Skill: hot girl summer!

Things were different. He could feel that, feel it the way that his paws felt the earth and could tell it had shifted some. Time had marched on without him, and his trials had been different - he'd been taken into the wilds by something entirely unknown to him and there had been no way for him to resist it. There was no coming back, honestly, from the strange magic that held the lands enraptured continuously. He didn't know if he felt any different, maybe more stubborn, more determined - but his eyes sought the Glade the same way his heart did. It had become his home. His base. His people were there.

Something stopped him at the edge of the lands, skirting it only a bit before he'd taken to pacing, not unlike a cat might. He'd imagined what it might have been like lost to the flames. Orange and yellows, reds hot as the sun themselves, just eating up all the trees and every scrap of plantlife that they'd worked so hard to cultivate into something beautiful and strong. It felt like they had only just begun before he was transported elsewhere and sent on his journey, and he'd hated every moment of it.

Foxglove normally might had relished a challenge but when he'd been transported to another place entirely with no direction to moor him he'd been untethered. The yoke of packlife had been snapped from him and instead of embracing the freedom he'd only seen it as a strange loss of identity and community. He hadn't realized that he'd been so enmeshed but it wouldn't have surprised him if he'd thought much more about it - he'd been just as lost without his siblings and mothers, after all.

Without considering it anymore he'd called out - his voice strong and without any fear, but he'd summoned her all the same. Surely Fable would have her own thoughts on what happened to him and if he'd even be one of hers anymore.

Skill: Healer (1/5)

Her return to Avon had been a whirlwind and weariness worked its hands at her very soul. Gamma was yet returned, Sycamore's condition remained critical and uncertain... but, somehow, by some sort of sheer determination, Fable remained upright.

She had just raided one of the pack's herb caches when a familiar voice rang out. Her frame froze mid-step as she pondered if she had simply misheard in the disjointed status of her mind.

But his voice had been far too clear, its notes bearing the musical quality he always seemed to have. Before she could talk herself out of it, she was headed in the direction of his summoning song.

Disbelief held her squarely within its palms as she moved uncertainly - yet hopefully. She wished to see her friend hale and hearty and in one piece... surely this day could afford her one iota of good, could it not?

Fable kept her expectations in check until she navigated the tree cover and a very familiar fox-red, black, and white frame stood just beside Avon's border. Her lips curved into a relieved smile around the bundles of herbs she carried, her paws quickening as she turned her strolling speed into one of a full-tilt sprint.

Before she could barrel into him, she stopped with a few feet between them - her lush eyes looking him over for sign of injury. He appeared to be whole, but many questions rose within her mind - where had he gone?

She carefully folded the herb bundles into her wavy nest of fur in an effort to free her tongue. Fox, Fable greeted him after, her tired expression growing warm with recognition. Although there was much to fill in the gaps since last they saw one another, she could not deny that she was grateful to see him on a day that, thus far, had proven to be trying. I am glad t'see ye again. An uncertain edge rose within her gaze as she paused for a moment, searching him with curiosity. Where have ye been?

Why did you leave and why have you returned?

She could not bear any further bad news on this day - Fable did not dare breathe to life the potential that he had returned only to bid Avon farewell in a more formal manner.

Skill: healer! (1/5)

Memories raced in his mind, dancing even, some tantalizing thoughts of simpler days before things had gotten complicated again. It had been ironic to him that this felt complicated. Not the grief he was still sometimes choked by, the loss of his parents and his siblings and the haven he'd known as his natal land. It was the grief that he'd felt for being taken from the Glade, too, the only thing he'd left behind was the basalm branch he'd dropped in his shock. He continued to pace, tail lashing behind him in an uneven pace as his mind bided the time by bringing to surface the things he'd missed the most. His closest friend in the lands without a question had been Fable - they'd shared a great deal, and he'd felt immediately comfortable with her. It didn't mean that his feelings hadn't been a bit complicated - but, mild flirtation and a little crush never really hurt anyone, after all.

