Lost Creek Hollow the black hills, the colly

a visitor appears! @Ash Paw @Silvertongue for reference (presuming they're the main authority?), but anyone is welcome <3 trying to get more acquainted with the rsv fam. also leaving semi vague until other threads are complete

On pleasantly tired legs, Wren returns to the Valley. She'd never realized how flat the grasslands here were, with only the backdrop of picturesque mountains, tinted rose with mid-evening sunlight. It brings a warm feeling, being able to call it home now; the sprawling fields, lit with fireflies and budding flowers. 
She hadn't seen Akavir - or anyone else from the Creek, for that matter - since the little stunt in the holler. Though her season had subsided, home was not some place she felt comfortable going just yet. But! She had heard tale of two other neighbors within these lands, and what better way to get on her leaders' good sides than by being a diplomat?

So to Riverclan's doorstep she goes, a gift of a hare snug between two jaws, still warm yet cleanly killed. 

the events of kvarsheim's trial had shaken silvertongue somewhat, though in ways she did not expect. had not expected. it brought to mind her own starlight mortality, how she was much to riverclan but little on her own, and now she would fade even as mother from the minds of the children she had borne. these thoughts ravaged the gossamer of her mind, and desperately she rose, thinking of akavir, of arric, of someone who might hold her through the bleaker hours and drive from her all thoughts for a time. the sharpfang found instead the twitch of coppery blood in the air; she glided through the tall grass, touching shadow to slanted shadow, keepsake of the hollow, until she fairly materialized beside the tall stranger. tomboyish, layered in strength and the dove-brown of good trail-pathing. pretty in the way crowfeather was, all expressive eyes and long limbs. "bienvenido al clan de 
río." jealousy now, a caesar's-stab of it, to see this lithe creature and scent akavir on her, and arric as well, but silvertongue only tilted a cool smile in the gully of a pause. "you are new to the creek."

She is greeted. A feathery girl, wispy and thin, not unlike a catbird. She speaks in a foreign tongue, one that sounded almost like that of her father's, but distinctly different. She makes an attempt at mirroring it no less; perhaps there would be some mutual understanding. 
Ti ho portato un regalo, It is weird and rusty as it falls from her lips, her tongue moving in strange ways. She supposed many months of letting a language grow dormant would do that to you. The hare is dropped at the base of long-haired feet, a courteous but thin smile taking its place. Yeah, I guess I'm still new here. I joined Swiftcurrent a few weeks ago. Heard we had neighbors and figured I'd come say hi. 
Blink, blink. Oh. Right. Names exist and are important. I'm Wren, by the way. 

"y una sorpresa," silvertongue offered smoothly in return, caught off-guard but unwilling to soften for a relatable show of surprise. who was this new bird in the creek of the men she enjoyed? but there was no replacement of silvertongue, who had grown accustomed to their favour. yet she considered her displacement all the same, embodied in the willowy limbs of the taller loba. "i am silvertongue," the sharpfang purred. "i accept your gift. how are you enjoying the creek?" and how close had wren gotten to its handsome leaders?

Il piacere è mio, is her response, red-nosed and joyfully relieved her gift had not been taken for granted, however small it may be. Despite this, there is an aura of caution around the woman now known as Silvertongue, or maybe the stench of jealousy. Wren furrows a brow at that; it was an instinctually woman thing to be given that catty, sharp-edged look, one that did not match friendly words that came from a smiling mouth. But still, never before in her life had she experienced it. She wasn't exactly a paragon of the male gaze. 
It's alright, If she had hands, she would have exaggeratedly made a 'so-so' motion with dazzling fingers. Akavir and Arric are nice enough. Haven't really gotten the chance to get to know 'em. I guess I came at a weird time, with that, she slumps into a sit. heard you guys have been dealing with some, uh, girl named Almalexia? Her shoulders move in a shrugging motion; nonchalant, as if it were everyday girl-talk. Akavir's got a real stick up his ass about it. 

lessons of a young age remained the most impressionable. and silvertongue's time as belen of akashingo had taught her too well and too many to ever ignore. such then, the place she had made for herself in swiftcurrent, easily threatened by a wife. and he was indeed an aspirational man, speaking of little mayfairs to her. arric too, a rough-edged and roguish type, favored greatly by her, but he too could tire of such diversions. they were loyal to one another, he and akavir. "the creek has taken those assaults. riverclan will only help to judge the outcome." vague, pointedly, for she did not know what she could say of that trial which still haunted her mind. "it was repeated." and that, she felt, was why akavir was so tight-ended about the events. "it has been a greatly tense time. but it seems she has gone far away."

