Arrow Lake verräter

for @Aurëwen ♥️

mahler had been told that the mountain wolf and the motherdove were unmarried, but it had mattered naught to him. children, the natural outcome of most pairings, were most important. 
however, this had seemed of less intrigue to the man verx, whose scent had faded too swiftly from the border for the gargoyle’s liking. rather doubtful that the male had simply gone off on an extended hunting trip, mahler came to the conclusion that verx had chosen to act without honour and abandon the children he had sired.
a shameful and curious thing, for the sylph was a dutiful mother and loyal lover to her sea wolf. and perhaps it was not so; perhaps they had come to an agreement. at any rate, mahler sought aurëwen out at her thicket, bringing a gift of elk hooves for the children and his verdict upon verx’s actions.

mahl really Did That huh

To sleep for centuries is what the silver wished for. Rising begged for a herculean brawn that waned so faintly within Aurëwen; mind asunder and heart aquiver. Unveiling the dark cradle of lashes was like hauling an anchor up ... and up ... and up ... and the only reprieve she’d ever and always find would be when she looked at her children, soul heaving. Every saddened part of her softened, to see Dragomir and Isilmë part of another the way ink blots parchment. She supposed she was the quill that’d half-written them to life.

But where was her missing inkwell? The one where, without whom, these cygnets would have never come to live?

Slumberous, coaxing melancholy welled up within her; and yet, the sight of her son and daughter,  so inconceivably inseperable, gave her that brawn she needed to heave herself upon her paws with breathy, worn resolve. With a delicate chirrup, she invited her sun-and-stars from the thicket; adamant to dwell away from beneath those spring arches.

A luxurious, languishing stretch eventually had the silver draped some ways away from the thicket. If her children did, indeed, follow, diligent-as-ever argent eyes would keep Isi and Drago in their sights. In the meanwhile, her tail feathered at her hocks, and her mind was as adrift as a ship without a horizon.

Aurëwen felt so quiet within herself these days that pondering anything but quests and forages seemed to strain what little ease she could find. Where was there to wander? She was surrounded by companions, her children, and now climbed steadily through Diaspora’s hierarchy. What was there to ever fret about? She’d learned of her follies, had taught herself well since, and continued to embark on a betterment of herself overall. What more was there to wish for?

With a remarkably soft, wavery whine, Aurëwen tucked her chin onto her paws.

he found her disconsolate, downcast. drago and isi romped nearby, playing with the rotund clumsiness of still-new puppies, and mahler lay down the diverting rattle among them. then, and only then, did his attention travel to aurëwen; the gargoyle appraised her with a still gaze, choosing to settle on his haunches some feet away. 
the dissipation of verx's scent upon the border, the state in which he had discovered the motherdove now — it did not bode well for the little family's patriarch. and yet these were children born to diaspora, which meant that in a great way the responsibility of their rearing fell to all the pack.
"aurëven," mahler began, and his voice was heavy with the things he did not wish to say. "this is your home, for as long as you vish. it is the home of your children also. but," and here he leveled his implacable lilac stare upon the silver-hewn she-wolf, "he is not velcome back, on pain of attack. i have no respect for a man who abandons his children in the night."
it would rest heavily upon aurëwen, he knew, and wished so much he did not have the curse of directness upon his tongue, but that was how it must be. she must know, for only then could she make decisions regarding the future of her beloved little ducklings.

The cloven clatter drew her from her wisping thoughts, and her bereaved eyes found the mauvely, austere gaze of Mahler. Her name from his lips was received with a quiet blink, and she remained as such throughout his verdict. Her taut heart flushed with pale gratitude, and then cinched, vexed, at the prospect of what seemed to be her beloved’s banishment. As Mahler continued, tears veiled themselves over her eyes, salt and piercing; eventually, an ever-faint hitch unfurled from her wan throat, and she took her gaze to her rambunctious children.

Oh, dragostea. Even now, he divided her. Would their children conquer their first season in its entirety, when he returned? If ever? With the verdict of her midwife, would Verx even be allowed to see them? See her? Or did this enshrouded male mean to exact violence should her night-of-life be sighted? 

Aurëwen was not, of course, canting wholly in favor of her heart’s yearning; she understood all too thoroughly Mahler’s own qualms. The muskier would carry out his own judgement, and should Verx request the presence of her and her children if he did, indeed, linger at the borders again... she wasn’t sure he’d be permitted to see his family.

She could never keep their sun-and-stars from him, but neither would she ever part from them. The answer was in her blood; the one that’d always been with her. It was enough of a knowing to have Aurëwen anchoring her head towards Mahler once more.

