Sleepy Fox Hollow shadows that lift off the bloom and the velvet

i

setting: nautical twilight, so an hour pre dawn. day after this. pls dont match length i hate that i do this lmfao. & sorry it took me a solid minute <3 
mahl is also welcome!

hours marched on and she slept and she slept until she could do it no more. dreamless and still as starlight, until the loons eldritch, cackling tremolos waned, and in their place mourning doves followed the rumors of new day with their coo-ca-coo. 

when phaedra rolled indolently to her back and lipped at the dewpearled grass, the universe let out a huff and how-about-this! in the form of an elk bugling from a near meadow — nothing like the shriek of a nazgul first thing to stir the blood. 

startled, in her struggle phae’s spine folded itself into an origami giraffe before she managed to right herself.

once up on her feet, the girl shook free of damp earth and looked around. @Mahler hadn't roused her the second night (or if he did, she’d been so sleep-drunk she’d automated the task), and thus phaedra assumed there’d been no overnight decline in her mother's wellbeing. 

rusty door-hinge yawn complete, she scanned for their sleeping forms, feeling her cheeks dimple at the gained sight of the pair. well. quite nearer to each other than they were to her when she awoke, but their child was an active sleeper. all elbows and hare-thumps to the face of anyone brave enough to share her space. 

phaedra watched the rise of @Wylla's flank for a few moments longer, each breath held before misting hope, until she felt reassured that a walkabout wouldn't spell her mother's death. 

away under a sky indigo-cool and wind bracing to the skin, back when eastern clouds were visible. she dropped a brace of grouse, left once more and returned once more with a muskrat. 

fur dripping and smelling fusty, the girl pantingly slumped to her belly and set to unfurling skin from bone, removing the heart and liver and flinging them at wylla's feet before reprising her task with the gamebirds. 

gnawing on vertebrae, her stomach loudly purled as if to say 'is that all we get!?'; she shifted her weight to prop against thin hip, paying the hunger cue no more mind than she usually did. 

but ponderous on her conscience — if they could not fell larger quarry, it was bird innards, a marsh rat, and berries withal meant to sustain them homeward.

just this post for me!

mahler had slept all that night with wylla in each of his senses. he stirred when she did, aided her where necessary, watched over her in the moments where he worried again for her very soul.
and now he awoke to the smell of meat, the sound of it striking the earth. a powerful hunger came over mahler, but he still returned to life blearily, focused upon wylla. she would live, he felt, but would not let this allow trust until he could be sure.
phaedra, with the rangy self-assuredness of a child born to the steep mountains.
he put his muzzle close.
"look. she is a hunter." and a grin to their girl, and then mahler slowly pulled away from them, moving off into the forest to pursue his own toilette and breakfasting.

Even in sleep, Wylla knew she had no right to steal comfort in the form of Mahler. Every vitriolic word aimed for his heart in these past months, every unkind thought, every accusation — all these things meant she had no right to his warmth and care. She hardly deserved to be saved from the cruel and drawn out death that had awaited her, let alone all the rest.

She slept fitfully, now and again attempting to pull away from him, only to find herself back against him, often by her own doing. It was cold without him next to her. Now and again, loathing whispers in her mind would tell her that he was taking advantage of her vulnerability. Others reminded her that she was taking advantage of his duty to his patients. It all made for a restless night, and a hopelessly guilty conscience.

But when Wylla woke in the morning, it wasn't due to guilt, but the strong iron scent of organs in front of her face. Whuhthefuh, the mumbled as she came to, groggy and stiff and with pain radiating out from her shoulder. Mahler's voice in her ear made her jump a little, sent a cascade of ripples down her spine that made her hackles flutter, and then he was up and gone, leaving her with the organs and her sun-washed daughter, who had never looked so beautiful and whose mother owed a thousand apologies.

