Swiftcurrent Creek I turned [M]y collar to the dark and damp.

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Cursing and some sad memories.

Arric had heard the howls, when they left, when they returned and honestly. He had no idea anymore what to do for either of the two wolves and as a counselor he had to do his best. But truthfully, he was so pissed off, he could barely function. They were being dumb as hell, both of them. How hard was it to have a freaking conversation. To tell each other how they felt. That was where his point of frustration was. It could upset the balance of the entire creek. It made his stomach turn. 

She needed help, it was clear and he was doing his best and he would continue to do his best. But for the first time in a very long time he wondered, if his best was good enough. Reverie had gotten so into her brain that she didn't think he could help. She had dropped it, locked it and reversed it and now when other's tried to help her, she twisted it and made herself pity them, because she was so fucking certain that she couldn't be helped.

It made him think of his dad. A man who had been deeply troubled down to his soul, because of mistakes he had made as a younger man. Mistakes that had scarred his sister, broke apart a pack. Though Honestly listening to his father it sounded like that wolf FOX was a mind fuck too.
The tell tale burn of anger at the back of his mind, is what drove him towards the creek side. It was still cold, but with desperation born from the fact he couldn't meditate right now, after all he wasn't infallable and sometimes his brain wouldn't shut off. He jumped into the rushing river, dousing his head completely under. The cold a shock to his system.

As long as he could stand it. Until the water began to burn his skin with it's icy fingers, until the breath was catching in his throat and pressing, pressing. He broke the surface with a gasp and pushed upwards, upwards. Pulling the broad shoulders and slim waist from the river itself. Water plastered his fur to the dips and the valleys of his black body hued with red. White scars showing up, that his pelt usually hid. Where foxes and weasels and other wolves had taken their fair share. Where the pain of growing up the way he had, alone except for his dad colored the war paint on his skin, littered it with nicks and mars. And he stood with closed blue eyes, inhale and then exhale. Chest and ribs expanding with each breath. Slowly calming the racing mind.