Bearclaw Valley gardenia and king protea

@Taylor <3 set on the 23rd, after Evien's joining thread. Flower meanings for the title~

         Patching the both of them up had been easy. A bit of blood still clung to his cheek, along with a crusted poultice he'd made from rosehips he'd found. Most of it had been used on Merrick's shoulder - he felt a little guilty for that, if he was being honest. Having never harmed another wolf before, that had been a new experience, and Evien didn't know how to feel. 

         He did know that he felt pretty great. Adrenaline still tingled in his body - affection and excitement and a handful of other feelings he didn't know where to place. All he really knew was that he wanted to find Fields. Wanted to wipe away that disappointment he'd caused on that pretty face the day before. He felt far worse about that than Merrick's shoulder. 

         It was hard to pick out scents in the pack's territory, especially around the scent of blood and rosehips that clung to him. The bear scent wasn't as bad as Evien had originally thought - he could get used to it. For the sake of these wolves who, if they communicated as well as Merrick and Evien had, needed a healer badly. Evien probably also needed to be more careful - the stinging in his injured forepaw and cheek was testament to that, and his limp was more pronounced. He'd been reckless, but it hadn't been that bad.

For the past month, his life was changing in ways he couldn't have begun to track.
A spaceship, burning up and hurtling through the sky, metal plates being torn off by sheer speed until there was only the core of it, red-hot and acute. That could've been a good metaphor, if he found out a way for it to make any sense.
So he was pleasantly surprised when he saw a figure of something familiar. Evien's shoulders were backlit by the sun. In typical Taylor fashion, he fights the pressing urge to stare. He was fighting constantly like that. He takes a breath because he doesn't trust himself. Evien, he calls out, and you can hear the smile before you see it.
So many words crowd around the base of his throat. He's never felt like he had too much to say before. After a few moments of deliberation, he arrives lamely at You're here. In Ursus. And then, I'm glad.
He notices the injury on his cheek and hand; his face darkens imperceptibly, but he says nothing.

Taylor found Evien before Evien found Taylor. It made sense - Evie was on an adrenaline high and he smelled strongly of herbs and blood and Merrick. Fields was more difficult to pick out from the surroundings. But nevertheless, the young Kastner was excited, tail waving in a proud banner above his back. 

           "Fields," he responded happily, then paused. It was difficult to find words to say, and Evien was almost never at a loss for those. But he smiled and limped over to the blond wolf, proud in spite of his stinging injuries. Luckily the blond finally spoke, breaking their reverie. "I'm here. It sounded like you guys really needed a healer." And you're here, too. That bit went unspoken.

           He noticed the other boy's gaze flick to the injuries on his person, and he shrugged sheepishly. "You should see the other guy," he joked, ears flicking back. Just beginning to feel self-conscious about his injuries. "It's really not that bad. Things just got... weird, I guess. Didn't expect him to be so... bitey." Didn't expect himself to be so bitey, either.

It felt good to have his name in Evien's mouth. Like he was grounded. His feet curling into the dirt, he's almost overwhelmed by a need to stay in Ursus. It unsettles him, how much he wants it. He grits his teeth, knowing that it will only be all the more painful if or when he has to leave.
For a few wild moments, he swears to himself that he'll stand his ground if Planck finds him. Hey, Taylor. Why don't you hold still? In his mind, he holds his brother's head in one big hand, and makes a fist.
Taylor doesn't hear the and you're here too, but he feels it. Wants it so bad for it to be true. Wants so bad to be known, to be liked, to be comfortable in his own body. He smiles, both at Evien and at his joke, and he hasn't felt this normal in so long. When I was recruited, we spilled blood too. 
He berates himself for being so awkward. The otherness he'd been born with had never felt like such an obstacle until now. He sighs ruefully. A good healer and a decent fighter. Damn, Kastner. Leave some for us. He almost wishes he could stay like this forever.

There was always an underlying uncomfortableness when he was talking to Taylor. For a moment, Evien had forgotten the blond boy was being chased. Hunted, perhaps. I'll fix you if he does come, he wanted to say. I'll take care of you. But he didn't know if it was true, and he'd far surpassed his ability to be impulsive for the day. 

           "I've never done anything like that before," he admitted, and if he were a human, he'd be picking at his sleeves. "I'm really not meant to be hurting anyone. Healers don't do that." But he had gotten so angry, and it had been fun to tussle with Merrick. It did make him feel a bit better that he wasn't the only one who had ended up bloody when they first got there. 

           He laughed then, genuine and relaxed, forgetting the shame he'd experienced before. "You can have all the fighting if you want it," he announced, shaking out his fur. "I'll just fix all of you up afterward. Think I'm done on the fighting front." It was a one-time thing, driven by anger and another wolf coming at him. Still, Evien thought, if he were to fight anyone, it'd probably be the one after Fields. Protecting someone else didn't seem so bad, and he was beginning to care for the boy in front of him. 