When he'd last laid eyes upon her they'd both ended up coated in the earth from digging and plotting their herb garden. They'd had bright dreams of this moment - months in the future, their hard work cultivating a resource for their pack that would benefit them in the years ahead. This was a vast contrast to how it felt, however, when he'd met her sage eyes again. She'd run to him, and he didn't know if she had anything else she was attending to at the time, but she held a bundle of herbs and a pang went through his heart. Was that from their garden? He could smell blood on her - but another scent too, and he realized so much in that instant. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit. She smelled amazing at that moment and he made the mistake of opening his mouth and it went from bad to worse. Fox gulped and then the scent was in his lungs and down his throat and burned into him.

Get a fucking grip. He chastised himself mentally, and he could do this he could. He was a professional. He was an adult. He'd get it together and he'd stop his wandering thoughts and he'd be fine. I got sent to the otherside of the fuckin' world. Fox grit out and his voice sounded much gruffer than he'd intended it to, so he cleared his throat. I was here one second, elsewhere the next. It took months to find my way back, I started in the desert and it wasn't until I found that damn farm again that I knew how to get home. And that's without the earthquakes and fires everywhere, too. He tacked on quickly, and it was like he'd become uncorked. One second there had been silence and the next he'd recounted the simple tale.

After he'd caught his breath from the avalanche of his words, he took another breath. And then he couldn't ignore things anymore. Fable....you....you shouldn't be at the borders now. He said, the protective urge to keep her safe and guide her further from the borders almost enough to make him cross into the lands without explicit permission.

Skill: Orator (2/5)

Thing of whimsy that she was, Fable did not immediately think of how she might affect Fox upon her approach. The lingering scent that so consumed Archon had grown mundane to herself, adopted as a normal affect of her being due to exposure - she no longer noticed it. Its onset had been gradual enough that it seemed to merely blend, though that seemed less true for the men around her.

It probably did not help that there had been chemistry between them - an ember, something that, had either of them nurtured it, could have grown. Fate did not have such ideas, however, and as Fable studied Fox, she thought of the glimmering strings she used to see threaded between individuals. She felt so certain that one would span between herself and Archon, but it did nothing to diminish the fact she held Fox quite dear - a detail that left the dreamer saddened by his absence and cheered by his return.

There were things Fox understood that, as of now, Archon did not. He did not fully know the work the two of them had placed into the formation of Avon's sprawling garden, nor did he appreciate the fulfilling accomplishment in coaxing little green sprouts into full blooms. The euphoria of finding a patch of herbs one so needed were lost on her husband, but she did not hold it against him. They came from different backgrounds, and difference was what made things work.

She noted he appeared to struggle, just the faintest tensing of his frame, and she realized a moment later what might have been the cause - herself. Fable stilled her waving tail, an endeavor that proved quite difficult when she was so pleased to see her thought-lost friend. Would it help him? She had no idea, but she tried.

As he explained what had happened to him, her brows pinched and her expression grew sympathetic. Anyone else who heard his story might think he was stark-raving mad, but Fable was not so quick to discredit stories - especially when she, herself, had landed within Vivarium the way in which she had. The fae were sometimes nefarious, little tricksters who thought only of their own fun and games. As much as they were blessings and stewards of the earth itself, they were also chaotic and catered to their own whims. The plight of humanity - wolfdom? - mattered little to them, at least not within realms she had existed in. Why would the fae care for them when humans had ravaged their world?

But Fox, who she could not imagine wronging the fae, had been spirited away to another side of this strange world - for what purposes, Fable did not know and she hedged they were unlikely to ever know.

Fable stopped herself short from bridging the meager gap of distance between them to press her muzzle to his shoulder in support - she realized, just as her body began to shift, that she would likely be doing him more harm by being so close.

I got so worried for ye, Fable told him instead, from where she stood. I tried t'track your scent, but it didn't go anywhere - truthfully, I thought I was just bad at trackin'. She had even asked Shiloh to search when he was out, though her brother had never gotten to meet Fox before he had been blinked away from Avon.

Her expression softened back to something akin to joy, though hesitant. Fox had said home, yet he stood at their border. She supposed that was the way of it in the world of wolves. Back in her previous life, visitors familiar enough to call one's domicile 'home' operated on an open-door policy. It did not appear to work so well in this world - after all, someone had barged in and injured one of their own. Perhaps this life did not call for such warmth, a lesson she felt she would not forget anytime soon.

