Noctisardor Bypass dammit pomegranate

open to anyone, but tags for visibility. <3

Fiona hadn't been terribly present in the social sense of the word, though she also hadn't stepped foot out of Rivenwood since she had returned from her last trip to the hollow. The witch busied herself with hunting and locating all the naturally-occurring medicinal plants throughout her relatively new home. She was feeling more social today, however, and she stepped out into a clearing and took a deep, pleasant breath. She was unaware of the ongoing drama between many of her packmates, having pulled away after a serious sensation of burnout of her abilities.

Her eyes flickered to some movement in the trees, wondering if it might be @Druid, @Heda, or even @Anselm. Were the pups old enough to be out and about yet? She couldn't recall.

Note to self: set on the 20th with permission.

It welled up from deep inside her, insidious. Druid tried to repress it at first, though she didn’t have much bandwidth left. She stopped resisting and just let it overcome her, though she did make a point to murmur a quiet goodbye to @Heda and the pups first. She wandered off into the woods, so they would not be subjected to the black cloud forming not over her head but deep inside her heart.

Men, she spat when she was out of earshot, the word punctuated by a rare and resonant growl.

Druid stepped broodily into a clearing, her mismatched eyes fixed on a spot just a few yards in front of her. But when her gaze lifted to gauge the weather, they stopped halfway up to rest on Fiona’s face instead. Despite her morose mood, her face brightened at the sight of the healer. Her tail flicked and she strode toward the other she-wolf.

Fiona, how are you?

It was Druid after all, and Fiona breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn't some stranger meandering in the wood. She was greeted with a friendly question, and Fiona offered a light shrug. Doing alright. Needed a bit of 'me' time for a little while there. The witch was certain that Druid, of all wolves, would understand that.

How about you? Everything going okay? she asked. Hopefully nothing stressful had kicked up during her brief hiatus from social life. Then again, Rivenwood seemed hellbent on imploding in on itself.

Me time? What’s that? Druid quipped dryly as she walked toward the other woman, hoping Fiona would appreciate the joke.

Her two-toned eyes cast about for any sign of the woman’s companion, though she didn’t see Prowler. Druid’s gaze soon returned to Fiona’s face, which was truly a sight for sore eyes. She hadn’t realized until now but she’d been missing her company.

I don’t blame you for needing a bit of an escape, Druid said, her mind inevitably going to Etienne and his bid for such.

Could she really fault him, either? She sighed, trying to think of how to answer Fiona’s query as succinctly as possible. Did she even want to hear about the latest melodrama? If she’d distanced herself, maybe she was tired of it all.

No, but I don’t really want to talk about it, which was sort of a lie, though perhaps it was best not to dwell, and I imagine you don’t necessarily want to hear about it. So let’s talk about something else. How’s Prowler? Where is Prowler?

Fiona winced at the rhetorical question, knowing the lack of personal time had been a large part of Druid's discomfort ever since she'd had the children. Perhaps ever since the pregnancy.

Oh, I always want to hear about it, Fiona replied, sincere. It's just that sometimes I don't know my own limits. Like a dog who kept playing fetch long after their legs were tired.

When Prowler's name came up, and Fiona shook her head and sighed. She went and got herself knocked up. Seems to have hidden herself away so well that not even I can find her. Imagine she's about ready to pop, if I remember my raccoon husbandry correctly. Fiona wondered if Prowler was smart enough to know better. Was she intelligent enough to make that decision, or had she acted purely on instinct?

Fiona refuted her, though she admitted she didn’t always know her own limits. Well, Druid didn’t mind helping the woman enforce her own boundaries. She doubled down on her decision not to talk about her troubles.

Besides, the topic of a pregnant Prowler was pretty distracting. Druid’s eyes widened at the happy news, though she frowned a little upon hearing she’d hidden herself so well that Fiona didn’t know her whereabouts. That must be tough on her.

Forgive me if this is a strange question, Druid said, but would her pups—or are they called something else?—make good potential familiars?

They hadn’t talked much about that concept since their conversation in early April, considering they hadn’t spoken much at all. Druid’s eyes flitted over Fiona’s dark features, once again noting how much she’d missed her companionship… and her face, the Den Mother realized with an inward start, her cheeks going a little warm.

They're called kits, Fiona said with a contemplative look. The question of them making good familiars was a smart one, if only she had been able to track down Prowler. I would think so, she said. Maybe, when the kits are a bit older, Prowler will come find me and introduce me to them. It wasn't an entirely absurd thought, though Fiona suspected the bandit's instincts to keep predators away might outweigh her inclination to share her latest treasures.

Although not every familiar has to be a raccoon. The wolves from my coven had all sorts of animals from birds to foxes to otters, depending on which one they felt they connected with the most. Some of it also had to do with availability, too. Different animals gave birth at different times of the year. The best time to snatch one up is after they were able to eat solid food, but before they are truly independent.

Druid soaked up Fiona’s words like a sponge, part of her still keen to implement traditions like this in an effort to more properly integrate the peoples of Rivenwood. She had to admit that the idea of snatching a young animal from its mother sounded a little cruel, however. Was that really a practice she wanted to push here?

I didn’t realize that, she admitted. That’s what happened with Prowler?

She chewed at the inside of her cheek, pondering this dark underbelly of the familiar business. Bracelet had been born without any need for parents and, besides, she’d chosen Druid. Just like the goldfinch had picked her daughter. It made her wonder if Prowler was Fiona’s companion willingly. She had always assumed as much, otherwise why would the raccoon follow the she-wolf everywhere?