          Evien took a deep breath before he spoke again. Something genuine, not just surface-level. "I am glad you're here, Fields," the brown wolf murmured, tail swaying slowly. "I'm sorry I didn't join right away."

How appropriate it was that when left to their own devices, Evien healed people, while Taylor, even given the power, tended to do the opposite. 
You're good, though, he wants to say. I might not even deserve to know you.
Making Evien laugh felt as charged as any fistfight. It's cheery and elastic, everything that he fails to be. His mouth feels unbelievably dry; he swallows. I'll keep that in mind, he says, returning the smile, although every cell in his body is begging him not to. Taylor lies down on the grass. It's the same way he had been sitting when they had first met each other in the Glade. He leans his head back and clears his throat, looking at Evien with one half-lidded eye.
I am glad you're here, Fields. A muscle in his jaw moves with an effort. He doesn't know where this effort was supposed to be headed. Don't apologise, he says, realising midway that Evien might've noticed the dissapointment that had flashed across his face. The thought worries at his seams. 
You're here now, aren't you? I'm not dreaming, am I? But this wouldn't be a bad dream at all if it was. I'd want to stay asleep for once.

Every conversation with Fields was like this - complicated, strange, and it made Evien feel a miriad of emotions. But as time went on, they were getting more comfortable and pleasant. At least, Evie found himself enjoying them more - maybe it was just Fields' presence that he'd come to like so much. 

Fields lay down on the grass and Evien found that he was a bit surprised. Pleasantly so, but surprised nonetheless. The smaller wolf followed him down and stretched out, embracing the sunshine on his fur and resting his sore muscles. 

He hadn't been able to erase the guilt from seeing the disappointment on the other boy's face when he'd left, but it did make him feel a bit better that he didn't want an apology. 

A smile crossed his maw at the next questions, and he shook his head. "I'm here. You're here. If this were a dream, I don't think my face would hurt as bad as it does." As the adrenaline ebbed, the wounds were stinging more and more. "Are you happy?" It was asked with bated breath, wondering if he should've even inquired in the first place.

Lying down here, under the sun, is almost painful. He knows there is work to be done. He knows that he is never completely safe. In my head, everything is so tangled. I am such a damaged thing.
The knots in his head and in his throat tug at him, but he doesn't move. He lets the quiet and cool breeze run its long strokes through his hair. The sound of woodland animals, the dampness on his toes, Evien, who smelled like herbs and something else unnameable. He can forget that he is himself.
He scoffs, but takes a closer at the scrape on his cheek. Teach me how to make some poultices one day, Kastner.
The question prematurely aged Taylor Fields. He lets it marinate in silence before saying: I'm happy. He pronounced happy very carefully, as if it were a newly found complicated chemical concoction. Are you?

Really, though, weren't they all damaged? Evien thought that was what made other wolves so cool. Imperfections made them interesting - more beautiful. And Fields was probably one of the most beautiful things the Kastner boy had ever seen.

The valley was serene and beautiful, chilled breeze but warmed by the sun. Soothing and relaxing, with the scent of rosehips and grass and bear wolves. 

Forest green met ocean blue as Evien sought out eye contact with the other boy. "I'll teach you," he assured, fur warming under the stare and the unusual useage of his last name. "As soon as I find a place to put the den, I'll get the stuff together." Evien was always excited to share his knowledge of plants with others, but was particularly excited that it meant more time to spend with Fields.

"I am happy," he said, still smiling as he lay beside the other. "I was... nervous, at first, but I feel good about this now. Did he ask you if you could kill?" He had to know if that was normal. While Evien knew that he could, under certain circumstances, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to on command.

The mention of a den warms him. Putting your roots down. Drawing out the perimeter. Watching the blueprint turn into something real.
Taylor presses his cheek against the cool, damp grass. That'd be nice, he murmurs, his voice slightly muffled.
It was a debauchery of the white picket fence and the two story house and the living with someone you loved. Taylor could and would never lead a normal life. But in this veneer, in this thin slice of spring, he entertains the fantasy of him coming home after a 9-5 day of work and putting his loafers in the shelf by the door. Then the fantasy slips away as fast as it had materialised.
No, he says, feeling uncertainty making its way to his head. Through the brain stem. Had Merrick asked Evien if he could kill? Do I look that depraved? Do I look like a murderer? A monster? He didn't need to ask. He presses his forehead against his knuckles.
He isn't distressed, he thinks. Just deep in thought.

The quiet was unsettling. He'd been hoping against hope that Merrick had asked both of them about their abilities like that, and it set a stone into the pit of Evien's gut when Fields said no, and nothing else. Stifling silence followed, and Evien looked away - had he said something wrong? Why had Merrick asked Evien that to begin with?

