Stone Circle only bring the rain

sad man

The sky was a wash of silvery and slate greys, clouds that masked the sun and plunged the teekon into a dull haze; Mawk seemed dull, too. His pelt still glimmered with a golden sheen, but without the beams of soft light to illuminate his fur, he appeared dreary and worn. His eyes were the only saviour, still a furious red amber that burned like the flames that once flickered in his heart - often he would long for that burning ambition once more, that wonder at all around him, but as he reflected on his life he felt so terribly lonely. 

Why did he lose everything he held dear?

The question often bubbled up from the shadowed depths of the wolfdog's double-sided mind, where he felt the pieces of his puzzle cracking and crumbling away where it had once held so firm, so pure. His paws lumbered across the territory he'd known for so long; even his rank had dropped, though of that he cared little, for he had been replaced with some far more capable wolves, wolves who had yet to lose their wild spirits and worked on with the strength he had once done. Perhaps he could worm his way back, but how, when he had so little motivation? So little hope?

Illecebra. Cyron. Burr. Rowana. Mother. Father. Brothers. Sister. Onyx?

Mawk had trailed toward the stones. They watched him in silence as he slunk in, curled tail drooped and head low, a mask of the man he'd once been as he stumbled over and sunk to his cream belly, feeling the dispair shimmer like rain onto his face where tears had gathered at his eyes. He could feel the cold beneath him, could feel the rushing air and the tickling grass, even the call of birds in the distance or the rustle of leaves.

So connected to the world, and yet so lost.

snatches this against my better judgment
staying vaaaague

Physically, he has been healing well since his return home. He hardly notices the healing wounds scattered across his body, save when he rises too quickly or stretches the wrong way and receives a painful, jolting reminder. His mind has not been as lucky, but he tries not to let it show; he's grateful just to be alive, though he can't quite recall the hell he has been through.
He can't recall much about himself, actually, and that's what is on his mind today. He's pacing around the territory, restless and hoping against hope that enough activity might... somehow jog his memory, or something. Anything to ease the alarm that comes with reaching for some memory — any memory! — and coming up empty. But he doesn't find any memories, or even anything of comfort. He finds a man pressed to the ground, pale and sad, and he's reminded of a wilting flower. His paws carry him nearer before he even consciously decides to approach, expression gentle. Hey — are you alright? He asks, halting a few feet away and hoping he's not disturbing the man.

The scout felt a great wave of dispair crash against his stomach, and perhaps he might have thrown up; he didn't, simply let out a choked gasp of pain and shoved his nose between his paws, sucking in the flesh of his cheeks simply to gnaw at them. So, the protector, the warrior, he had been brought to the ground, bowing to the power of the world and the grim hollow that death had presented him with, feeling his weight sink just as his heart did. What was wrong with him? He hadn't felt pain like this before, not since those terrible days as a youngster, watching as his home was destroyed by the burning hands of man. Watched as his siblings died, all but one. But where was she? Where was she in this great mess? Was she gone now, too?

"Hey — are you alright?"

The large man's body tensed, black-tipped ears swivelling back to focus on the voice that called to him from the ashen haze of the day's gloom. He did not answer at first, tongue glued in place and lips sealed together with the burden of loss that lay across his shoulders like rocks. Nor did he turn. He thought of them all, the memories that bound his soul together and kept him alive, and how they seemed damp, falling apart - as though he'd held a treasured picture between his paws and was mourning as rain poured down to crumble it in his grip, despite all his attempts to shelter it from the water. 

"Yes... no... I don't know."

His heart swells with sympathy at the answer, chest aching a little for the pale wolf and whatever sorrows he must have to be brought so low. He dares a few tentative steps closer to draw up alongside him, mindful of the tension he can see in the male's body. I'm sorry, He offers softly, slowly settling on the ground beside the other. Is there anything I can do? He doubts it, but it feels right to ask — or maybe it would just feel wrong not to ask. Some small part of him squirms with discomfort at the entire situation; he has no idea how to offer comfort even to himself, much less a stranger. But he can't just... not do anything. Even if he ends up fucking this up.

Gaze of burning reds and ambers flicked around to meet the eyes of the other - one a honey-champagne, the other a ghostly, misted pale blue; the socket was covered in a fleshy scar (his face and body displayed many), marks of whichever troubles Alarian had faced in his past. The scout did not let his stare linger. 

"I'm sorry."

Mawk's chest throbbed with sorrow, and a guilt tread soft steps across his heart - it was not the younger man's fault, and he could see no reason for an apology to be cast his way. He did not say as much, though, simply offered a half smile, cracked at the edges like a half broken glass. "I don't think so... but I appreciate it regardless." His voice was rough with the scratched throat of one who had been swarmed by emotion, covered in self-loathing as sharp as acapuncture needles prodding into his spine. He was supposed to be the strong one, the helper, the guider, and as a man of five years he had always wanted to be such; why was he not? A failure. 

"I apologise for this being the first time we really meet... my name is Mawk." The man whispered softly, his thoughts tipping toward his passed love, as they always did. I miss you, Illecebra.

omg mawk is so sweet and sad He's met with a fiery gaze, struck by the intensity and familiarity of the hue, and he realizes the man is rather handsome. Sad, but handsome. He swallows, trying himself not to stare too long. The answer he receives comes as no surprise, though his throat tightens a little with disappointment nonetheless. At the other's next words, he shakes his head slightly. Don't apologize. It's not your fault, He murmurs, expression soft. I'm Alarian. Can I, um, keep you company then? Or — would you rather be alone? He's not sure what kind of troubles Mawk is dealing with, and he's hesitant to ask; surely something so crushing must be personal, too? The last thing he wants to do is intrude and dredge up something painful for nothing.

writing him rn makes me cri ;-; <3

At the words of the younger man, a sad smile graces his lips again, fiery eyes tinged with the softer lacings of gratitude. Company was appreciated... even among the easthollow wolves he felt alone, the solitary man, and he struggled not to wallow alone in his grief; he knew to isolate himself was not always the correct way to deal with his woes. "It's good to meet you, Alarian." Alarian. A curious name - one he'd never heard spoken upon a stranger's tongue before, and he noted it in his mind with care; Alarian was a kind soul, to offer help in any form to the struggling scout.