I'm glad t'see ye all in one piece, she went on. With all o' th' fires, I fear th' worst whenever anyone leaves m'sight. We just got m'brother back, I was so sure th' idgit had gotten himself burnt t' a crisp out there. He very nearly had, she learned from not only his recounting of what transpired since he was separated from Avon, but by the stretch scarring across his left shoulder courtesy of the flames.

Fable breathed a soft sigh through her nostrils. Ye have missed much, Mister Fox, she revealed, but did not know where even to begin. It seemed as though the universe craved to pummel them with something new and oftentimes dreadful at every turn.

What had she done to so enrage the fae?

Fox added a warning about her presence at the borders and Fable felt heat rise to her cheeks. He had a point - she was not so accustomed to all facets of this 'being a wolf' thing. Ye are right, she agreed and offered him a sheepish smile. Let's catch up closer t' home, then? She tipped her muzzle toward the heart of Avon by way of invitation.

Skill:??

The siren's song of her scent made it so hard when her tail was wagging mile-a-minute and he was there, dumbstruck, bump on a log caught. Fox couldn't help but chase the warmth from her brief touch, immediately closing the gap again between them to press his skull to her own, forehead to forehead. It was vastly more intimate and he corrected himself, standing again to behold her as she was. He couldn't wipe the stupid grin off his face and though he felt so much guilt for missing so much it felt like they'd slipped right back into their same old song and dance. Fox was relieved by that fact, because as much as he'd struggled with losing his family it had been easier because of the family he'd made in Avon. Both can be true, He quipped playfully, corner of his maw tipped up in a grin. Mrs. Fae-ble, you haven't had to do it for long after all. His brows arched rapidly when she mentioned a brother being returned to him. Some stroke of luck had given her one of the things she had sorely needed, and maybe it meant that at some point he would see his own siblings or mothers again.

Fox drew in a heavy breath at the thought, and once again came that itch. Archon was being a fool if he'd allowed Fable out on the borders alone! But then - he'd called hadn't he? Maybe it had been enough to make the need to find him stronger than her need to keep safe. What kind of person was he to risk her - but then he had to settle himself again. His front paws tapped a couple nervous beats before he wiggled his nose as if it might shake her out of it. No - he hadn't known the state she was in, he'd had no way of knowing anything that she'd endured while he had been away. It might not have been by choice but he still felt a iron-hot spike of guilt over the matter. But her delicate skull tipped to invite him, and at the least he'd walk her home before he went to gather Bee and River again. I was worried something might have changed, He admitted quietly, as he took those first almost shaken steps back into the territory that he'd helped to cultivate. He had walked these borders endlessly, made trips to and from bringing sometimes kills and sometimes fallen doves, but they had been his and he had been theirs. He still was.

Somehow it just feels like slipping into a warm den again. He said - but his tone was hushed and he spared a glance at Fable as he brushed his shoulder against her own. It was....it wasn't bad traveling, and if I'd planned it I might have had more fun. But I just felt so lost again, and all I could think of was losing my parents and siblings and then to lose you too? It wasn't fair. He realized a second later that it sounded wrong the way he'd said it, and stammered as he added clumsily All of Avon has become my second family, it would be too cruel to be torn away again. Inside he bit his own tail, as if somehow to punish him for the foolish way he had with words. At one point in his younger days he'd thought himself a man with quite the verbal prowess. Turns out he was no match for the cloud of pheromones he was currently basking in.

He swallowed the drool he felt collecting in his mouth, tongue somehow still feeling tacky - bizarre behavior, Foxglove was chastising himself again mentally.

Skill: Orator (3/5)

---

TW: Mention of pregnancy loss

A great deal of restraint went into Fable's stayed paws, the tenuous reluctance that desired nothing more than to crumble and allow her to rush toward her friend and pull him in for an embrace. A restraint, it turned out, that was wasted as Fox served to rattle it and move forward in her stead. He closed the meager span between them, pressing his head to hers - a gesture she returned automatically.

As her muzzle rested just to the flat side of his where whiskers brushed, her forehead to his, she was not oblivious to the ease in which she could have driven her nose into the thicker ruff of his neck. It was a burning temptation that singed her with its presence, but before it could claim her whole, he pulled away - standing to regard her instead.

