Northstar Vale I don't wanna hate you, kills me that I have too

I am still unsure what I am doing with this beast, but for now he is breathing.

Reyson stared around him blankly. Just blissful blankness. He knew it for what it was a coping mechanism he had learned in his service as a soldier. A way to take all the bad things and not break. But it was there pressing on the back of his mind. A downward spiral that no one could bring him back from. He hoped he was wrong. But he wasn't sure anymore.

Perhaps this was karma for all the wolves he had killed in his time. Perhaps this was karma for being alive, when everyone he had loved lay in teh mud and blood and bile. That had to be it right. And even Renaud could not be this petty. A snort.

He lay outside the healer's den. He hadn't spoken with Meadow, he wasn't sure if he could. ANd honestly this time, she should seek him out. He was always seeking out, always chasing. And he was tired. Exhausted even.

Had the silver Heiros knew what awaited her outside the den—the myriad of his emotions, the dark belief and assumptions in his mind—she might have wisely stayed within the confined walls of the healing den, holding off on what perhaps would very well be the end of a winding chapter.

Still, she had played a good patient for awhile now, and the air within was stifling. She could hear him, just outside the den—as still as a statue, still unable to look at her—and yet somehow, still here.

She could only surmise he waited to finally talk to her.

And this wasn’t a conversation that should be put off any longer. So, with the smallest scrap of energy she held for the moment, Meadow shed the proverbial tubes that one had in a hospital bed and stood upon shaky legs, a brief hiss of pain eliciting from her before she began the treacherously slow walk to the entrance.

There was no sun that greeted her—grey skies roiled above, but it was the defeated form of the large man on the ground that drew her gaze. “Reyson,” she spoke in a hush, eyes skimming up only to ensure Tamar or Antigone were not around to usher her back upon her sick bed just yet.

Movement inside. He froze as he heard it and the hiss that greeted him. he closed his eyes tightly. Hating that she was in pain despite it all. But he waited paitently. He could have saved her moving, should have. But the thought of being in that den where herbs and blood were mixed. It made his stomach turn over. It was stifling.

Large head lifted, body followed, until he was not laying but sitting. Slow and careful he moved. Finally, turning blue eyes to look her over.

You should be laying down, Meadow. Was his soft answer. They had to have a conversation of course they did, but she also needed to heal, to rest. He knew that better than anyone and despite it all. No matter how he felt, or what happened, he would care for her at least in matters to her health.

He wasn’t wrong—and in normal circumstances, she would have readily agreed. As if to foster some semblance of acquiescence, the she-wolf slouched closer to the den entrance, allowing the earth to hold her up better, her gaze tracing him with knitted brows. “I’m sure someone will usher me back to bed soon enough,” she noted—the dryness in her throat burning and uncomfortable.

There were many things that went through her mind—he did not visit her. Would not look to her. Felt his sadness and his anger—for as much as Meadow wore her heart upon her sleeve, Reyson had never seemed too keen at hiding his own turmoil of emotions.

Not once had he sat with her, that she could remember between dreams and wakeful fevers, or asked her how she was or what had happened.

And so, her stare bore him down—wondering just what had transpired between the lake and to now. “You’ve kept your distance from me,” she pointed out.

It hurt. Of course it hurt. It would seem this was the price she would pay, and she would need to learn to endure it.

Reyson didn't wear his emotions as readily as other's did, but he had always allowed Meadow to see them. Gods it hurt. He had done as wrongly as she had perhaps by not speaking with her, but he had been fearful that he would cause her healing to stutter and stall, if his emotions were too much. But he had been at the den mouth, hadn't eaten, hadn't slept. He had stayed there like a sentry. Had seen Antigone coming and going, Phox. He had heard her cries, but someone else was always there.

Finally, he turned blue eyed gaze to her, met her own with his. If she looked close, she could see the pain there, the hurt, and yet there was love too. He just wanted her to be happy even if it weren't with him. He just wished she'd have told him.

I have. I was fearful that my own conflicting emotions would stall your healing and that was not a price I was willing to pay.

He shifted and then down, down he went again, to his stomach, his paws outstretched, close enough to touch her if she wanted him too, but also keeping his distance in case she wanted that too and he studied her. Facing her now.

How are you feeling? I've heard your nightmares? Are they terrible? I'd have come to your aid, but Antigone was always there. And I don't wish to catch the aspiring healers ire.

It was an emotional whiplash she experienced—raw and tender, much like her side. She did not find fault in him for that—not when a certain state of unknowing hung heavy over his head and heart. His reasoning explained—that he had not wanted to stall her healing by being with her, and somehow, the logic of that did not compute to her.

But he extended an olive branch—his large figure slowly pressing to the ground, paws outstretched in her direction—and she took it. Even though she didn’t believe she deserved it.