"I would... I would like you to stay... but only if it's no trouble for you." He passed the wolf a knowing glance (emotions could be difficult) and took another quick moment to observe his appearance. Delicate, feminine perhaps, but his coat intruiged Mawk most - a sea of charcoal shattered only by the hues of sand illuminated by a setting sun. Searing pain dove into his chest again, like a dagger piercing his skin: Rowana. The beautiful colour of a dark beach reminded him dismally of his determined daughter, the daughter who must have fled from him in disappointment; disappointment in having a father who failed to protect them. Could he turn back time and amend his catastrophe?

His heart twists a little at the sadness in the smile, and he finds himself relieved when Mawk accepts his offer; he can't imagine walking away now, whether it's trouble or not. He appreciates the consideration, though. A faint smile tugs at his own features, sympathetic and reassuring and maybe a little nervous. He's not really any good at feelings — there's a reason he's not a counselor. But he's already established that he wants to try, so he's going to try damnit. I'd love to stay, He tells him, tone warm, and attempts to add some soft humor: You should be more worried about how you're going to get rid of me now. He doesn't miss the way the man looks at him, but he tries to ignore it, shifting a little nervously and hoping he's not saying anything wrong.

!! you get mawk's 300th <3

The warm tone of the other man aided in settling his prickling nerves, the nerves that only swallowed his mind when he was left to brew in his own troubled thoughts - the brain could conjure such nasty things, and the presence of another was enough to spark a distraction. Mawk would take whatever he could get, anything to avoid crumbling beneath mountains of hatred and longing. Of bitter loathing and pain.

The humour was not expected, and a soft glimmer of amusement twinkled in the vermillion of his gaze; despite how his chest ached, the light-hearted joke was much appreciated, for a smile had not passed across his tired features for weeks now. "Should I now," the wolfdog mused quietly, the ghost of a smile on his blackened lips. Stormclouds had gathered in his skull and they would not shift, but Alarian's presence was enough to allow a little beam of light to creep through the haze of grey, and it was greatly cherished. "I'm sure your company can't be so awful that i'd want to get rid of you."

aaahhh <3 congrats!

He's rewarded with another faint smile, a bit less sad this time, and he's certain his efforts are worth something. His own expression brightens a little, eyes sparkling playfully. Well, you're about to find out, He points out, tail swishing slowly across the ground. I forgot to mention — my favorite pastimes include screaming at the clouds all day and farting on people. He's definitely never done either of those things, but he'd probably say just about anything to get another smile out of the other wolf at this point; his melancholy still hangs heavy in the air despite the slowly-lightening mood of the interaction. Likely it will linger, as sadness tends to do, no matter what he says — but he knows from experience that any relief at all is worth it.

:D

He noted the brightening of Alarian's features, and the following words drew a small but deep chuckle from his throat - an unexpected statement from the other man, but the image painted in Mawk's head was silly enough for the dispair to clear, if only for a few heartbeats. Melancholy was an odd thing; it plagued the body, the mind, and the soul when strong enough, and though it could dissipate for a while, it tended to grow back. A parasite.

The Saefyn would take the contenment that was passed with amusement for as long as it lasted, though - the storm clouds would return, and quickly too, but what fool would cast away the opportunity to breathe for a steady few moments? "Sounds more interesting than my own activities." The smile returned, a blessing to illuminate his worn face for a glorious few seconds. Indeed; he was not the most intruiging of characters in the present, was he? A moping, saddened man with little left but his own paws. Sometimes even those felt too heavy for him to bear - again he was grateful for Alarian's presence (playful goofiness was much needed), else he might sink back into that hole of misery that liked to brush against his mind when shadows fell.

"You remind me of my dear sister, Skylaris - that's a good thing, I promise." The soft smile did not fade, and his gaze trailed momentarily to the sky; did she sit among the clouds now, as Soltero had informed, alongside Illecebra? Burr, too? It hurt, but of his best friend, he claimed only positive memories, and in Alarian's attitude he was reminded of the need to remember not only the pain, but the good times, too. It had always been a talent of Sky's to raise his spirits.

It would take a long time for his mind to fully shift back to such an optimistic mindset (anguish still wracked his body), but listening to the younger man would lift his mood until they departed, at least.

His words have the intended effect, and he flushes a little, pleased with himself. A soft laugh slips from him at Mawk's comment, though the amusement fades from his expression with the man's next words. His ears perk, curiosity lighting his gaze. Before he can ask, though, he notices the way the other's eyes wander skyward and swallows the question. His own curiosity can wait; his goal now is to bring relief, not more burdens. Are you saying I look like a girl? He bites his tongue to keep from laughing, suddenly recalling that he has heard those words before — many times. The sliver of memory brings with it a brief but overwhelming sense of euphoria, fluttering through on bright golden wings for only a breath before it's gone; he's not so much overjoyed at the content of the memories but at their existence, at his ability to recall anything at all. It's a shred of hope, and a shred is more than enough.