Hushed Willows not like the cistern

Cameo until next round. ♥

Brontide had gotten waylaid on the way back to the Teekon Wilds, if you know what I’m saying, and he was still a considerable distance behind when Serein and Sirimiri wove their voices through the willows. Playing catchup didn’t necessarily bother him, but the frosty wind and frisky women did — it was a bad season for the earthy rapscallion to be gallivanting, and he damn well knew it. This year seemed particularly bad, for whatever reason. He kept having nightmares about settling down and raising a family and living in the same place for the rest of forever. Worse yet, his subconscious was doing its level best to insist that he wanted these things.

He didn’t want these things.

It was enough to drive a wolf mad!

He was close enough to hear their call, his trained ears straining forward upon his crown to catch the thinnest, most faraway scrap of sound, and responded in kind: filling his lungs, he poured all of his efforts into a rolling, “I’m on my way!” howl — but if they were already talking and singing amongst themselves, they probably wouldn’t hear it. Loudmouths, both of them, he thought with hypocritical fondness.