It took her longer to acclimate herself to the ground—a bare of her teeth the only indication of her hurt as she grit them against one another—her own paws grazing his—a far cry from the days he would envelop her completely and encompass her with his own body.

She adjusted—the pain ebbing, coming and going like the tide. And then he spoke, and she glanced up—a comment of Antigone being here, and his ire. She had never known the boy to have such—but it was a previous comment he made that drew her attention. “My nightmares?” She flushed again—only realizing now how she might have spoken in her sleep—as she had witnessed many do in fevered states, nursing injuries. So many dreams had come and gone—and yet she could not bring herself to ask what he might have overheard. "I feel like a cougar tried to gut me," she answered, flatly honest about it.

Reyson had been raw emotional up until now and it was still like a festering wound, but it was slowly calming. he could possibly forgive her, but they would need to speak about boundaries and the honesty he craved. Not to mention he wasn't certain he couldn't rip the face off of his former commander, but more than that. They needed to decide what they, no she wanted. His stance had not changed, his longing had not wavered, but he would not foist himself upon someone who wasn't sure if they wanted him. And trust would need to be earned back.

He watched her gently. Be careful you don't hurt yourself further. A shift in his position and he lay his head along his paws, nose touching her paws. And looked up at her. A soft breath leaving him. There was the want to pull her closer, but one he could rip her wounds further. Two he wasn't sure if he even should.

Nightmares I can handle. I often still have them about Renaud, Amity and Rook. He spoke softly again.


A low dark chuckle. It almost did. You are very lucky. That you were not alone, but that last part, it stuck in his throat like a bone.

He could handle nightmares, he offered—her thoughts trailing to the pieces she could recall dreaming of in her hours of sleep. Solpallur had haunted her frequently in the days past—stemmed, maybe, from the worry she held close to her heart about motherhood—her life previously imagined stripped away when he had impregnated another she-wolf. That hurt did not linger the way it used to—her sense of usefulness and fulfillment had come to blossom in Epoch—but it would be a lie to say the experience of it had not left her with a shield up to the world when it came to intricate feelings.

Or had she dreamt of Reyson? Perhaps, her worry of the Pharaoh descending upon Tamar and bringing her back to a life she had left behind—a life she had made Meadow promise to never tell another of what it had been—she flushed again, praying that promise remained strong. Yet still, she could only hope she had not called out for Germanicus.

She blinked, then—his nose touching the tip of her paw, and she drew her focus back to him. He spoke of Renaud, Amity and Rook—all names she had become familiar with in their time together. His own horrors of his past.

“I went to the lake after I spoke with Tamar about… my heat coming. I worried I was not ready—and she told me I should… I should suppress it, if I didn’t completely know what to do. That there would be time in the future…” Had he seen those herbs? She did not know. “I didn't know what to do, but I knew I wanted the option, just in case...”

Reyson was familiar with feverish nightmares. He had his own fair few. There had been moments he had been very close to death. He had lain in blood and bile, for days after burying Renaud, Amity and Rook. The fever having finally taken him. He had lain there and hoped to die, had been disappointed when he had woken and he hadn't.

It had not been his name she called. Not it had been the name of the first lover, that much he had heard. The one that she would always love. Reyson knew this. Knew there was space for many in hearts of hearts. But.

He made a soft hmmm in his throat. A small shrug. I don't care about the herbs, Meadow. I told you from the beginning that it was your choice. I stand by that even now.

An intake of breath—a part of her was relieved that he agreed it being her choice. Her body—but still, it felt selfish to deny him something he had spoken of desiring—a family—and she had never meant to do so without discussion first.

Foolishly, she had simply wanted everything within hands reach, should she need it. And now, while she had not fully investigated, she wondered just how much of her side was now missing—if the cat had a good fill before Germanicus had crushed its skull from behind. Blood—there had been so much blood. The flurry of motion after—she was sickened—knowing the cat would have hurt him, too.

“Germanicus and I shared a goodbye kiss,” she, whispered then. The truth would need to be spoken—even if a cougar had not taken them by surprise, there wouldn’t have been a moment in time she would have even considered keeping this from Reyson, but it did not make it less hard to do so.

“I went to collect the herbs, and he was there… He apologized for what he had said at our last conversation, and…. Then he spoke of leaving Mereo. And then we kissed, and… and it lasted awhile.” Would more have happened? She did not know—he had awoken something in her, surely she had felt that much at the time—considered it a stolen moment in time. And now… the regret was unimaginable. And as her eyes sought Reyson now, she could not undo his hurt this would cause—any form of apology felt ridiculous on her tongue. But it was needed. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Reyson.”

Reyson had always felt it was her choice. He hadn't thought it was his choice. And if had said a family, but he was a simple man. He'd have been fine with her too.

