skill: tunnel of love 1/5

He had offered to take a walk with Fable, promising to keep her from falling into the fighting rings, and they'd left the girls with Shiloh and Tiberii. It gave Fable some space to think and clear her head for a bit, without leaving her utterly alone with the weight of her thoughts, either. Foxglove couldn't quite put himself in the same position - he'd never been a father. He'd never been a husband either. The choices that she'd had to make were heavy, and Fox couldn't help but question everything that had come to pass in the time that he'd been separated from the group.

How had Avon fallen into the pit it was in now?

For a moment, he wasn't focused on much - not other than trying to navigate around the clusters of wolves he didn't know. So those two - are they a thing? Fox asked curiously, realizing he hadn't actually asked what the connection was between Shiloh and Tiberii. Fox wouldn't even pretend he didn't like to get in on juicy gossip. It was a much safer topic he felt than whatever the state of Avon was. Fox's nose twitched, some captivating scent filling his lungs. He breathed in deep, taking another greedy breath. Out here, further from Northfall's borders, there was the sweetest aroma. He tried to figure out where it was coming from when he noticed the brilliantly thriving trees. Have you ever seen anything like this? Fox asked, looking at Fable for a moment. Let's check it out! He wanted to explore - it was almost as if he couldn't help himself.

SKILL : - - - ( 1 / 5 )

She still didn't know what she needed.

Everyday, sometimes multiple times, she would take inventory of herself and yet, with all her parts disassembled, she could not identify what was missing or in need of maintenance besides the aching void in her soul. She knew things took time, so she didn't rush herself to get back to some sort of "normal" - such a state no longer existed for her. The best she could hope for was a new normal.

A fresh chapter was as much promising as it was daunting. The pen would sit heavy in her hand as she looked to the open page in consternation, digging for a single letter to begin again. But there was nothing. She had her daughters and that helped give her some sort of purpose, and she was forever grateful for Fox's support. It seemed the universe had seen fit to return him to Avon just when she needed his friendship more than ever.

Fable had never thought of herself as someone who would have failed in a relationship so spectacularly, but in the days since she bade Archon away, she recognized that it had been unavoidable for many different reasons.

She had been inexperienced and new to such a dynamic and it drew her in like a siren's song. In her previous life, she had forbidden herself attachments of romantic types - it didn't feel right to keep others from their soulmates, to tempt them away from what was so surely their happily forever after. She played matchmaker and settled into her lot in life, finding fulfillment that didn't hinge on another person.

Perhaps she should have carried that mindset with her into Mythris.

Archon served as a lesson, written into her mind, heart, and soul. She would not forget her foolishness anytime soon - her trust, all of her, was worn. It would take time for her to rebuild, but she was in no hurry. Her top priority was the little lives she had brought into the world. She would never regret her daughters, but she did wish she had used more discerning taste and careful consideration in whose life she tied herself to.

It was a mistake she'd be shy about making twice.

When Fox offered a walk, she only felt half-bad for accepting it as she left Shiloh in command of the children. He assured her it was fine, but... she tried not to ask for his help unless she truly needed it or he offered it himself. Shiloh had a life to live, too, and she didn't want to keep him from it... especially when she noted the way he had observed Tiberii's spars.

She hadn't noticed it before, given the little basis she had for their behavior together, but she wasn't blind and she hadn't seen him look at anyone like he looked at the Shakti-Vaes.

Her thoughts tinkered with the subject as she walked at Fox's side, but his words drew a surprised chuckle from her. I was just thinkin' about that, Fable admitted. He hasn't said anything t'me, but he's so private. Shiloh often didn't say more than what needed to be said, especially when it pertained to himself. He was the sort to stupidly hide a medical need thinking he could just walk it off until it knocked him flat on his back.

Fable wasn't sure if that was just the male condition or not.

She thought of all Tiberii and her siblings had been through because of Archon. Fable couldn't forget the day back in the Glade, when the bull unleashed the emotional torment she had kept pent up for so long... She had wanted to believe Archon hadn't meant to hurt her, but it just kept happening and he left a trail of bruised feelings everywhere he went.

I don't know if they'd be perfect or a disaster together, Fable admitted, but a smile curved her lips. I just want both o' them t'be happy, an' I like an' respect Tiberii.

Whatever they chose, she would support it. But now she wondered if he hadn't had his own ulterior motives for moving to the meadows.

