Firefly Glen the grand optimist

I am creaky, old, and rusty. Please bear with me. <3

While most roads did lead to Rome, Rian found that his own path tended to snake through the Teekons like the countless tributaries trickling down from highest heights to the lowest shoals. From the Frosthawks to the southeast, to the impregnable reach of Moonspear to the east, and his homeland in the shadow of the severe pike.

Doubtless Hydra yet ranged alongside the Cerberus. Unified, their rule -- their? Of this he was uncertain. But the desirous flame of his yearnings; a wick burned to ash, but a treasure nonetheless, laid to rest within the covetous corners of his quiet heart, ne'er to glimpse the daylight again. He knew from the westerly breeze that time granted her with blessings untold and oh how rightful a gift for one more than deserving of a boon; children, a mate, a home, a family. The burly Frostfur did not linger, but he imagined, more than once, three pairs of fierce blue eyes tracking him as he swept westward and away through the glen in search of elsewhere.

how DARE

 

Dirge wandered; Hydra prowled like an irate wildcat, searching. She had not yet come into heat, but he was out and Hydra recalled to keenly what her own father had done when he had wandered so. How could he? Why would he? Would he? 

Hydra swallowed thickly, outraged at her fear—outraged that it was not him, but a man she had always trusted more to do right by them that had caused it. She just intended to scout the Glen for a trace of him, a trace of something, but she found something far different than she expected. 

She would know him anywhere. Strange that it could have been him beside her now, stranger still that time had brought him back to her again and now. Old hurts were not forgotten, but thrown to the wind nonetheless; struck by her husbands perceived betrayal, Hydra ranged toward him, all too willing to put it out of mind just as he had gone out of sight. She would return home in short time, never to leave again likely until the season had come to an end. 

Hydra paused in her approach; she ought to go home. She looked over her shoulder, contemplative; she thought of how alone she was at present, not even her husband standing alongside her. Hydra did not think she would wade through this alone, not after everything... and yet there it was!

Her gaze panned back toward Rian. Well, she was at the very edge of Moonspear and he a little more beyond. So she lingered, watching and waiting, wondering.

Or, perhaps, simply one set of quizzical blues. 

No sooner had he taken to a westerly stride did the skin on his neck prickle, elevating hackles and awareness both. He blinked, stalled, and came to a gradual halt only to swing his broad head around to regard that which bade him pause. Starkly she stood against the backdrop of snowed fields; a practiced stroke of pitch-dark ink, unequivocally refined, and imitiably—

Hydra? 

His breath caught, the steady plumes of condensation cessating as he regarded the distinctly familiar figure. He could not tell at this distance, though his conflicted heart beat fervently as the ashes of his long-held flame stirred with longing anew. It could be any one of them; Lyra, Alya, Hydra. The season drove him from the Frosthawks lest he mistakenly succumb to instinct amongst his family, but it was not so kind as to permit him reprieve from her.

Rian circled back to face the single head of the Cerberus, tail relaxed, but ears pricked with intent. He wouldn't—couldn't—ignore this, even if she took a prize for his meddling to present to the other two heads. Blood, a scar, an ear; for all the hurt he had done, he would have given her anything to appease it.  

When he drew near enough, his traitorous tongue nearly betrayed the unspoken question in his eyes. But Rian held fast to it, and instead offered a mere throaty noise of unbidden delight as his conclusions revealed this was, in fact, his old friend.

He saw her. 

There was something to be said about the power ones first love, if her affections could have been called that, had over them; it was this that kept her rooted, despite knowing what she should do. Dirge had spoken to her that he would not betray her, that he would always come back to her—where was he now? Where had he gone? What kept him beyond what she had tasked him to do; Arcturus had returned, and yet he had not! 

And here was Rian. 

The sound he made was offered with a low rumble of intrigue; he was here now, but why? For her? Certainly not; he had come and go too frequently for Hydra to think he himself had any lingering affections for her. He had answered her affections once, only to—as she saw it—spurn them. He knew where it was ran; where had he gone? Why had he stayed away for so long? Why—

She dashed the thoughts from her mind. Did the answer matter? 

Yes, she weakly answered herself. 

No! the stronger part of her demanded. 