Wylla's jaws cracked with the force of her yawn, and then she made her best effort to look hale and healthy as possible (despite the wretched way she still felt) when she asked, when did you get so good at that?

gnawing the bone, she hardly paid attention to the stirring of her parents until mahler arose to the occasion of some lone time. men and their perpetual need to lean up against a tree and dispense with all sentience. she watched him depart their company with a limpid gaze, outstretching to bat carefreely at his legs as he moved past her; unfurling from her twist to stand and shake water briskly from her pelt once he was out of reach. 

all attention caromed from him to her mother, tail asway as she waited for wylla to recover consciousness. impatience sagged at her ears until the dilatory shamble of the woman's voice perked them up again -- ah, an attempt to dignify her daughter's effort at procuring breakfast. 

a playfully slighted look undid the girl's natural inscrutability: "is that a backhanded compliment i'm sensing?" she said with a purl of lip. truly unoffended, phaedra presently schooled her expression to clarify herself: she knew as well as anyone that she wasn't a masterful hunter. she never had been; it was a self-evident truth, observable in the jut of her hip. there was little chance of her ameliorating these less-than-fine dining standards. 

"soooo... how d'you feel?" the girl probed, anxiously settling on her belly again. her tail continued to whip despite herself and every attempt to disburden herself of the leaden irrationalities of conscience. 

she swallowed hard. "got an appetite? if y'want something else..."

A slow, warm rumbling took up residence in Wylla's throat, unfurling into a rasping chuckle. She hadn't meant for it to be backhanded, but in hindsight, she hadn't worded it very well, had she? Two grouse and a muskrat was definitely better than Wylla could do in a morning. Maybe when she was younger and had two eyes instead of one, she could be so accomplished, but those were the glamour days where she spent more time lazily scavenging than actually hunting.

Ah, the good ol' days, back when she was beholden to no one and weighed down by nothing.

Wylla loved her children, but privately, she wished to return to the time before them. To a time before Caiaphas and even Grimnismal, back when she and Ingram were lanky adolescents tagging along behind their mother on hunts. She would change some things, of course. Lycaon would be there, too. Perhaps their father, whom none of them had ever met. All the misfortune of her life, whisked away, just like that.

But Phaedra and Thade and, yes, even Tiercel, who surely hated Wylla, they were worth it. It didn't feel that way sometimes, but slowly, she was moving past the notion that she was owed anything in life. What she wanted, she would have to take for herself by her own merits, and if she could not have something, then it simply meant there was something better waiting for her. She had to believe that, or everything was for nothing.

Like hell, she answered honestly, lifting a bony ankle and scooping the muskrat's heart toward her. She hardly hesitated before scarfing it with the hope that she would be able to hold it down in her stomach. Wylla even primly picked at the white toes where she'd touched the thing, eager to demonstrate to Phaedra that she was well, even if she wasn't. Better now with you here, she added with a smile.

Tell me about your adventure with your papa, bid Wylla while she reached, a little less eagerly, for a liver. She hoped to escape the weight of reality with her daughter for just a little while.

satisfied by her mother’s effort with the meal, phaedra relaxed some, an unpresuming smile touching her lips. 

and upon being prompted to divulge the details of her trip here, the girl sighed with bliss and flumped heavily into her seat. “it’s been… pretty great,” she informed. “really great, actually. maybe it’s the mountain air, but i feel lighter. more like myself.” 

an unsure air swept her smile away. there was another thing; an angst furling in her belly with regards to her father’s health. she chewed her lip and dropped her eyes. it’s not a big deal, don’t even worry her, thoughts soothing and pestering in succession.  

after a beat of doubt, phaedra elected to put it aside for now. 

“he told me to never breathe a word about it,” her tone smacked of troublemaking, “on account of you being right and all,” she went on. aureate stories came so naturally. “but... i nearly killed myself on one of those spires. yep. it's true. almost became a phaedra shish kabob.” 

it was a lie — demonstrably so, there wasn’t a scratch on her person — but she didn’t suppose her story about finding a tumbledown garden would inspire much awe. 

she couldn’t resist glancing up to see the expression on her mother’s face, the seam of her mouth gathered with stifled amusement.