The friable spark sputtered, but stubbornly did not die - hormones or simply something unearthed from behind the veil of inhibition, she did not know, but she was aware of Fox in a way she hadn't really been before. It was a complicated thing that was composed of many threads in equal measure - relief, guilt, hunger.

Her lips curved easily into a smile with his quip, mischief hooding green lenses. I'll have t' double m'efforts, Mister Fox, Fable returned, her cadence between hum and sing-song. I have no intentions t'lose ye twice.

Once had been enough - more than enough. She did not wish to lose anyone else, not a single other soul.

She knew not how to broach the subject of what had happened in his absence. Part of her selfishly clung to this welcome spot of normalcy - a space with padded edges where she did not have to acknowledge the depths of her loss or the upheaval that consumed them. Here, just the two of them, she could pretend that nothing amiss had happened at all - that she had not lost her child, Avon's borders had not been breached, and her brother had not been only barely pulled from the brink of certain death by whatever force controlled this realm. She could simply slide into their typical dynamic that was light and riveting, two kindred spirits cleaved from the same stone.

But that wouldn't be fair - not to Fox, who had staked his own blood and sweat to hammer out the foundation of Avon in the Glade.

His shoulder brushed hers and she cast him a fragile smile - one that didn't quite reach her eyes. She was glad he had returned and felt at home once more, but her mind dialed away at the running list of misfortunate that had found them in the days he had been reclaimed by the fae.

I - we - are blessed t' have ye back among us, she told him, words that rang with truth. Something in the emphasis placed on her own importance in his statement fed kindling to the earlier spark and she drew in a silent, sobering breath.

Focus.

There was no discounting that she valued the bond they shared, she had wondered often of his fate and could scarcely believe he was here, in the flesh, at her side. She bumped her shoulder to his, half to encourage him and half to prove to herself once again that she wasn't imagining things. Ye are lost no more, an' we plan t'keep ye so long as it is your wish, she added, sparing him a grin that slowly faltered into a subtle bow.

Our ranks have become a touch bare, she revealed as her gaze was cast forward. Koga is gone, Sycamore was injured just last night after a lass I had taken in was abducted - I believe he will survive, but it is critical. We have not found th'wee lass. Weariness worked its way into her being, the growing heft that was added to her mantle. A few o' th' others have simply disappeared, but m'eldest brother, Shiloh, has been with us for some time.

Shiloh's return was a silver lining amid storm clouds. It might have been lightning rather than good omen, but Fable was desperate to accept any perceived boon.

---

TW: Mentions, feelings pertaining to pregnancy loss/miscarriage below

---

Still, selfishly, the greatest loss still hadn't been voiced. She swallowed around the tightness in her throat. Fable hadn't been able to speak of the matter to many, not even Archon's sisters when they visited from Dawnbreak. Surely they might have put two and two together when there were no child milling about her paws, but she did not have the wherewithal to put voice to revelation then.

Even now, her stinging loss flirted between being overwhelming and so distant that it did not reach her, a detachment she was certain her mind had created as a safeguard to keep her functioning.

It did not help that she couldn't shake Archon's commentary when she told him their child was lost. The words clung like thorns, digging deeper the longer she tried to ignore them and simply gloss over it. Her heart bled, but she had shoved it away to tend him - she allowed her own wound to spread as she cleaned his.

That's who she was - the fixer, the seamstress without enough thread to fix herself.

And now, it still bled - silently weeping crimson in her wake as she pressed on. Did he even notice she had been more shell than whole in recent months? She wasn't sure, but she was too afraid to ask for fear of what his answer might be.

I lost a child, she offered at last, herculean effort required to will her tongue into motion. Her ears twisted back, their soft insides cupped back against her ruff. I... don't know what happened, but... Her words trailed off as her jaw flexed, no further elaboration rising to the surface. She knew those things happened, the pregnancy was a fragile, mysterious thing that operated sometimes on nothing that anyone could plan - but it did not sunder the sorrow.

Skill: healer (2/5)

He'd thought for a moment that he could hold back. That he could keep himself from touching her, being too close, being too presumptuous. It was a dangerous game he played and if he didn't chant how dangerous this was in his head, he might have wrapped himself around her fully. He might have tried to nuzzle in against her, rest his head protectively over hers, and still a sigh was loosened from his chest at the feeling of home. Still, he could not indulge too much - not when he needed to look her over and see if she was actually okay. Had she even known it was coming? Known the signs - taken the right herbs to make things better? He let out a slow breath and tried to settle his thoughts. It was some deep instinctive echo that he would have taken care of her, made sure she wasn't uncomfortable, eased what pains he could - by any means she required of him.