And yet she did not leave, her eyes watchful of him. Even she did not know what she might do; her ears cupped forward, the notched one leaning toward the right—warm breath plumed forth from her nose, looking not at all unlike a draconian smokecloud. He was closer now, but she was still quite still for the time, drinking in the scent of him though not yet leaning forward to close the distance entirely.

It was her! 

Hydra!—he wanted to cry out to her, but surprise and trepidation left him struck mute. Whatsoever could he possibly say to rectify years of unchecked longing, want, and failure on his part? And how, then, would she even take it. She hadn't brandished teeth nor ire towards him yet, but what did it all mean? Standing so near, he could detect the traces of others on her coat and one, in particular, which snarled the rivers of clarity with conflicted notions of upset and understanding. Another.

That quiet place within his heart, where the ashes of his flame smoldered, guttered in the chill that rolled down through his veins. 

And why not? For none were more deserving than—

"Hello Hydra," he spoke at last, shattering the uncertain silence with his gravelly timbre, while his gaze roved across the familiar planes of her pretty, but wildwrought, face.

She had feared for the disloyalty of Dirge, and yet her own heart stirred and screamed such selfish notions that as she stood here before Rian, she could find no anger toward him, not then and there. No; her honey-eyed runaway beau was all but forgotten as blue beheld brilliant emerald, and the faint brogue that filled the air brought with it the fire from his lungs and filled her belly with a familiar warmth. 

Not heat, this. Something else. Not love, either; this thing, it was without a name. Immutable too; it came upon her whenever she saw him. But it faded when he left; he was a nameless asteroid that was so brilliant to look upon as it crossed the sky, but when it was gone, it was gone—

It was supposed to be. This asteroid kept returning to strike her where it hurt. He might not see it, but he had left behind a brilliant crater; Rian was the reason Hydra could not utter even to Dirge that she loved him too much, though she did, for fear of him walking away too; her own fault, really, not Rian's, and

Four children together, still that lingering fear. 

Hello, Hydra. 

Her chin lifted some as she looked upon him, gaze searching. Hello, Hydra; this was all he had to say? She exhaled a heavy breath. She hurt; they were starcrossed, were they not? This was terribly unfair, but he had been most unfair to her. To come, to go; she had always been here. He had always known that. Even the wandering paws of her mate were inclined to lead him back to her soon, not almost-forever—

Right?

For now, she counted on this; she would deal with the rest as it came, perhaps find Rian if he did not. 

Hydra knew the true measure of her strength, of strength in its purest form, as she uttered heavily in turn: goodbye, Rian, 

He had made his choices; she had always let him. And now, at last, he had granted her the very same thing. Hydra had seen him turn his back on her, even without meaning to do such, over and over again. These aches were for so many a reason; yearning, wishing, wondering, hoping, hurting. . . it went on, it went on and on and she went with it, each step heavier than the last.

A breath laden with rightful hurts spilled across her parted lips and Rian knew, in that moment, that their time together would be invariably fleeting. He stood testament to a future well-beyond reach; a reality once dreamed, and now too fragmented to properly piece together. There was always a reason for his departures—some far more selfish than circumstance, but not even time nor experience could ever teach him how to properly convey the remorse he harbored for all the damage inflicted by his absences. If she were the moon, than he was the sea; eternally at her command, but never able to fill the void between them. 

A void that yawned widely even as the trailing wisps of her breath drew down into his lungs.

He sought her eyes, not to challenge, but to understand. In hope, in love, in loss; and never had he held her, kept her, protected her. This was wrong. It was wrong. He was wrong. But it felt true and just and right. But she has a mate—where is he now, then? Children, surely!—they are grown. Acknowledging it invited hurt anew to sweep through him, but he remained where he stood, broadly, boldly, bravely striving to bridge the gap...!

It wasn't to be. 

She dismissed him in the same breath that blessed him with a burdgeoning hope. No, not dismissed—

Set them free.

Rian flagged while his mind wheeled, ears wilting, tail drooping, robust frame sagging under the horrible finality of it all. She turned from him and claimed a step, another, and another. It was just of her to do so, this he knew, but it did little to calm the turmoil in his feeble heart. Anguished, but resolute, he watched as she drew further, and further away. A tempered, colder man might have accepted the loss. But Rian had known it too greatly to ignore.