She sounds like a real bitch, Wren hoots, a twisting smile crossing her features. hopefully she stays gone. Poor old guy's head might explode. 
A hind paw reaches up to scratch behind an ashen ear, a sigh pushed from the corner of her mouth. So, her eyes wander back to the seafoam of Silvertongue's own, pressing at her as if they may pop right out of her head in a cartoonish manner. Wren shifts, suddenly, sitting upright and making herself as straight-backed as she could. Good impressions. Right. you guys-- Riverclan-- is like the... place with all the fancy ass healers? And then there's carsh-him to the South with that one old guy, blink, blink. Oh, dear Christ, she sounds ridiculous right now, doesn't she? sorry, wait, no, that sounds rude. Do we all do, like, separate things, or do you just happen to have a bunch of doctors? Doctors that may or may not be able to cure a pregnancy, was what she wanted to ask.

a smile ticked to life on silvertongue's wry mouth, as she shared this hope. "there are a lot of names to remember, wren," she said, perhaps experiencing a true moment of graciousness as her trepidation about akavir and arric dissipated, albeit with a mental note that said review. "kvarsheim, and it is led by gunnar, taktuq, and tauris. they are good hunters and traders also. riverclan is myself and ash paw, founded by crowfeather. and yes, we have many healers here. three at last count." silvertongue did count kelsier in such a number. "swiftcurrent creek is known for its strong warriors, having won their land in a vicious fight," she added for dramatic effect, though her curiosity was visibly roused. "are you in need of something from riverclan, señorita?"

So they did, kind of. Her chin lifts into a nod, jotting down the information in her mental notebook. Perhaps that was why they were so close; three entities that come together as one, all equally important cogs in the machine. How convenient, she figures, having stumbled across such a bounty. 
Nah, is her answer, swiping at the tips of grass blades with the end of her tail. Or maybe she did. She didn't know yet. I just wanted to make myself acquainted. Be friendly. Maybe I'll go visit, uh, Kvarsheim? Soon, She flashes a grin, toothy and lopsided. 
But if I can ask, she turns her head away, though her gaze is still. what brought you out here? Were you, um, born here, or did you move, or...? 

a moment. "do not hesitate to ask if this changes. we are allies, after all. kvarsheim will welcome your visit, i think. gunnar is very kind." the slip of a small, secretive smile, and then her face elegantly closed. "i was from a palace, once. crowfeather and i came together to form riverclan, in the beginning. and you see what it is." a pondering look. "would you like a tour, wren?" the sharpfang inquired, standing with a flourish of silver fur.

Silvertongue is a woman who seems to hold years of life within a young body. Unspoken secrets, something that bitters the taste of her tongue. The very way she speaks the name Crowfeather is sharp, jagged at the edges.
She feels the urge to offer a shoulder, but decides against it. Perhaps it wasn't her place to do so.
I'd love that, I think, she is eager for the prospect of a tour, a visible light igniting behind tired eyes. y'know, while I'm here. She follows with her own swift motion, towering with rawboned limbs that make her seem nearly double the size of the mottled girl. The sight of it brings a rush of rose to pale cheeks. You lead the way, bella donna. 

the language again, fluttering, unfamiliar. silvertongue felt herself look back toward the woman with the poured-granite legs, feeling a quickening just behind her spirit. but she shied away from the kinship, at least from now; she sought out her confidence and walked carefully along the river. monarchs glistened proudly upon the bank. "here i come to commune," the sharpfang purred, voice pitched to carry beneath the growing roar of the waterfalls' roaring cascade.

realized in my gay agenda i forgot to reply to this thread OOPS

She is led, and as the river widens, the rocks become larger and the flow of crystalline waters louder. It is beautiful here, surrounded by ponderosas hanging high above their heads. The early summer breeze sprays mist in the gamma's direction, and she gives a shake of her body. 
S'beautiful out here, she comments, nearly shouting above the roar of the waters. She flashes the sharpfang a wide, crooked grin. you picked a good spot to form a pack, eh? 

