Emberwood Till I'm Swept Up by the Shape of All the Centuries

It's not a surprise when he finds himself there.

The cradle of tall grasses which lies between a circle of towering oaks (he's come to think them of as friends) calls to him, the gentle sway of their fronds seemingly beckoning the young man where he treads on weary paws. Something somber lives in his expression, settling unusually on Dante's youthful face, as though his bright features weren't made for such scowling. The boy's long frame carries him swiftly towards the clearing, though his normal limberness is made to look scrawny through the way his shoulders are set; there's a dreary tension within them, as though the young man who bears the weight they carry has become resigned to the pain. The soft drizzle that's continued throughout he day only seems to caricaturize his lank features and gloomy mood, downy pelt drooping slightly with the weight of infinitesimal droplets. Dante couldnt care less, at least not when he's made his way to his resting spot.

He goes down without a sound, eyes fluttering shut softly before every muscle that's been holding up his dainty framework slackens, the young man dropping into the grass and finally just... breathing. Dante breaths. 

He inhales memories and exhales loss, squeezing his eyelids tight against the emotion that threatens to stream out. It's not the end of the world, Dante. And it's not. But it is the end of an era, and of a family, and Dante can't help but to wonder if he should have held on tighter. There's naught set in stone, sure, but the young man can feel it slipping away more and more each day, that thread that's tethered the court together. He has Lumi, he knows, and gods is he thankful for her with every fiber of his being. Still, he can't deny the plaintitive feeling that's clawed its way up his throat- he's tried to suppress it and has only ended up choking. 

So he doesn't. Dante denies it no longer, and it spills out, out, out of his maw. A cry, poignant and soft, overflowing. He thinks that perhaps the sky weeps with him.

*thieves thread even tho it is impossible a stretch for her to be here* date fuzzy

In contrast, Valmúa was sprightly and giddy. At least, as much as she was really capable of being such. She'd taken the day to once more scout along the borders of Seelie Court. On the way, she had found a particularly fat rabbit, and had tortured it for probably too long before eventually eating it. Her belly felt full. Her eyes were bright in the glum afternoon rain.
Through the grasses she browsed the smells and sounds that surrounded her. She was hunting for signs of Court members. She was hunting for recruits and potential wives for her brothers. She searched with less purpose than usual, knowing well that she should turn back soon. She was far from her Watch without the protection of Kigipigak or her brothers. Though she was indeed a fighter by nature, she could easily get herself into trouble on her own.
Just as she was getting ready to turn around, she heard it.
Sniveling.
Crying. She had to find the source. A crying voice might have been a puppy, one that could easily be adopted into the Watch and kept as a loyal member for all time. Her ears moved as radars to pinpoint its source, and slowly the cinnamon-coated woman was led to nothing more than a broken, balled up boy.
How ömurlegt. Valmúa lowered her head, moving closer to the little man in the grass. Openly, she stared. She tried to put an expression on her face that looked like kindness, but there was a twinge of disgust on her lip. Why do you cry? The question was simple. Her accent was thick on it, for she had not used the word cry in the common tongue in a long time. Men were not supposed to cry.

There was no denying it any further. The Court was no more. She'd been a fool to think she was worthy of being their queen. Though her kindness unending, her understanding reaching out to all - different or the same - , there was something she'd lacked. A drive - a want for a position of power. She'd only chosen this path in the hopes of bringing hope back into this world. She'd forever remain that light, but the crown she'd unjustly carried was fated to stay behind. She wished not to suffer the same fate as the Empress... Perhaps she was afraid more than anything; of the responsibilities. Of the rejection. She was no savior.

After the moment of happiness, the fleeting bliss of togetherness, that had been Dante and her's official tie, the news of the fallen Empire had been the drop to fill her bucket. There was no saving what she'd built, but that did not mean her dreams had to end. She could be an answer, for someone, anyone, and that would be plenty. Those who wished to follow, were welcome. Those who didn't, were free to go. She'd miss them, as she missed all those that left, but she had to learn her court did not make who she was.

And then there was the fact she couldn't stop but wonder what had become of @Kynareth Deagon - she'd wanted to save him ever since they'd met. There was something, perhaps the Fates, that wanted them together. There was no other explanation for why they'd run into each other on so many occasions. She'd retreated into her chambers of silence, so she wasn't informed about anything that had happened the past few moons - if the Saints were still poisoning their land. She'd lost all hope to fight it. Perhaps darkness would forever rule, and that would be the end of it.

Dante? She called through the woods, Loinnir sitting ever stately upon her back. Love? I've fetched the last of our things, I was wondering where you...- Her voice quieted upon seeing the scene before her; her Half, her Mouse, saddened and some other woman there to comfort him - at least, that was her first impression. Excuse me... She said softly, lingering, unsure if to approach him or leave him be with this mystery woman. She'd let him decide.