"Maybe he doesn't expect you to," he reassured, reaching out his paw to press against the side of Fields' - a bit of blood still oozed from the top of his hand, crusted with poultice. Blood and rosehips. Part of him knew that Merrick probably expected all of them to be able to kill at some point or another, and Evien wondered if he'd be able. "I get the feeling I'm going to disappoint him when he finds out I probably won't be able to." A small smile, then, trying to maintain some of the lighthearted feeling from before. Anything to erase the silence. "Don't tell him that, though."

He couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him like this, and it was strangely grounding.
There's no flinching. There's no sharp intake of breath. But for a few moments, all that's in his mind is Evien's presence, the small circle of warmth where their hands touched. He looks down. Evien's hands are pretty, he thinks, with long fingers and large knuckles and dewclaws that stuck out boyishly.
The rosehip poultice's smell fills his lungs. Taylor raises his head, but his eyes don't quite reach Evien's. It's like he assumed that I could kill, or had killed, or something. Maybe it was the fact that he had been so haggard and his mind so frayed, that Merrick only'd had to take a single look at his insomniac's face and bloody mouth to come to the conclusion that all the homes he had ever had in his life did not deserve to be called homes. He said something about marching. I don't know.
My lips are sealed, he grins, and it is then when he can really look at Evien's face again. The sunlight was lighting his eyelashes. His pupils constricted and widened imperceptibly in the green irises.

The movement was accepted far easier this time than it had been in the meadow several days prior. It was gentle, soft, comforting. And yet it also felt like electricity coursing through the point of contact, heat traveling up his arm and into his chest. Evien hadn't realized he could feel so smitten - like a boy with a girl, his father had said, a long time ago. But did it have to be a girl?

"I don't think that about you," he murmured, trying to pick his words more carefully. "You don't seem like a killer, to me." He took a breath, thinking. "I don't know what he meant about marching, but I doubt it meant anything good. I'll probably have a lot of wolves to fix."

Fields was made of sunlight - it glanced off of his fur beautifully. He was so bright, so much brighter than Evien had ever imagined possible. Merrick had called Evie beautiful, but if anyone deserved the title, it was Fields. The brown boy smiled in return and laid his head down on his paws, letting his eyes drift shut. "Thanks. He said I-" wanted to watch someone choke on their own vomit. The imagery behind it was disgusting and made Evien's stomach turn, and he shook his head to clear it. "It was just weirder than I expected. Merrick is strange." It was certainly not that he didn't like the black coywolf. He just didn't know how to feel yet. "I'll need to get to know him better." Get to know them all better.

Like leaning against the back of a pew, watching dust motes in the slanted light through a stained glass window, listening to the drone of a pastor. He closes his eyes and lets Evien's voice sink into his head.
He'd never really thought about romance. About love. He'd never had the chance to ponder on that and by the time he'd finally shaken off his brother from his trail, what was inside of him was festered and malignant and mutated. 
All Taylor knew was that he could start wars for that laugh. That it was hard to look away from the elegant lines of his face. Thanks, he breathes. Marching was military. Marching would result in injuries and blood and exhaustion. He couldn't care less about that. And Merrick was indeed strange. But who could blame him? Imagine being one of the only living members of an endangered species. It was hard not to go insane, living like that.
He places his nose carefully on Evien's hand. Memorising his smell and the feel of his cool fingers. The pale, hairless scar that would be left after the wound healed. 

Fade with your next post? ^^

War and love were both very unfamiliar concepts for Evien. He'd known the love of a family - often twisted, misaligned with reality. It was that overwhelming, twisted love that kept him away from things like war. He had no idea what he was doing here, in Ursus, with this beautiful boy that intrigued him so. In this place that felt like it was already on the precipice of war. But these people needed him, and Evien needed to be there.

Exhaustion was beginning to overwhelm him, and Evien allowed his eyes to drift shut, chin resting on the forelimb Fields was not occupying. It was remarkable, he thought, the difference between their first encounter and now, and he wondered what would come of the next. What about the one after that? He hoped these meetings wouldn't end. 

Evien drifted off to sleep with the scent of Fields and grass and rosehips and blood.

Evien must be so tired, he thinks. Tired from squeezing his first fight in between getting to know Merrick and Taylor, two people who were indisputably a pain in the ass to get to know, from squeezing in making poultices and taking care of not only himself but other people in Ursus, squeezing in marching and possible war.
He feels guilty for not having left Evien to fall asleep sooner. For a while, he stares at his face, which is turned slightly away from him. His eyelashes flutter, the fine facial muscles twitch. It feels good to be looking at someone and them not knowing that you were looking, in the way nature photographers so lovingly recorded butterfly wings and the flashing red belly of salmon during mating season.
His lids grow heavy. Before he knows it, he slips into unconsciousness, into a smooth and dreamless sleep, with the sun glowing red through his closed eyes.