"Hydra, wait," he pleaded softly, devouring the distance between them in three quick strides. He angled his nose down, dark-rimmed eyes lidded, and subdued. "I will stay away until your season is over," even if it killed him, "but I... don't want to settle this with a goodbye." 

He headed back towards the mountain, snaking his way back through familiar paths that drew him through the heart of the glen. He had turned up nothing much beyond its range but wasn't about to try and go back empty-handed—the glen was a familiar hunting ground for Moonspear, and he hoped that they had not driven it clean at the middle point of winter.

All it seemed well within, however.

He took to worn paths they had forged with the latest snow, eyes picking through the bare undergrowth for any sign of something interesting. At that point he would have settled for a stringy hare, if only to let his children wrestle over. A pheasant would have been nice too... but that seemed wishful thinking. He couldn't remember the last time he had caught sight of them in the glen, not unless he happened to discover them along some errant creek streaking a path through.

Instead of finding either of those things, it was voices that he heard instead. Distant at first, out of his focus. It did not take much to pique his interest these days and being so close to the mountain, that interest took precedence. He first caught sight of her between close-packed trees and knew the pitch of her coat well, but the second? He could not recall someone with such a seal brown cloaking him. For just the flicker of a moment, he thought perhaps he had stumbled across Lyra negotiating a liaison of sorts, but no.

Hydra, wait, he heard, and listened more as he slipped to eavesdrop nearby.

y'all can decide whether or not he gets seen/found out/whatever

Hydra did not think he would seek to stop her, and yet he did. Her ears cupped backward, but she did not wait; Hydra marched on, dignified and decided even as deep within, she revolted. Was that her? Was that this damnable season? She paused long enough to snap aimlessly at the air; if she wanted to strike him truly, there was no doubt she would have. All that aside, Hydra was distracted. With him, with Dirge, with everything. 

He would stay away until seasons end. And all other women, too! She wanted to selfishly demand of her. One ear turned toward him to indicate she heard him, but this day she would not reward him or deign him with a verbal rejoinder. Hydra desired it, true, but she dared not believe it or think that he would. He came, he went; this was what she knew of him, now. She could not resent him for his decisions made, though she did for the fact that his decision had never been her when once, her own had so clearly been him. 


Now there was Dirge; she thought of him, their children. She swallowed thickly to think she would not even be returning home to him; though her thick furs prevented winters could fingers from taking her in their grip, it was something else entirely that caused her heart to feel its frosty touch. 

She could not help but look to him sidelong; even in her peripherals, the wild-furred Rian was capable of causing the Queen to feel something, and so she pushed her pace forward, teeth clicking again at the air in forewarning. This was not yet her own time within the season; all men that advanced her in such a way were answered in such a way, Dirge included.

Ignorant to the arrival of another, Rian stood defiant against the icy grip of fear wrestling with his pounding heart. Any wolf could see the threat of her healthy frame; her pearlescent teeth. But while he, too, boasted of a fruitful summer, he would never aim to inflict harm upon the svelte Queen—not even in self-defense. His teeth had known blood, this was true, but Hydra's would be poison to his tongue. 

The frustration expressed by her aimless snap prickled at instincts that pulled him to an immediate halt, and the long fur of his ruff shuddered from the abrupt cessation of motion. He squared his shoulders, and lifted his head a fraction to regard her ardently as she contiuned her departure with heavy, albeit militant steps. His stomach twisted painfully. Had he truly caused such irrevocable damage to such a cherished soul? It could not be so! 

He would not allow himself to entertain the perilous thought a second further.

Hydra stalled a moment—a mere breath—and his ears pricked despite himself. In spite of himself, for he was no longer the timid, meek-hearted boy of his youth, but a man who earned as many scars for the experiences he lived in the years apart from her. Not that he had the words to convey it at present; his eyes, rife with interest, flashed across her own when she cast a gaze sidelong toward him. The breath in his lungs streamed through his nose and while he did show diffidence to the agitated clip of her teeth with an appeasing flick of his bottlebrush tail, Rian remained stubbornly fixed to the spot. 

"Tell me," he all but breathed—the words delicately shaped on a tenuous breath, "tell me to go, and I will."

What's this?