✹☾❂

Eleuthera was a flighty thing; and even when she was soul-contracted to a single place, or a single cause, the depth of her attention waxed and waned as her inner strength saw fit. At times, her passions ran wild, like fire — and other times she gave into ease, and assumed little responsibility. Unfortunately, in the midst of the latter phase, it seemed that the faeries lost the ability to hold the willows, and Seelie Court became no more.

Had this event caught the lilac woman at any other moment, Eleuthera might have been more pained about it. But communing with her mothers amongst the willows, and learning from her penniless ardor for the wayfarer @Kincaid, made her realize that nothing truly endured, in the end. To hope for anything different, was a fool’s errand. So Eleuthera took the hit on the nose, bid her ancestral home adieu (for now), and continued to follow the winding path that life set before her.  

Although she preferred solitude these days, the fae wasn’t far away when a sniffling cry — and then various voices — punctured the felonious silence. Eleuthera immediately assumed the responsibility of investigator, and she quickly came upon the scene, but made no move to intervene or place herself amongst the scene’s players just yet. She would watch for a moment longer, before deciding what to do.

Flooding. He's flooding. Emotion welled up in his chest has been given its spout and the result is what one might expect. The gentle warble of his own voice which falls on his ears might as well be silence; Dante's mind is far. It has meandered past the bounds of physical realities in the moment, his senses numbed to all but is own inner turmoil. 

He's sure that's why he misses the footsteps that creep up on him. It is only when the accented voice, thick and almost round in its sound, registers on Dante's ears that the young man is suddenly jerked into the present, the realization of just how pathetic he must have sounded subsequently followed by a sharp, hitching breath. His lanky form jolts with its new self-awareness, olive eyes wide and glassy as they fix directly upon the socrnful argent gaze that's found him in the peak of his vulnerability. For a lingering moment Dante remains where he is, feeling not unalike to stranded fawn where he lays alone in the grass, soaked and probably looking thoroughly mad. The stare he's recieving from the ginger figure is unnerving, his eyes flicking away and from theirs and flitting over the clear disdain in their features as he attempts to gather himself, still stuck in his open, unarmed pose.

Just as his maw parts to try to respond to the stranger- he hasn't got a damn word in his mind yet but anything would be better than allowing the silence he's been flustered into to continue on- an unmistakable scent reaches Dante, and finally he's snapped out of his paralysis. The boy's head snaps to the side just before her voice rings out, his body haphazardly fumbling to an unsteady sitting position. His head flicks back and forth in a way he might find comic if he wasn't so fucking embarrassed right now, what with his mouth stuck half-open and his face feeling hotter than bay rocks in midsummer. 

Uhm- he clears his throat, gaze still flitting back and forth uncertainly as he calls back out to his love, Hi, sorry I was just- I'm... The trailing off of his voice is accompanied by Dante rising on wobbly feet to stand, unable to help a sniffle that escapes him. He's torn right now, unsure as to how to navigate the social situation in a way he almost never is- it's rather funny, if he thinks about it. He throws Lumiya a fond look, hoping the quick tilt of his head communicates that she ought to join him where he stands before he turns to finally address the stranger. Wasn't, he tries, but the joke is clouded with leftover emotion and he winces at his own poor attempt to make light of the situation. S'nothing. Just, you know what they say, winds of change or summat, what the fuck is he saying? You're um, he glances around briefly on your lonesome, then? It's not fixed, really, the situation. He's still quite obviously balancing on the edge of an odd post-tearful state, but he'd like to think his attempts to redirect th conversation are valiant as they could be.

The fire woman might have rolled her eyes if she'd been a truly unkind person. She held it back with the rest of her emotions of mild disgust as the little man rolled and wobbled himself to a sit. He tried to make words come, but it was a sad handful of excuses for sentences. Valmúa just blinked, staring at him. Slowly, it began to dawn on her that he might just be one of those wolves of the Willows. The wolves that were now homeless, and being homeless it meant that she needed to do due diligence in finalizing their dispersal by pissing on all of their landmarks.
As the boy steadied himself clumsily on his feet, another member of their Court found them. She spoke soft and gentle words as she entered, clearly hoping that the mess of a man was alone.
This advent seemed to fluster him even more, for none of the things that came out of his dumb mouth made any lick of sense to her. He asked a question, she supposed it was to her, at which she scoffed. She wanted to say something really mean, but it seemed less fun when someone else was watching her. This time, she didn't have the backup of her boys, and so she tried to harness the power of kindness that lived somewhere deep— very deep — in her fiery heart.
Yes, I am from the Watch, she said plainly, swallowing and trying to give him a small smile. It appeared as smiles do when they are forced: fake.
You are both from the Willows, ja? she asked, sniffing vaguely at the female and the boy, wondering if he was a son of hers. The red northerner felt decidedly uncomfortable, having no idea how to deal with emotional people on this wavelength. It took everything in her not to dance about and proclaim that their pathetic little Court of Faeries was bust.