He licked his lips, uneasy with the way his mind was wandering so easily. Estrus was a cruel mistress to them all, wasn't it?

She looked whole, as one could expect, but that smile made him more at ease. It was easier to see them as they had been the first time they'd met, younger - though not that they were old - and more carefree. If not for knowing her, he'd never have met the rest of Avon, they never would have found the Grove, he never would have found Bee, and he wouldn't have been there for River to trail. If it had been someone else who had come across the little fawn would most likely have just attacked him. It was the natural way, after all. All of the steps that they had taken in the dance that was their lives were so deliberate. There was no way to change things now and despite the hardships and losses, Fox wasn't sure that he would. He was, after all, who he was despite of and not because of the things that he had been through.

Her words settled around him like a warm shrug, thick around his shoulders, the warm that he'd felt when they had touched foreheads and then it had slipped down his neck until it settled in his chest. Are you going to track me down? And he heard it after his stupid mouth had said the first thought in his stupid scent-addled brain. Why did the idea of her hunting him down sound appealing? He had to lick his lips again. Gods help him. His travels had been strange - between dodging ash and fires and seeing some of the molten lava that had hardened, Fox honestly hadn't known what to think. He had never encountered anything similar, and the oddest part was his first thought had been wondering if his family had been safe. They weren't even here. Safe and sound. Far, far from here.

He marked the delicate smile that grew on her face, something that missed her usually bright eyes. She was one of the types who wore her heart on her sleeve, and usually her smiles were enough to make others bask as if under the sun. This? was not the same he expected of Fable. But before he could ask if she was okay she spoke to him, and that brief possession, as if he truly was hers and not a shared commodity amongst Avon blew fresh air across that little ember he'd nestled down in his chest. It was not by choice, I promise you. He said softly, his brow furrowing as he posture melted a bit more - sinking with the weight of everything that she had endured. Koga had left? And Sycamore was hurt, and the rest had seemed to just....just disappear. That happened, he certainly had after all, but it was impossible to know if it was intended or not until they reappeared. Small blessings. Fox added quietly when she mentioned Shiloh, at least that was something.

He heard in the silence that something larger was coming. It stretched and grew and all but swallowed Fable, and Fox's concern grew until it was written clear across his face. He could tell that something was coming. He just never could have predicted what she was going to say. His ears pinned immediately, a heavy sorrow flagged in his posture as he realized just what she had endured. F-fable, And he swallowed back his own sadness - it was not his loss. He was sad for her. Immediately he pressed his side to her as if to hold her up, as if he could catch her, and somehow help prop her up when she needed support. You know that there is nothing that had to happen. He said quietly. There was a concern to his voice, gentle and nurturing, as if he could apply some type of balm to that immense wound. He would never understand. He could not carry a life and grow it, be the entire world of. Someone like you, He began, his voice hushed. Someone who cares so much, who gives so much - I know you loved your baby just as hard. I know you did everything you could. That's who you are, Fable. He wouldn't accept hearing her say otherwise.

Did....did you have a name, Fable? If....I mean if you want to talk about it. It's okay if you don't too. They could just sit with it for a while, spread between them, if that was what would be the best for Fable.

Skill: --- (3/5)

---

TW for nonspecific thoughts/feelings/reference to miscarriage

Fate had a way of working itself out.

Her mother often told her that a single beat of a butterfly's wings could change the course of time itself - it often awed her to think of how seemingly small things could grow into something as significant as two souls brought together by what felt like happenstance.

Had Sneachta not roosted in the tree Fox scratched against, she might never have brought him back with her to the roots of Avon's group - and she would not be standing opposite him now, subtly admiring the way sunlight played amongst the vivid ginger making up his fur.

Whatever had happened in their time apart, Fable was simply glad he made it back to them in one piece. She did not wish to wonder forever if he was okay, safe, warm, and fed - it was bad enough she fretted for her family she unwillingly left behind.

