Shadewood kiaruk ❂

backdated to the 19th

loathe to leave behind her little dwelling near the totoka, kukutux knew she must honour her word to @Cry, and return to the keep with her decision. and so she made the trek as swiftly as she could, following the sea instead of crossing the mountains again. 

the girl found it good to sing as she trotted, letting her voice rise and fall with the ever-present crash of the waves. but at night she slept fitfully, and when the land began to turn white-sanded and warm, she knew soon the shadewood would rear imposingly in the distance. so it did, and dread began to rise in kukutux' heart, but she refused to be chained by it.

and so she crossed the border into the familiar dappled beauty of the deep weald, and called for him, verdant eyes holding a good deal more confidence than they had when cry first brought her to this place.

For once, it was her who caught him unaware. Tending to ripping up a bramblebush by jaw, he was stuck chewing the harsh and bitter wood stems until he could fight to the heart of the thorned bush, chewing away at it in the warming dawn of morn. It took all morning to whittle this burden away, and just as he snatched the final artery of bush free, the voice of heaven’s gate called him from home. 

Keeping the idea of the tossing the bush in some hideaway dugout for a potential trap or torture chamber, he set it aside, and made way for the harp.
Arriving with a speculative stare, it wasn’t until he realized who had come knocking once again that the judgemental face fell away and was replaced by a crisp and professional charade. Or was it?

Nearing her, but refusing to cross his borders and trudge into the wetlands upon the Isle, the shadow looked upon the cream and ivory dame, and said nothing. He had nothing to say to her- it was her who chose to leave, not he who kicked her out, after all. But he did study her- looking her up and down, running an automatic analysis on her being to see if she had ailments, or was alright. To see if she was-

His brain rushed a sentence free, breaking through the mush that tried to settle amongst feelings that he told himself repeatedly that he did not have. “Where is your husband?” It sounded more of a demand than the sneer his pride wanted to sick forward. He wasn’t focused. 

Wasn’t ready. For what? Her? Her answer? The truth? Or an assumption?

he came, and kukutux bowed as was the respect his station merited. cry's glacial stare raked over her; she could feel him assessing her for weakness, for anything he might penetrate with his harsh voice. and it was he first who spoke of a husband. the girl bit the inside of her cheek, keeping her eyes downcast, but anger welled in her belly for his supposed mockery of her.

the duck had never been a reckless sort, truthful to her marrow, but now she slowly lifted her slender muzzle and gazed into the face of the man she had once asked to take her as second wife. "he is where i left him," kukutux answered softly, a bride's pride gleaming in her eyes. a lie. would he know? and if so, what could cry do? the grim face of the crazed spirit-walker came to mind, and she fixed it there, his pale features standing sentinel against whatever scrying magick the shaman before her might have.

"i have come to collect my furs, if you will allow me to take them," the duck went on, lowering her delicate skull to slip the rabbitskin from her shoulders. "and i have brought a new plant, one that might bring relief to gwen in childbirth." the snow queen was not the only wolfess in the keep who would bring forth young, but she was the only one who deserved mention in this moment.

With the analysis he had her undergo, his selfishness bode him searching for someone’s scent that was not her own-
and he had found none. A pleasant twist to a smile refreshed his face, a subtle win he stuffed in a fur-sheath pocket.

“Good- then he may stay there...unless you plan to return to him.” Of course she would, had the chosen one existed. It almost riled him, this fantasy she tried to pull over his eyes. Staring into her own, he almost wanted to believe her. He would let her have her show. She was cute trying to lie to him, trying to defy him.

However, at mention of her needing her furs back, he grew stiff. The Phantom felt this was for Kukutux to take her leave, for her to just disappear- he didn’t think she would take it seriously. But was this another misunderstanding..?
He didn’t have time nor patience for misunderstandings. 

“You come to leave, yet leave what you came with?” It felt almost as though it was an insult, as though Little Duck underestimated his Wife, hell, the Keep! 

“And you offer me nothing but words and absence- yet you bring her ease.” What of him? What of his pains, his broken solidarity that he pointed accusing claws at the gentle spoken doe before him. 
She had another husband for goddamn-

There was no other husband. 

Taking a calm and silent inhale, he banished the sticky ink that sought to spot over this situation. He would allow her lies to stain him- he was dark enough as it was without her manipulating, as well.