The dreamer's ears pressed forward as the strange scent reached her. It was enticing and warm, reminding her of something... so familiar. So very familiar. Her eyes tracked after Fox's gaze when he brought her attention to the distant cluster of blooming trees. How were they heavy with flower while the rest of the world was wrought by winter?

Never, Fable answered, her voice filled with wonder to match the glitter of wanderlust that shone in her eyes. When he suggested they go investigate, she was all too happy to oblige. Ye don't need t'ask me twice!

She trotted forward, plumy tail waving excitedly behind her haunches. The beautiful scene was a sight for sore eyes, and hers were certainly in need of relief.

skill: tunnel of love 2/5

Although he understood loosely that things were not the same in Avon, Fox hadn't pressed Fable for any sort of details. It felt so wrong to try and press her for petty gossip when what she needed was to be able to sort her own thoughts out in peace. With the way that the young pups were all under her watchful gaze, Fox felt fairly certain that that Fable hadn't had much time for thinking. It seemed that as Fox had noticed the way that Tiberii had joined Shiloh in minding after the girls, maybe Fable was having similar thoughts of her own.

Fox didn't have much knowledge of Shiloh past joking to him that they had remarkably similar tastes in outfits, given how close their colors were in places. He seemed fine, and he assumed given what he knew of Fable that Shiloh had just a good a heart. It was also interesting hearing his accent, which was really her accent, in someone else. I can understand that. I've got four siblings, and I'd want that for any of them. Even if it'd be odd to think of them with anyone. Sure, it would be ideal that Sage found someone with as wide a range of interests as she did. Or if Altissima found someone who could melt her icy facade. Any of them being old enough for such a union would have been bizarre to think of, but he had been away from home for so long now.

There was something to the scent that seemed to make it easy to let go of all the losses he'd felt in his life. To let his mothers go, to let his siblings drift, to make those hurts temporarily so much softer. Maybe it was because there was something about that sweet, soft scent that reminded him of the pile they would sleep in in his youth. It was almost like all of their scents combined behind a scent of sweet honeysuckle and ivy vines, one that smelled so much like home. Fox was relieved that Fable wanted to go investigate - he wouldn't have left her after promising Shiloh he'd keep an eye on her, but he would have explored on his own later if she hadn't wanted to go see.

Immediately he followed her lead, longer legs quickly propelling him until they were shoulder to shoulder, and he matched her stride better. It's so...so familiar. He said, trying to place the best way he could describe it.

SKILL : - - - ( 1 / 5 )

Fable did most of her thinking at night, when she was curled around her daughters and could pretend to sleep even as her mind sprinted across topics with such great speed that she sometimes couldn't keep up with it. She would be trapped by her thoughts well into the night, chased from slumber by the litany of choices she now had to make.

Most of her thoughts revolved around her daughters. It was no great discovery that Avon was in shambles and any who she might have called upon for support were elsewhere, with other responsibilities that were far more important than herself. There was Fox and Shiloh, but she didn't want to ask so much of her friend and her brother was... preoccupied. His insistence to patrol made more sense now, at least.

Fable had promised Tiberii she would not trouble them, but she had a lot more to think about than broken promises. She would endure whatever she must if it meant her daughters would be safe, fed, and warm - even if it meant the Shakti-Vaes family would be less than pleased to have several more members to deal with during the dead of winter. The dreamer would take all of their disapproval into herself, if they felt such for her, if it provided something better for her children.

It wasn't ideal, but maybe come spring, she could figure something out. The children would be older and wouldn't need such direct supervision - they could begin learning to hunt and protect themselves, something that made her feel a modicum more relieved. Fable was not a good survival teacher, but maybe Shiloh or the others could step in and patch the lapses in her own skillset. She could teach them to mend wounds on the fly or work in tandem with the earth to grow things, but she knew little about how to utilize tooth and claw.

Then, of course, was the matter of Archon altogether. She didn't want to be the reason her daughters wouldn't know him well or bond deeply with their father, but neither could she entirely throw caution to the wind and invite him to stay with the group. It tore her in half to be so divided. Fable had been fortunate to grow up with both of her parents, but she still needed space and time to heal. Her trust in him was gone and she feared what letting him close might do.