His question lured a coy edge to her muzzle and eyes alike as she took a single step forward, ears cupped in his direction. That depends, Fable teased, nose so close to his and her green gaze latched to his. Are ye going t'run? She - only barely - restrained the temptation to crowd in closer, to press, but the distant reminder of Archon served to sober her, to clarify the boundary she flirted with and the reality that she might be starting something that would not go well for any of the parties involved.

Creating buffer was a difficult task in the moment as she pulled away, but she steered her mind carefully as she led him into Avon's heart. Managing the buzz of hormones and whatever else might linger between them, undiscussed, created a mixture she knew required a firm hand, but an impulsive part of her was less than enthused with the restraint of baser instincts.

She was loyal, right? Like her mother, like her father? Their love was so unyielding and authentic, a thing of beauty - but in recent weeks, she wondered if they hid their cloudy days beneath manufactured and blinding sunshine so their children would not notice or if storms simply never darkened their horizon. Neither of them were here to answer her question, so it remained unresolved, unknown. Fable would have to feel out her own path, whatever it might entail.

Fox reassured her his absence hadn't been by choice and she was pleased to hear it - perhaps more pleased than she had any right to be. Th' fae do not always care for our wants, Fable returned, thinking of how she had been brought to this world. She missed her family dearly, but would she give all she had gained since arriving if it meant seeing them again? No, she decided - despite the heartache, the loss, and the hardships she endured, she had forged connections she did not wish to relinquish. This was not the life she had been given at the outset or one she would have even chosen blindly, but it was her life now. Each day allowed the want for "home" to soften until she no longer thought of her family's farm with so much longing.

She just hoped they were safe and whole - and that, like Shiloh, maybe they would arrive here when their time in their world was done.

Fable bided her time with excruciating care before she revealed the most harrowing of the plights to besiege Avon. It was biased, of course, for her to feel that way - though Sycamore's flesh was rend by fangs, Gamma's whereabouts were unknown, and a handful of members had gone missing or left... she couldn't replace or fill the cracks in her heart left by what could have, should have been. It was not that she had set out to become a mother or that she made a conscious choice to become pregnant at the time, but once she had it, she wanted it more keenly than anything before. She would have traded most anything, most anyone to get it back, had it been possible.

But it wasn't, so she had never been forced to make the choice between everything she held dear and the single thing she wanted more than air - no matter how much she bargained with the powers that be.

Her steps slowed, first only barely, but then finally drew to a stop as Fox's side pressed to hers. In the aftermath of her miscarriage, she hadn't really opened up to anyone - not even Archon, really. His comment spoken during her darkest hour still stung and she had retreated into herself, subconsciously unable to bring the words she perhaps should have spoken to the surface. Even if he backtracked and cited his traumas, it did not take away the words he said or their burning edges.

Instead of drum up the energy to resolve it, she had settled a mask in place and tried to outwardly portray what she was supposed to be, what others expected of her - Kardia of Avon, adopted mother, wife, sister, healer, confidant for the burdens of others, and committed stewardess of the gardens she flung herself so fully into. There were so many things for her to be that she did not let herself choose "sad," regardless of how large a part of herself it truly occupied.

Fox's touch ripped the lid off the carefully locked box containing her stuffed-down grief, though perhaps its hinges had already been weakened by rust in the mounting stress that surrounded her and Avon. Tears she hadn't been prepared for collected at her waterline as he gave her the reassurance she had wanted to hear - that nothing had to happen, that it wasn't her fault. They weren't words she had been ready to hear before, but now, coming from someone else who was also medically inclined, she felt a sort of relief - though such a word was dim compared to the profound effect Fox's words had.

She had always known she probably couldn't have done anything to change what happened. In her previous life, she had been a midwife and talked mothers through such things - but once it was herself in her patients' place, it was as though she believed nothing at all in what she had learned.

Fable leaned into his stabilizing presence, her head hanging low. She listened to his comforting words even as tears freed themselves in stubborn streaks. Part of her felt a sliver of guilt for finding so much warmth and reassurance in them, but she couldn't bring herself to wish them away.

The dreamer pressed the side of her head against his ruff, drawing steadiness from his proffered brace. He was right - she did all she could, she had loved her child so fiercely. If any of those two concepts could have sustained the fickle life, she would have them now at her side. It had been beyond her choice, beyond her deign.