A sharp intake of breath and he closed his eyes. Flinched as if hit, but he didn't jerk from her grasp.

He blinked and felt sickened with what he was about to ask and say.

If Germanicus hadn't gotten married would you and I even be here?

He dipped his head down. What I'm asking Meadow is if you'd be happier with him. I just want you to be happy. Even if it's not with me

The scarred veteran could shoulder many burdens. Even this one. If she wished to be with someone else, or she would always want someone else. Then he would take the burden of his love and keep it to himself. It was that simple. He didn't misspeak when he said he just wanted her happy.

The lick of pain up her side and spine was nothing compared to the jolt in her heart at his words—how much she had hurt him. It was clear to her—and she refrained as she did not believe she deserved to touch him—but in that moment, her muzzle swept down, possibly faster than intended, eliciting a hiss from her, but her nose would try to reach for his cheek—for anything, to deliver a shaky whisper. “Yes,” her tone was quiet, but vehement. “We would be here. I chose you and told him we couldn’t meet any longer.” She had—the first day at the lake, Germanicus had congratulated her—something between the two of them shifting, and she had informed the Imperator she could no longer see him. Because her feelings for the dark man had never been innocent—and she had chosen to be with Reyson.

The Mereo man haunted her, yes—it had not lessened her love for Reyson… If anything, the heated kiss had placed a piece of a puzzle in place for her—brooding and withheld, Germanicus would never be what she needed—she had been nothing but honest regarding the fact the kiss had been goodbye.


But it had been a kiss, and a betrayal: “I just want you to be happy, too...” Even if it wasn't with her. He had barely looked at her in days—the sparse information she had garnered from others indicating that Reyson's current path was one of anger and upset... Perhaps, he could never forgive her. And that thought stirred an exhaustion over her that gave her pause.

oof...these two...i want to shake them.

He looked her over in surprise and concern. Are you alright? This is why i wanted to wait. I didn't want you to hurt yourself.

Putting aside his feelings at the moment he nosed her head and muzzle around so he could glance to her side make sure nothing had ripped open.

Finally, he met her gaze and studied her face. Taking her words and quietly mulling them over. He had to make a decision he knew this. He could forgive her this, he did actually. But he wasn't certain he could trust her.

It wasn't even an issue the kiss. Yes it hurt that someone else had sought her out, touched her in that way, that she had let him,but they were no official not really. And for all of his bumbling words the boy Antigone was right. He did need to tell her how he felt.

A breath left him and he nodded. For the record. I am not upset about the kiss the wondering eyes any of that. I am more upset that you didn't tell me you were having these thoughts or these doubts.

He licked along a scarred muzzle, snick over the chipped tooth he had, and closed his eyes for a moment. But I can forgive and move forward. If you promise to talk with me about things, even if they are going to hurt.

“Reyson,” she murmured, emotion thick in her voice. She didn’t deserve his forgiveness—not because of her attraction to another, but for the act of it. She had told him wolves did ridiculous things in the season—he had insisted he wouldn’t. Had promised.

And he kept his word, and she had been the one who wronged him. Perhaps not in such a scandalizing way that featured a more permanent reminder, but still—a wound to their relationship. A wound to them.

“Reyson… I love you. Whatever I need to do…” And for a moment, she closed her eyes—balking at the idea of having to go back to the healing den and rest—when all she wanted to do was be back in her usual place of rest, draped within the warm embrace of the soldier she had spent many an innocent night with.

No, she didn’t deserve him.

Tattered ears swayed at her words and he made a soft hush sound in his throat. He didnt' want her to tire herself out. Sometimes emotions made healing harder.

He smiled at her words. Though his heart hurt a little. It would take time, but he felt hope. I love you too. And there's nothing to do. We'll move on from here.

Broad shoulders shuffled. And he got to his feet and motioned back at the healing den.

Alright come on. You need to rest. A small movement of his tail, uncertainty on his face.

I'll lay near you if you want me too. He couldn't cradle her like he usually did. He still felt raw, and. There was too much damage he'd wager, but he could be near her at least. Maybe it would ease some of her nightmares. He briefly thought of Antigone and the word lashing he would get if he accidentally hurt her.

He spoke of moving on, but she wasn’t certain there was anything that would remove the pain from his eyes. That, in her mind, was far worse than the wounds to her side, and faintly, she almost wished Germanicus had simply let the cougar finish her—a coward’s wish from the world.

She wanted to protest—but she knew he was right, and having dealt with difficult enough patients in the past she didn’t intend to become one herself. Silently, she gave a nod, and ever so slowly, she would try to push herself up, the hiss of breath and clench of her teeth her focus to keep from crying.

“Make sure you look after yourself, first,” she mumbled, as she was settled once more into the healing den, and when he would go, she would stare blankly at the dark walls of the den, wishing the time away.