again, and he opened his mouth to speak. hi, he commanded his tongue to say -- it resisted, hanging loose and floppy in his mouth.

trying again: hi, he persisted; the tongue rolled over.

his brow furrowed and along the furred column of his neck his throat bobbed; HI!! he demanded -- still no answer.

he sucked a rattling breath through his teeth and expelled a forceful sigh. "h-HI!" he suddenly yelled belatedly, noticing with horror how loudly the explosion of his voice settled around them.

He's become unexpectedly invested in the interaction, noting the way his heart jumps slightly when the other boy's eyes lift. Confusion lights his own honey gaze as his mouth opens, but no sound comes out. It takes him a moment to realize the other is struggling to speak, but his expression softens when it clicks. He waits patiently for some change, whether the stranger gives up or finally manages to say something.
His ears perk a little at his forceful sigh — and then the greeting finally comes, much louder than he'd expected. The young Corten flinches slightly, startled, but he's quick to recover. He sucks in a breath and straightens, trying to act as if he hadn't been surprised at all. I'm Winterbourne, He offers, tail beginning to swish slowly behind him. What's your name? He tries to make his tone gentle, though it feels foreign; for all his angst and bitterness, he is still at his core the kindhearted child of Morningside he so desperately wishes to bury, and he doesn't want to scare the other boy. Really, he just wants a friend. He's tired of being angry and alone.

despite winterbourne's softening expression, arcturus is still horrified -- god, why was his body so noncompliant? why was he so stupid, all the time?

a flush rose to his cheeks, his blood hot and simmering beneath a rippling pelt that suddenly seemed too hot and oppressive. if he could just melt into a black puddle, just trickle down between the cracks and the stones until winterbourne left - until the world forgot about him and pale cirrus clouds passed overhead and the days revolved into nights -- until eventually, the earth forgot about him too, and he at last sunk into puddley, insensate oblivion, having forgot his own identity.

a bit dramatic, but that's what teenaged boys were -- arcturus couldn't even look up from the ground he was so busy focusing on being small. smaller than a flea, or a speck of sand, or a grain of nothingness...

but the boy spoke, which in turn made arcturus pull from his self-hating, drama-llama world: had this stranger still given him the time of day, despite arcturus clearly defining what the latter half of the "barely-sentient" gene-pool consisted of?

he tried a smile that was half-hearted and fake, though his tail's whumping was genuine. a few times he tried to speak, and a few times some croaks left his mouth --  come on, you idiot -- this is easy --

"a-arcturus." he finally muttered, completely ashamed it had taken him so long to answer. maybe he really ought to crawl under that rock until he died, considering he couldn't even master saying his own name.

Once upon a time, empathy had come naturally to Winterbourne, but the inclination has long been buried under ego and anger; he struggles now to understand what emotion has overcome the dark youth, head tilting slightly at his nervous display. The smile reads as encouraging, oblivious as he is despite his best efforts, though the stranger's continued struggle with speech makes him wonder if something is wrong with him. Something more than shyness. Either way, an eternity seems to stretch between them as the boy struggles, and with each passing second Winterbourne feels a little more awkward and a little less confident.
When the other boy finally speaks, the feeling is similar to the arrival of the beloved but chronically late guest of honor at a party; he's too charmed to feel frustrated, but the relief is palpable as he's offered a way to move forward with the interaction. That's pretty, He says without thinking, a little flustered himself by the suspense of it all and perhaps too eager to say something to help the situation. His ears flush with heat and he adds quickly: So do you um, live around here? He can only hope Arcturus's apparent inability to speak properly will keep him from saying anything about the first comment, though he feels a little rude for the thought.

arcturus was too busy burning with self-hatred to catch that winterbourne had called his name pretty -- a fact that, even if arcturus had caught it, might have caused the boy to simmer with even more self-loathing. he had many opinions of who -- and what -- he ought to grow to be.. and pretty wasn't on the roster.

he was visibly exasperated by his ineptitude, but winterbourne was being a far better sport than him about it. perhaps something about meeting strangers forced out a strained civility in most people; arcturus was not one to question it.

as for where he lived.. his gaze trailed to the jagged tooth of a mountain that sat lurking on the horizon. with a nudge of his nose in moonspear's direction, he (miraculously) managed an answer: "yes. there. you?" 

it wasn't much of a response -- but it was probably better than silence. (or maybe not).

Had he not been witness to the past few decades minutes of Arcturus' strange battle with speech, he might be offended by the dark boy's shortness; as it is, he's just grateful he's getting a response. He tries to smile, but the expression feels odd and shy and he's quick to let it drop, glancing the direction the other wolf had indicated. I uh... He looks back to Arcturus briefly, pushing back thoughts of his family. I don't really live anywhere. So — you live all the way up there? He looks back to the mountain, ears perked. He can't fathom living somewhere like that; truth be told, the idea of being so high up scares him a little.

arcturus was losing him -- he could feel it in the way winterbourne's smile dropped off, the warmth fading the same way a wan light of sunlight might become faded by heavy clouds. his words remained noncomplaint, though when winterbourne mentioned he was homeless, his features fell in response.

he wanted to nod, to say yes i live up there - come with me! but it didn't work that way, and he was still hung up on his past failures. defeated, he grunted and looked to the ground -- and seeing a warped piece of wood long shed from its branch, dove towards it in the hopes to distract winterbourne from talking.