I needed t'hear that, she admitted, her voice drawn quiet and damp. I wanted them so dearly. Her words were meager, but the emotion behind them was thick and cloying.

He asked if she had chosen a name and she immediately thought of the two she had loosely picked out, though never formally discussed. Her pregnancy had not stayed long enough for her to daydream overmuch, after all.

Rauiri, for a lad, Fable revealed. 'Red King' seemed suitable if they had been born with the red hair that was rampant in her family. She didn't know how the inheritance of features worked between her human life and this one, but a part of her hoped for a redhead to add to her family's lineage. Croí, for a lass.

Croí was a simpler one, but it did not lack meaning - heart; it was a single word, but spoke of the adoration harbored for the fledging life and a lifetime of love she wished for it.

It was still so early, I did not get t'think o' many, she added - but perhaps it had been a small blessing that she had not been given another day to grow fonder of what she was going to ultimately lose.

Skill: healer (3/5)

Perhaps it was not thread that bound them the same way. Perhaps it was something different, something with the same opportunities to thrive or fail. Something far more alive, something more magic. The roots that tangled them all connected them to not only the earth they stood on, Mythris itself, and it's strange intricacies - it touched every living being's soul no matter where they found themselves. Fox could lean into the feeling and concept. It meant that far away, wherever they were, he was still connected to his parents and siblings too. Roots followed the course of nature, they grew together or spread apart. It was more flexible and giving. Roots, when well tended, made for a thriving tree, that grew to be part of the forest, that grew to be part of the greater divine.

It was all beautiful, if one had the time to properly consider it.

Not everyone had enough of leisurely time and peace in their lives to just do that though. Foxglove wasn't sure he was at peace but it did feel often like the beauty of the whole cosmic continuity. The divine was special - even if he could not quite explain it. It was a feeling. They just were. Fox swallowed back the crooning rumble just barely - enough that it wasn't so obvious at the tease of her words and the sparkle of her eyes. He could just lean in, just brush against her again. Not so fast that you can't find me. He promised. Thankfully, she pulled back. Fable, still the better of the two of them. Her scent still settled in his nose, thick and heady that burned straight down to his core like lava. The ember in his chest continued to be fed, making it so hard for Fox to focus on the more important matters.

He was fortunate that his mothers were so welcoming, so open - they had explained the love that they had once shared with Arturo, how it had grown naturally and they had fed those roots. He let loose a shaky breath, imagining for a wild moment what it might have felt like to be curled around Fable, head over her side to feel the swell of her stomach and the bloom of life within. There was no possession over Fable as if to think that he was the only one deserving of her warmth. Archon was his friend - but not his competition. How he felt there was a place for all.

Fox let her lead. The withered vines did not mean that anything had spoiled - and in a beautiful way those lost blooms would return to the earth to be absorbed again, to give fresh life, to give new chances. It did not mean it hurt any less. It did not mean that they were any less precious. It did not mean that they were any less loved. It always was so hard to place yourself back on the other side. To hear the words you needed to hear, to have the care you deserved, as a caregiver it became so hard to accept for yourself.

Fable would have to, though. And she slowly sank into the sorrow. Fox shouldn't have been so quick to just accept the touch. Perhaps he should have been more aware, more polite, more appropriate. Still, he held her, nuzzling gently against her once she had tucked herself into him. She needed that - needed something that was so easy to give but so hard at the same time. It took a strange dance of awareness, empathy, and penchant to nurture - things not everyone could just do. Foxglove would give it all no matter the situation for the ones that he cared for.

An arm hooked carefully around hers, giving a little tug before releasing the touch - welcoming her to lean fully into him, to burrow if that was what she needed. He could keep her safe and be in this moment with her, letting her feel freely. Rauiri and Croí. He echoed once she had offered them, admitting that she hadn't had much time for considering many names. His nose gently traced over the slick path of her tears, only pulling back enough that he could meet her eyes. Those are beautiful names, Fable. Thank you for sharing them with me. It felt like an honor almost, like she was handing her babies to him to treasure and hold too.