She studied the bulbous liver for a moment, then decided to leave it for a little while. It was never one of Wylla's favourite organs, nutrition aside. It resembled some kind of alien insect egg sac and smelled so sharply of old blood that it was often nauseating, even to a carnivore like herself. She would much rather eat a bladder than a liver, and there was almost nothing redeeming about bladders.

She was glad to hear that Phaedra was doing well, despite her own doubts that Mahler could be a sufficient father figure on his own. He had done such a splendidly horrid job of it when he wasn't alone that she couldn't imagine he was any better at it now. Phaedra was older, though, much less reliant on her parents. Maybe that was the difference. The girl went on, claiming she had taken a spill down the mountainside, causing Wylla's lips to pinch together disapprovingly.

I know you're fibbing, she revealed with something like a smile, but it is dangerous, right? She would never concede that wolves raised on mountains could be surefooted enough to find no danger in the treacherous slopes of Sawtooth, even if she — a wolf who was clearly not raised on mountains — had never hurt herself. If she could manage it, surely her mountain-faring offspring would not have issues.

Alas, Wylla was stubborn when it came to being right. By now, she realized that Sawtooth was no more dangerous than the softer-sloped Sunspire nearby, but she would never be the one to admit it!

Anyway, there was a nicer place close by. I don't know why we ever left, she grumbled, then swallowed her self-absorption to ask, has he been treating you well? Your father?

fibbbing! her! a fibber! her expression recovered from its ostensible shock, shoulders shrugging at the question of whether or not she thought the sunspear was dangerous. in fact, the girl wanted to defend mahler's choice in mountains -- not because she felt either parent was right or wrong about the hazards risked by raising a family there, rather because she felt like in a soulslivered way she belonged there and that lent itself to a prickly air about her suddenly but briefly. 

on word of a nicer place, phaedra braced herself eagerly and opened her mouth to delve into the details of this nicer place, and indeed why they had ever left, but the mention of her father presently cloistered phaedra's curiosity. aesthetic chills chased up the back of her ears, causing them to pitch and roll. 

"mhmm," the girl answered evasively, teethtips fretting the inside of her cheek. she thought again of his lingering cough, and the ominous gulf it opened inside of her. 

phaedra forced a smile, lifting eyes from the ground. "i don't see him much. he promised me this trip a while ago," she said, "but i'm glad he waited, otherwise we wouldn't have found you." 

the girl bolted suddenly upright, ears perking: "ahm- where is stag?" she asked, vibrant with an epiphany that her companion wasn't a part of their caravan.

Phaedra's hummed reply evoked memories of a small Wylla cowering in front of a stormy Lusca and making the exact same noise when both of them knew she was lying, but she felt a need to keep the charade up anyway. It failed to inspire any confidence in Wylla that Mahler was treating their daughter any better than he had before, which was disappointing considering Phaedra was the only one left who had stuck by him the entire time.

But even Wylla, so easily lured into poking the bee's nest of other wolves' emotions, knew better than to push this subject with her daughter. No matter how badly Mahler failed as a father for pretty much the entirety of her childhood, Phaedra adored her papa. Wylla was willing to turn the entire world against a wolf who wronged her, but could not bring herself to meddle in this one relationship.

That didn't mean she had to accept everything Phaedra said, though. Why is that? she wondered. Was Mahler really so busy still that his daughter found it difficult to carve time out with him? It warmed the cockles of her heart a little that Phaedra was glad they postponed their trip long enough to find her, but chilled her that he still wasn't present for his family.

She would take her secret wish that she had died to her grave.

Her heart wrenched at the mention of Stag, and Wylla sighed. I don't know. We got separated. I haven't seen him in a while. Stag must really have taken everything deeply to heart. He always managed to find her in her wandering before. It was highly unusual that he was still missing. I'm sure he's just fine, she lied with an encouraging twitch of her lips. Maybe he found a girl out there to settle down with or something. He's smart and strong enough to take care of himself.

last from me!