Those were the thoughts that kept her up at night and, truthfully, whispered at the back of her mind even during the daylight hours. But she kept a strong facade, hiding her wavering behind a practiced smile that seemed to at least convince her daughters (she hoped) that the group was slowly marching toward some type of normal.

Being able to shift her mind to softer, less-troubling topics was a reprieve. Although her own luck in love had been poor at best, she hoped Shiloh and Tiberii really had formed a bond.

Y'know, I used t'be able t'see th' threads of fate, Fable stated, her voice carrying a halting edge as she recognized she probably sounded crazed. I could see a connection between all who were fated t'be together - even m'siblings.

Sometimes, she tried to push them toward the matches fate had for them, but two had been quite troubling. Vixen's had been as black as ink, as though something vile and corrupt had taken hold - but then Shiloh... His had been cut.

Without any real guide to explain what all of it meant, Fable could only make guesses as to what they meant. Shiloh was always closed off, walling himself away from the concept of courtship - perhaps it was his shortened lifespan that had trimmed it, or maybe his own adamance to remain solitary had done the task for him. Vixen, however, wore love as a weapon.

It was probably best that she had never met the one whose fate was unfortunately bound to hers.

I know that must sound crazy - but they were strings spun in gold an' glowed like th' sun, she went on, sparing a sidelong glance at Fox as they walked, gauging how bonkers he might think she was. I guess I never got the luxury o' not imagining m'siblings movin' out an' findin' their true love. I wanted them to - how else was I goin' t'get any nieces an' nephews?

She wondered for a moment why she had been moved to share that when the familiar scent reached her. It took her a moment, but she figured out why it called to her so - it smelled like Samhain. There was the scent of rain-dampened earth and something deeper, headier.

Nectar.

It was such a potent drink, one sip could send the uninitiated or mundane for a spin - if they were fortunate, they would manage to find their ways home with all of their articles of clothing and the folks they had arrived with. Most of them didn't, but not for lack of the Hand's trying. But for those who had possessed magic like herself, it was slightly less potent... but only slightly. Its scent was sugar-sweet and brightly floral, a deception to its power that suckered in the unsuspecting - truthfully, much of the suspecting, too.

But why could she smell it here? This place was far removed from her natal world, likely slung across galaxies and nebulae to depths unreachable. She had already resigned herself to never returning home - had she been too hasty?

When they reached the tunnel of bloom-heavy trees, the smell of Samhain's festival clearing was so thick she could taste it. Springtide eyes scoured the fragrant path as she stepped into the odd tree tunnel. The earth below her paws was warmed by the sun, far removed from the wintry surroundings she had stood in only a moment earlier. Lingering crystals of ice on her whiskers melted, droplets sinking into the fur along her muzzle.

Are ye seein' this th' same as I? Fable questioned, ears pricked with curiosity as she followed the path forward. She was not going to complain about the swath of spring that had been gifted to them, sun-loving wolf that she was - she just hoped it wasn't all some sort of elaborate illusion born from her stress-addled mind.

skill: tunnel of love 3/5

Foxglove had never been put in the position that Fable and Archon were in. Foxglove had never seen himself completely so enmeshed with someone - anyone - to consider having children. And the strain that such a loss would create would naturally fracture anyone. Adding the kids then, so quickly after - it had to be so much pressure on them both. Fox didn't know the more intimate details of how much they'd suffered or how lonely things had been - and if he had he would have felt a burden to shoulder because he'd been gone.

He didn't dislike Archon at all - even in the thick of Fable's heat it wasn't that he'd seen himself replacing Archon. He'd instead seen them both with Fable, like Aiti and Mama had been with Arturo before he was even born. It was also a cultural thing, he didn't see the same sort of competition from others - there was space for all and love was meant to be shared. Not everyone felt the same way, and Foxglove had never felt romantic feelings that he'd really pursued, but there had been the desire there. He couldn't, and wouldn't, have denied that.

Now there was a clear sort of division, and it had been a thing and Fox just knew it wasn't his place to put himself in the middle of it. All he could do was help and be a support, so he'd kept a watch on the kids, letting Fable and Shiloh do the heavy lifting since they were more familiar. Leaving the girls with Shiloh and Tiberii to watch over them had seemed to be okay - Fable didn't hesitate past making sure each of the girls had their own kisses, of course. When Fable explained seeing these strings of fate he was curious - the very notion that you could see a connection that way didn't seem impossible to him. Do you still see them? Fox asked quietly.

