Barrow Fields Wore my language like an amaranth and brand on my tongue

She departed the cliffs without thought.  Rosalyn would not be gone long, but she felt if she stayed any longer she might crawl out of her own skin.  Grief had knocked her sideways and, not for the last time, she truly felt her age.

So this was the curse of surviving.  Watching those she held dear disappear around her; even those who deserved far longer lives than she.  And still.... even now, she could not find death.

She hadn't escaped unscathed.  The mauling was fresh, a new batch of wicked weals that would join the map of past horrors.  But her body was not what failed her now.  She was a shell both inside and out, fractured more within than her wounds could tell.  And as she walked, she replayed it, over and over.  Like some sick, twisted torment.

Raleska, coming to her pregnant, asking about children and life.  So much joy... pure love.

Her head, split, staring sightless.  Even numb, she stopped as she was gripped, shoulders hunched.  Why.  Why her.  Of anyone.... It was a cruel thought.  But if it were the pack or her children, her choice was clear every time.  She'd have traded a thousand Ironseas.

The pirate was suddenly too overwhelmed to take another step.  She gritted her teeth and remained frozen, shaking with energy that she had nowhere to put.  With a sudden hiss she lashed out, tearing with first one forepaw, then the other, gashes in the snow and frozen earth at her feet.  She attacked it in a wild frenzy as her breath heaved in sobs.

The bear was long gone... but this hatred was a poison going nowhere soon.

for @Ephraim if you like!!!

So. The cliffs were occupied once more, and by his mother's former pack, no less. Caiaphas would be pleased. Her son could find no comfort in the thought, only the bone-numbing realization that the only place that felt like home to him was no longer accessible, although he admitted some measure of relief that it wasn't Drageda. Dozens of little ghosts followed Ephraim, a new one born from each bad choice and each mistake, and he was glad that those particular ones remained powerless over him.

But what to do with this knowledge? He mulled the thought over as he traveled down to the willows where he had sheltered for a short time, and then worked his way back across the fields toward Ankyra Sound. It was stupid, because she had wanted nothing to do with him. Heda had told him so herself, but still, he felt the need to visit the grotto. He always did, every time he wandered down this way. More of crypt, he thought with a grim smile and a puff of dry laughter from his nostrils. Try as he might, he could not forget his dam's last moments, nor the grief he held onto for the mom she might have been, if she had wanted him to come home, which she hadn't.

He walked for some time alone, only to freeze upon noticing that between him and Ankyra Sound was Rosalyn. He didn't even remember if he had ever known her name. He didn't think he had ever asked, and he didn't think anyone had ever told him. He certainly didn't remember it now, but he remembered her face. He remembered her on the beach, how he had taunted her, puffed full of Drageda's approval of him. Hot air was all that was. He remembered her when Drageda left. Ephraim wondered if she would have killed him if her belly wasn't fully of babes.

He wondered if she would kill him now. She certainly looked like she was ready to kill somebody, tearing at the ground like that, but would she do it now? What was that even about? He'd been practically a kid back then. Now he was a grown man, a survivalist, and, apparently, someone who still had a death wish, because he surprised even himself when he yipped.

Venting her fury against the ground didn't exactly help but it did tire her out.  Her chest was heaving by the time she slowed and dirt caked her claws.  It settled uncomfortably between them as well but she ignored that.  She just stood with her head lowered and didn't lift it until Ephraim made his presence known.

She didn't recognize him initially for who he was, but she recognized who he resembled.  The dark face and light shoulders made her show her fangs for an instant before she registered the white on his muzzle.  Not her.  But still somehow familiar.

She hadn't thought she'd ever forget Drageda, but at this point all of their faces were as lost as her Ironsea crew.  A few stood out here and there, but their names in turn had vanished.  Even the Captain who brought them together was a white wolf, but his name - what had it been?  All she remembered now were the cliffs themselves and the name of the disbanded group.  Fortunately for her, Erzulie's memory ran longer.

We've met.  She stated with a voice slightly hoarse from the emotion of earlier.  Haven't we?  The way he greeted her definitely implied it, as did the familiarity of his features.  But she could not place him nor find a name to match.

When Rosalyn lifted her eyes to meet his, he drifted closer, on edge but curious. Even from that distance, even before she said a word, Ephraim could tell that she didn't recognize him for the young coywolf who taunted her on the beach, nor the one who ran into her directly after Drageda's departure. And he licked his narrow jaws, tempted to lie.

No, we've never met, he contemplated, you must be thinking of someone else. But for the same inexplicable reason he had called attention to himself, he acknowledged that, yes, we have. A lifetime ago. It had been two years since he last set eyes on Rosalyn, and a year since he'd choked his sick mother to death in the cool, blue light of the grotto. For Ephraim, so much had changed that he felt like he was living another life these days, and the only thread still tying him to the old one was the gilded one he'd connected to Raleska and her forgiveness.

Why did you come here, to the cliffs? If only to satisfy his personal curiosity, he had to know why a wolf like Rosalyn would make a home of a place that held nothing but bad memories for her.

A lifetime ago.  If he wasn't here to cause her harm, then she supposed it hardly mattered, did it?  His question about the cliffs did pique her curiosity slightly, and it crossed her mind that he might have once been Drageda.  But the recent losses, piled on, kept her from bothering to care or examine too closely.  He also perhaps had once been Rusalkan.... or Ironsea.  Clearly he knew they had not always dwelled here.

We thought it would be safe, she responded, a little bitterly.  We were mistaken.  Perhaps informing a stranger of that was also a lapse of judgement, but she hadn't the presence to filter.  Her eye traced the cliffs, and she considered what they held.  But they are our home now, and if nowhere is safe, then at least they are beautiful.

She looked at him again, for the first time a touch of interest sparking through.  You know them, then.