”Verx told me that he has loved ze children since he felt them within me. He would... he would not desert his children out of cowardice when he has loved them so endlessly.” Whet her scarred lips, and hastened on, always gentle, evened, ”There had to be a reason for his leaving. There must be, or I am truly a classic fool.” But, no, this wasn’t about her—

Gleaming silver eyes beseeched those of her midwife’s, all full-moon and laden and somber. ”If... Mahler, if he does return for his children, swear to me you will permit him to see them. Please.”

oof so sorry on the wait

he saw aurëwen’s gentle protestations as her grief manifesting. the lilac stare softened; did he not too know what a torment this could be? he, who had both lost a love and acted to abandon others. the gargoyle judged her not, only the man who had undoubtedly left the motherdove and her fledglings.
he was not inclined to show mercy to verx, even in his own hypocrisy. but perhaps that was why mahler held so coldly to his announcement — it was not an action that he could ever again tolerate. yet his eyes drifted over those of the woman again, over to where her children played. 
did they too deserve the routing of their father, the collapse of the fabric they had only just begun to recognize? and there was the matter of the practical. mahler was invested in the young family as both a diasporan and as a father; if he denied aurëwen this request, would she depart to seek verx’ unfaithful side, and draw with her the pups that throve in the shadow of the mountains?
the shadowpriest thought upon all of this musingly, and at length lifted his chin to level his gaze upon the woman once more. ”that choice is yours alone. but he vill not cross the borders.” the canyon, perhaps, or the stand of trees that lay just a mile beyond their delineating lines.
perhaps in time would aurëwen come to discard the memory of he who had left her, but for now, mahler did not wish his decree to be seen as an act of saccharine mercy. guilt choked him; regret etched itself in his eyes, but verx had no loyalty to either his children or diaspora, and so the gargoyle did not see fit to grant him rights where he had once walked.

idk what this post even is but ig the May Mood is: im not crying ur crying

While awaiting some sort of word from Mahler — a promise, a vow, an acknowledgement, anything — once more her gaze had alit on the babes she’d birthed. Her ears fluted at he will not cross the borders, that the choice was hers, and a silent sigh of easing sifted through her scrawny shoulders. But there was no way that dragostea would know of this... was there?

While Verx’s leaving had been a personal desolation, it had also revealed to her just how much she truly cherished their children and him; how ensnared with captivation her little family had her. There was no place she wouldn’t be with them; nowhere that she wouldn’t follow, whether to some blessed land or into the cursed depths of another.

As it was, until  ( if? )  he returned, their bairns needed their mother; and stay, she would. ”But they need their father, too. A fool,” came the thought, given voice whether or not she meant to, ”So insufferable— a damned fool—”

And she loved him. ...Loved him so much so that whether he returned or not, oh, he’d get an earful! A reckoning!

No matter that she felt so very ridiculous in this moment, and then; if a then would ever happen. ’You're brave but small,’ Verx’d once told her— oh, he'd see just how brave she could be when he—

Scars crescented over ivory skin as taut, as threadbare as parchment. Shuddery breath swept through her breast, and gleaming eyes leapt to Mahler. Her stubborn self wouldn’t ever give permission for tears to fall. Not now, at least, even when she flushed and faded with her own foolishness in the face of her midwife. ”Some think me mad,” Aurëwen croaked, all warbly, ”and now I think I know why.”

A forgiving fury  ( for who? )  tore through the ache within her, and she wasn’t sure what to exactly feel, and Aure let a tear — or two, or three, or ten — shiver from her eyes. For this moment, she would lavish in this mess that this entire situation had come to be... and after, she would dry her eyes, steady her heart, and return to her children as she ought to.

"then stigmata vill be their father, or i, or ingram," mahler rejoined gruffly. he understood why aurëwen carried on as she did, but it did nothing for her, nor for her little ones. verx had abandoned them and for their sake she must move on. some would consider mahler heartless, too cold in the face of such emotions, but it was his way. he had always been a blunt sort, keeping his own emotions banked beneath the surface.
the sharp scent of her tears rose upon grief-twisted features; mahler watched her impassively, neither passing judgement nor offering a comfort he was unsure she would accept. he was ill-equipped for such scenes, but the gargyole remained all the same. "i am not among them," he offered crisply. "you are a good mother and an asset to diaspora. let yourself heal, aurëven," he urged gently, knowing of her frequent forays outside their land. perhaps she would take a lover, find distraction in the touch and heat of another man. fidelity could not be expected if her husband had effectively widowed her — and they had not been mated, by her own admission.

Her marred brow knit with some confusion at the talk of fathering, Mahler’s declination of thinking her utterly gone, and then of her value regarding Diaspora. She would neither praised him or condemn him for such effrontery, for she understood well the message beneath his words: heal, and move forward. Oh, she knew she would— knew it in the way she blinked away these furious tears, rubbed them from her snout. 

To touch anyone but her children— no, she would shy, she would flinch, and she would keep a weather, argent eye on that horizon. ”Multumesc, Mahler,” was all Aurëwen found within her fragmented self, her unlike-most-wolves person to say, brow knitting further.

She rose, then, and delicately began to pick her way towards her children, and though she crooned to them with echoey smiles, her bony hips canted; her thin shoulders gone stiff.

...And this life, here, even with the lives, the comforts that motherhood had brought to her? It gladdened her, endlessly so.

But she was still a fool, too, who would forever feel everything so entirely.

last one from me <33

<3

he did not understand the word she spoke, but its context rang clear all the same. quietly he watched the motherdove quit his company, silently appraising her gait, the hang of her body, before he rose and nodded once toward her turned back. a fond flash of his lavender eyes over the children, and the gargoyle was gone, melted away from the thicket.
part of him very much did wish that verx would return, accept some punishment or task in exchange for mercy. mahler would take great pleasure in exacting such from the deserter. and yet, another, larger portion of the shadowpriest hoped that the sea-cur would never come back. perhaps in that, his lover and children would be spared the possibility of his weakened involvement.
mahler was silent, ruminating.