Would you want to make a space for them? You could visit there, if...if that helps. My Mama made a similar place to give her some solace. It became her favorite place to meditate. Hemlock had faced losses - a previous mate even, and the tragedy of her origins. But having some space that she could just be with her emotions helped considerably. He his loss had been his family in coming to Mythris without them. The place he had sought solace had been in the garden that they had tended to. You should....you should take red raspberry leafs when you can find some...they help with having enough milk and nausea, if you notice any. He suggested.

It would have been wildly inappropriate of him to remind her how fertile she would be - that primitive part of his brain reminded him how easy it might be for her to conceive again. With any luck, she would get her fondest wish - if anyone deserved a happily ever after it was certainly Fable.

SKILL : - - - ( 1 / 5 )

The game they played was one of delicate balances - a shift in any one direction or sustained contact could spell disaster, the fallout of which would be astronomical. All the same, Fable indulged it for a glimmering, ephemeral moment. Her mind was far too tangled to surmise what existed at the center of it all; was her response to him, and his to her, a mechanism of something more all-encompassing?

She couldn't be sure, and although her lips curved at his reply and the heated intensity behind her gaze grew, she knew further encouragement to either of them could threaten the tenuous grip she held on her inhibitions. Fable's mind wandered, unbidden, to a proposed game of cat and mouse; a construct of flirtation and the denial of gratification all to make the final capture that much more alluring. The thought burned into every cell and pore and singular synapse, but she staunchly resisted it. Perhaps it had not been ideal that she received Fox at the borders, but the thought did not stop her tongue from delivering one final quip as she looked at him sidelong, As if I would let ye get so far.

The absence of his fur against hers was met with internal resistance even as she created the distance herself, but she silenced it - she was certain her mind was merely clouded by hormones that could not be trusted. It did not occur to her in that moment, nor any of the moments that would come for months and months to follow, that she was starved for connection, for touch, for something authentic that didn't carry the barbs of unresolved trauma. Too long had she worn a shell to protect herself, that she forgot that not all words and actions would sting.

There was no room for her to study any of it, not with the pall of Gamma's disappearance hanging over her, nor Sycamore's injuries. She was so small in a sea of many greater things, and her own needs were not so often caught in the nets. As Fox permitted her them, she felt her haphazard structure begin to falter. The ugly mess of emotions she had suppressed and events she had weathered with manufactured stoicism for the sake of others flooded from the cracks, defiant against the restraints that once rendered them contained.

His gentle guidance to lean fully against him was answered as her frame slumped, losing what little integrity it had left. A strong breeze could have toppled her beneath the weight of her anguish, its currents rebounding. She wanted to reply, to say anything as he echoed the names of children who would never be, but it was as though she had forgotten all ability to speak. It took several long and agonizing moments before she could collect herself enough to will her tongue into motion.

Fox suggested a space dedicated to Rauiri and Croí - for a moment, the idea hurt. A memorial garden in honor of her children would be a reminder of their absence, but there would also be nothing more beautiful to simply remember them by. They deserved a place on this earth, even if it could not be in flesh and blood.

Carefully, and with gradual motions, she put space between their frames as she quietly considered his idea. Her weeping had finally abated, leaving swollen eyes and a sniffle in its wake, but she was steadier. The overwhelming emotions were all-consuming, but also seemed necessary - a storm to water flowers - and she felt a faint sense of levity that hadn't been there before. It was not often she was given the space to fall apart.

I would love t'make a garden for them - it is a sweet idea, Fable said quietly, drawing in a shaky breath to ground herself. It would bear flowers and butterflies, the small messengers of the fae's realm. His mention of raspberry leaves was a kind notion, and the remnants of a smile plucked at the edges of her lips. Perhaps, if she was to fall pregnant again, she would have need of such a remedy. M'mathair favored raspberry leaf tea. A pinch o' mint, too.

It was unfortunate that she lost access to controlled fire in this life - the fires they were given were unruly and dangerous. She did not think it was prudent to try and tame it, given all it threatened to take.

Thank ye, Fable added as her gaze lifted to meet Fox's once more. Ye are as true a friend as anyone could want. I'm glad ye are back.

She bumped his shoulder with hers briefly before pulling herself onto her paws. I should get back to Sycamore, but I would not say no t'a extra set o' paws, Fable added, a more meaningful curve finding her lips. We can finish catching up on th' way.