“oh, well, it’s my fault really…” she muttered, “i’ve been— angry, about…”

what had she been angry about, anyway? the move, she remembered as much as that. 

"stuff."

putting honest hours into a garden, only for her hand to be forced in its abandonment — twice! the catalyst to her refusal in arraying rivenwood with her former passion.

it wouldn’t be the same without stag’s help, at any rate. he had always been just tall enough to reach natural arbors, strong enough to roll stones into a diadem ‘round her botanical chaos, and always, always! game enough to indulge her every whim with cheer, no matter how absurd the request, simply because he wanted to.

a wave of bitter hurt rolled up on her shores and she cut her gaze away, suddenly having to coax her train of thought back on track. the urge to clarify neatened her posture until there was no slouch to be seen and compulsory words trundled forth.

“i’ve been childish, but mostly selfish, avoiding him—,”  guilt flared in her voice. she exhaled. “i’ve been avoiding him.” 

that was it, really. she didn't seem him less through any fault of his own. only hers.

“it felt good to be the unavailable one,” she admitted, remembering herself and subsiding with a sink to her seat that screamed of the ashamed. 

how would karma seek to bring such largesse of ego to heel? not with magnanimity, of that much she was certain… but it would come. one fine day, it would surprise her severely.

her brows drew as her mother spoke at length of stag and the unknowns of his situation. “what?” she demanded, the onset of tears suddenly webbing her voice. she tried to stall their march on her lashline with a hasty swipe of her ankle. “sepa- explain what you mean. he was just.. gone? did he seem upset, or-or—“ the words failed her.

she figured she’d at least have somewhere concrete to visit him at someday, to roll stones for his daughters in gardens of their very own! but to phaedra’s horror, she didn’t even have that. much less a confirmation that he was alive. her heart thudded in her chest, revising the cadence of abandonment. 

and how do you think he'd feel now knowing you were attacked by a bear?! did you even look for thade?  phaedra wanted to round on wylla with the grim thought, but her tongue was at anchor in her dry dry dry mouth. her mother was not healthy; she reminded herself of the feverish hallucinations from days prior. to summon the equally possible truth of stag’s fate to words would lend nothing good to her recovery or their reunion. she didn't want to ruin things with her too-big emotions again.

which meant the now impossibly paler geist needed a spell to compose herself.

“i—i should get us some more food,” she blurted, sweeping bones into the brush and on her feet, hurrying past her mother before objections could be raised. 

when she soon returned with mahler, she would be composed anew.

Wylla listened silently to Phaedra grappling with her truth until the girl settled on it — avoiding Mahler — and then the lines of her mother's body softened. I get why you would feel that way. Don't be upset at yourself, she advised, craning her head to try to peer into Phaedra's lowered face. She understood completely. Sure, it was a little selfish, but Mahler had been a little selfish when he had new daughters with another woman and made himself rather unavailable to theirs, intentionally or otherwise. She would argue that it was karma.

I don't know, said Wylla, and it was at least half true. It felt terrible to lie to Phaedra, but the truth was so ugly, and Phaedra still so young and beautiful. Life had scarred her in its own way, but Wylla wanted no part in adding more to her soul. How could she possibly explain what happened that day without creating a villain of herself in Phaedra's eyes? Selfish as she was, she could not bear to see hate in the eyes of another daughter.

Hey, she said when Phaedra rose and suddenly darted by, twisting but ultimately unable to follow for weakness and injury alike. Thank god the girl kept her thoughts to herself — that was a blow Wylla could not stomach, for she had not looked for Thade (he did not want to be with them!) and she had not looked for Stag (like Mahler would welcome him around now!) and to admit to either fact would shatter her entirely.

So she watched Phaedra go, none the wiser, with a sinking feeling in her stomach.