LMAO it feels like lore now! <3

silvertongue glowed, leading wren away from the falls so they might speak more easily. "crowfeather is to credit for all of that, and ash paw is my co-leader. she has helped us to keep the pack steady when he stepped down." her eyes flickered curiously toward wren. 'the creek too, is lovely. chosen well."

Crowfeather, Crowfeather, Crowfeather. 
So it's you and Ash Paw keeping this place afloat, huh? she points her gaze back to the little riverwoman. I don't know how you don't lose your marbles. I'm shocked Akavir and Arric haven't gone cuckoo yet, either. 
She creates some space by following a well-worn path that ducks behind the falls, and it's this that leads to a wellspring. Mostly still water, but kept alive by the flow of the river. She wanted to cast a paw forward, dip into it, and yet she doesn't. She freezes up when she sees her own reflection. A scowl falls in place of the content grin she'd held before. 
Is Crowfeather still around, at all? Or did he leave? 

"well, we are women," silvertongue pointed out with a small sardonic curl. "there is little need for strife or competition. and we are peaceful, healing over warriorship. there is little opportunity for dramatics beneath these trees." a lie. but she turned the force of her attention upon wren with a small clucking tongue. "come," and she slid into the cool embrace of the water, sighing as her body relaxed at once. "he is still here. we go to him for counsel."

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: some innuendo

 

Hesitantly at first, but surely, Wren follows. The shock of cold brings a shudder that eases into a feeling of calm. Her wandering eye is subtle, tracing over the shape of Silvertongue's hips, the way she moves as she wades deeper into the wellspring. 
She is entranced. 
She tries to hide it with a flick of her tongue and a quick aversion of her gaze that now focuses intently on a nearby aspen. 
Sounds like the opposite of Swiftcurrent, she comments, a flare to her nostrils as air is blown out in the shape of a laugh. pack of assholes. But hey, it's home, huh? We always think the grass is greener on the other side. 
Her tail hovers just above the surface, a low hum cast in the sharpfang's direction. Another solemn gaze, this time, one that lasts, landing on the curve of Silvertongue's cheek; the storm gray that fans into off-white, the curl of her eyelashes, the shape of her ears. The nerves start to bring a sickly feeling, a churn to her gut that metaphorically slams her to the riverbed. 
There are so many things. Wren found herself wanting to know her, find out what makes her tick; what she does first thing in the morning, what makes her laugh, where she came from. She longed to know the taste of her lips, the feeling of arms around hips and what pleasure sounded like when it came from her. 
But for now, the thoughts are put to rest with the cut of a dull knife. Crowfeather. Ash Paw. What if—
She found herself growing weak. What was wrong with her? 
I think, uhm, she shakes off one forepaw that hoists her up onto the bank. t-thank you, for welcoming me, but I think maybe I should head, uh, home. I've been-- away, for over a week. They might be getting worried. 

the touch of the palace lingered even now, for silvertongue divined when she was seen, and made no sign of showing, though she was pleased to feel the heating eyes upon her. "it is quite a bit more green," she joked, and lifted a paw as if to beckon wren. but the other was no longer delving with her, so that the things wondered might be known, of intrigue to silvertongue. "a week." the glassblue eyes blinked. "i will see you again, then." she would not keep the woman, though her gaze shone with the unasked curiosity. tonguetip sponged water from her smiling lips, a bow of temporary farewell.

last from me <3 lore established

A week. Such an oddly specific time frame, but Wren was in no state of mind to question it. She feared that if she did not leave right now immediately she might pass out, and the last thing she needed was to have the gaze of hardened turquoise look upon her with pity or even disgust. 
For some reason, some godforsaken reason, Wren wanted to be liked by her so horribly that she had forgotten how unlikable she herself was, and it weighed on her like a sack of bricks. 
Thank you, again, for the tour, she adds, a quirk of a smile that curls a trembling lip. take care, yeah? 
She would not stick around, either. A cordial, but awkward nod as she makes her exit, stopping only to shake the crystalline droplets from an oiled coat. And as she exits the border and heads southward, she can still feel those eyes upon her.