His head canted as he observed, unseen from a vantage point did not afford him the best of views. But Dirge was a sharp creature; he understood swiftly that there was a history here that spoke of another time, perhaps well before him. What exactly that history entailed he did not know, but there were volumes upon volumes to simply be read from the distant dance both parties partook in.

It was Hydra who he watched at length, at first. Her agitation was a mimicry of the one she had met him with before but there was a depth there, a hesitation that seemed to quiver with the tension that spanned from her to him—him, this proverbial stranger, this previous suitor. Dirge's gaze roamed over him too, only to bore into him as though he could see into a great void in the pattern of his winter coat.

He felt a tension arise him in that was considerably new, if not a long buried feeling he had not felt towards Hydra until then. It was not anger but a branch away from such, a path that could lead towards it far easily than another, and the name jumped to life as he rolled his shoulders: jealousy. Such an emotion did not loosen or hasten him from his post; Dirge was nothing but an opportunist and a showman of his own workings—he emerged slowly, projecting his own station and confidence as he came to follow after Hydra. However, his gaze did not receive her, but stayed on the stranger.

And like any respectable showman wishing to make a point, he lingered close enough to offer her suitor the parting words he so wished to hear: "Go." She may have been a pit viper ever poised and coiled and he a snake charmer, but the venom of his tone would not be mistaken.

He followed her; whether he was instigated by his own passions or the estrus (not her own) on the wind, she was not certain. Hydra did not want to find out; if he would return, let him do so when none of this was a factor. When her head was clear and not ringing; when her wrath was not so potent a thing. As he spoke, she felt suddenly crowded; pit viper indeed, but helpless before the boot of his features as he trod upon her heart. 

She did not know what sort of fortune to call it when her husband came. There was relief first; there was no smell of other women that she could discern, and her shaken faith found stability again. Hydra's gaze shifted to Rian, but her tongue was lead and heavy in her mouth; disobedient, she did not answer what he asked of her as he had not done the same for her. Hydra drifted from them both, and then spun on her heel to watch; what would Rian do? Would he challenge her mate? Would Dirge entertain it? 

Her mind reeled as she thought to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, and yet she quite liked the idea of him defending her as she ever would defend him. He rarely had the chance to, and there was more relief to think that he was more than willing to do so. 

And then her blue eyes shifted to Rian; would he stay? Would he go? Would he understand that she had never wanted that in the first place, so long ago? She wondered why now he would stay; what had changed? Had anything? Her gaze fell back to Dirge and she took a step nearer to him as she again dashed these questions from her mind. 

Did it matter? There was Dirge; he was here, he had always been here. Rian had been a dream, a desire. Dirge had been all else, and reality; he had not left her! She would not leave him, and her heart thud against her chest as she wondered what this might come to. If Rian would understand, or if Rian would fight instead—if Dirge would then truly fight for her.

It would have seemed nothing of the sort would come forward, though Dirge didn't wait to find out either. He had loosened himself from the stranger's side just as swiftly as he had come, his attention rounding on Hydra sharply. He would have welcomed a swift reprisal, if only for something entirely out of the norm, something to break the inlay of stagnation that was beginning to rise.

But here, it would not come—the only thing that laid before him and beyond was the steady rise of the mountain, and between that was the cut and pose of Hydra. He stopped to linger beside her for a moment, his back still turned on the stranger. For the briefest of moments he considered the questions that came to rise on his tongue but the words would not come; it was expressed in his gaze as it traced her instead, and then swept out towards the path he intended to take.

If she followed him, then fine; if not, that would have to be fine as well. Even for the glancing blow of jealousy that coursed him, he trusted her to be wise in her decisions—if for nothing else than the children and station they shared, she was stuck with him even if her tastes decided to change with the season.

His intervention was come and gone.

This day, he went; Hydra did not stay to see him go. As Dirge moved, so too did his mate. With Rian Hydra did not want further conflict, but more than that she respected her husband too much to think to linger longer than she had. It was time to go; she had made herself clear. He had made himself clear enough too, though whether or not she could trust it she did not know. Her faith in the mocha man was all but nonexistent, and she had no desire to hold onto hope any longer. 

Hydra moved to nip at her mates hock before charging ahead fiendishly; despite the solemnity to all that had transpired, it was a stark reminder of the chapter she did live in. He smelled of nothing suspicious and so her temper was quick to fade to black as she moved back to where home and heart both could always be found.