Ears splashed a sharp whirl back as he took his gaze from her, almost disgusted at this circumstance, what it had become, and how they ended up. Lids shut over those glacials, coffins for the frozen soul that lay beneath them. 
He dismissed her silently, swallowing the vehement surges that gurgled hungrily in his throat, scraping ceaselessly against a tight windpipe. 

She had precious seconds of this peace, of him allowing her passage without any protest-

Should she not hurry, words would twist between fangs, and those would land without a dam to hold them back, this time.

for a moment the duck regretted her lie. would it not have been better to inform him she would rather leave the keep and pursue her own way than remain? the feral smirk that had climbed onto the dark one’s features rankled kukutux, but it faded quickly.

he would not allow her to take her things, it seemed, and even if cry had given her leave, the girl did not want to walk in shame through the beautiful forest with his flowering countenance as her escort. ”perhaps consider giving them to amaya, along with my den and its stores of herbs and meat. she wished to be a healer also,” kukutux murmured, the tension of their meeting driving her to irritate him further for ever having seen her as a possession.

pale ears flicked at his rumble, his dismissal, but she was not done. pushing the fur toward him with a small paw, the young she-wolf glanced into the burn of his ice-eyes for a moment. ”gwen once called me sister. i would not want her to suffer. tell amaya to crush the leaves and mix them with water. they will relieve pain but not put her to sleep.”

the tips of her fangs were visible a moment as the girl backed from him. what did he want? a promise? she had been prepared to give him all things, and he had spurned her, shunned her ways. there was nothing left to grant him, and yet he towered before her, a demand upon his lips.

”i will beg the spirits to allow your children safe passage into this world, cry,” the duck whispered, overcome by the rage and grief welling together to choke her now. 

the keep had been her home, and he her protector, but now neither the weald nor the shaman welcomed her. and still she had done nothing wrong — she had been a faithful servant to those above her, been affable to her packmates, loyal to her leaders.

cry could no more fling her back into the mud from whence she came than kukutux could have returned to who she had been before all this. she gathered herself some paces away, waiting for whatever cold word he would spit toward her at the last, and after he had spoken, the girl would return to the coastline that called to her even now.

She was peace, where he was not. Everything- everything wanted to throw itself at her, to yank, pull, rip, tear, to rid this world of the despair and sleepless nights where he had thought of her, often returning to her den to see if her scent had returned, if she had snuck in without telling him, or if another lay curled in the nestle where she once lay...
Memories of all kinds flew through him with bitter shingle clanks, a strike for every single time he saw her...and the echo following all of the times he only wished he had seen her. 

A painful swallow, thick and coiling as some irate serpent was finally held low enough for him to speak, somewhat strained. "She is due tommorow...and she will want you there." He did not in the slightest mention it was truly him wanting her to remain longer, for him to get one last restful night within the Keep before her departure took a shard of the Shadewood from within him. Everyone here, he could feel, they were a piece of these woods. He was the heart of this junglesque forest. What more pain could a tree endure than to lose a chip of it's bark, splinter by splinter?

while cry's mind thrummed with memories and regret, kukutux' own only pounded with no! she had come back to announce her permanent leave, but at the mention of gwen, her resolve had fled. how could she leave the first to show her kindness, after the shaman, alone in her trials? and surely by now minori had brought forth her own children. 

head carefully lowered, kukutux realized she could find no reason to decline, and at last brought her springmint gaze to bear upon the coldness of cry's own. "i will stay a week," the duck murmured, for a handful of days would be enough for her to treat gwen for any injuries, keep an eye upon the snowqueen for the milk fever or other maladies. thinking longingly of the little ulaq she had built upon the coast, kukutux put it aside for now, awaiting cry's decree.

As simple as that- goading her stay through something as fickle as emotion, of using his own wife as a tool, a leash to this bird who was so destined to be free of him. He had a week left, and like midnight stricken clockwork, it would come soon enough. Perhaps by then he could work up another method, something else to keep her occupied while he felt complete, again.

It was a brief respite, but he would take it.

Nothing else said, he stepped aside to allow her passage.

it felt as if she had returned home to a prison, and though the jailer was kind, he was there to clasp her inside his keep all the same.

kukutux padded meekly past cry, head down in subservience. unsure if he would follow or not, she nevertheless made her way toward her den, intending to clear whatever cobwebs had gathered and ready herself for gwen’s travail.

a breath to the spirits then: if they would not send her a husband, then let her become one who spoke to the souls of those passed. the thought buoyed the duck; in silence she traveled, lost in her own thoughts.