But her thoughts towards her siblings, about getting nieces and nephews, Fox had to laugh softly at that. Could he see his siblings as parents? Could he see himself even? Even with River he didn't know if he could be considered a father. He hadn't earned that yet, he felt.

His nose twitched as the heady scent hit him, and he followed her more confident steps. The tunnel enveloped them slowly and he couldn't help admire it - it was a beautiful bit of nature, his focus returning to her when she asked if he was seeing it clearly too. It was warmer! It was pleasant even! Foxglove gave a pleased little sigh, a shiver running down his spine at the change in temperature. It's beautiful. He said softly. Do you.....do you recognize it? Because Fox could not - it did not stop him at all from wanting to explore further.

He took a few steps ahead of her, tail swaying behind him. It smelled like life - like things were full of something heavy and potent, something he did not know the way that Fable did. What is that? He asked her, stopping to look back at her. It smells amazing!

SKILL : - - - ( 1 / 5 )

She divulged little to anyone about the stilting descent her marriage had fallen into. It wasn't a matter of something she pinned close willfully as much as she just wasn't sure how to broach it with anyone. Though Shiloh had urged her to tell him exactly what happened, she had told him only that there was too vast a divide - something that had built over months, marked by loss and clumsily venomous words she just never seemed to be able to shed. She had tried to keep moving forward and maintain the outward appearance of peace, but time did not heal all wounds; sometimes, it worsened them, allowing a superficial cut to fester into something grievous.

She didn't tell a single soul that Archon had once told her that the loss of her litter was just as well, nor had she verbally extended blame to him for leaving her so ill-prepared for his absence to fetch Shiloh, leading to the entire conflict with Elysium - although, in her heart, she assigned him some of the cause for that. Fable voiced none of it, and she wasn't certain that she would.

They were details that were meant for specific ears, but her lips would not release them even as the revelations cut against her tongue. She was not the sort to speak ill of others, even if they deserved it - even when the experiences doled out by their hands pained her on a visceral level.

Fable was not certain she ever could have forgiven Archon for what he had said. She had clung onto their union out of obligation and commitment, but what should have been the immediate death of their relationship became a shambling, prolonged mess; it boiled over and, now, there was too much for her to stuff back into the same bottle.

Their failed marriage troubled her now, but she was certain it would not do so forever - eventually, she would be able to get through a day without thinking about him, and then another - until he became a fixture of her past that was brushed only out of necessity where their children were concerned.

She just wasn't there yet.

A rare sense of relief settled around her when Fox didn't assume she had gone mad in her grief. She had come to realize many didn't bear a background steeped in magic like she did - some, if not most, appeared to come from a fairly mundane origin. It made her question what angle the fae were working in this strange world known as Mythris, but she had long decided it was a mystery she was not meant to unravel.

Frankly, she had far too many complicated matters on her paws to untangle first.

I don't, Fable lamented. Since I woke up in Mythris, they're gone. It's weird not t'see them branchin' between others, but every once in awhile, I swear I can see a glimmer o' somethin'. She thought of the gilded strings that were woven with such intention yet delicacy; they had been beautiful, especially when fated pairs were near. It had been the warmest glow she had ever seen, but now... The world had lost some of its light. The sunlit filigree she'd grown accustomed to seeing everywhere was gone, and the world felt colder for it.

Luckily, she would not mourn them terribly as the environment began to shift.

The air thick with nectar beckoned her into the tree tunnel and, with each step, further metamorphosis took place. Pink boughs slowly devolved into rich reds, golds, and orange, the forest floor dappled with the final vestiges of autumnal light. Trees grew taller, wider, and blocked out more and more illumination as the pair descended into the familiar path Fable had walked innumerable times, though she had been in a far different form the last time she made this pilgrimage.

Aye, I do, Fable affirmed, her voice bearing an edge of awe. I don't know how, but this is Samhain. Had both of them somehow stepped into a fae circle and been transported back to her world? There was a cold wave of trepidation about how they might return, but she was far too spellbound to think of it now. Th' smell is nectar, I'm sure o' it - it's a fae wine, but it is strong, far stronger than anythin' we can make naturally.

She wasn't sure if the words and terms meant anything to him, but she felt compelled to add, I don't think it is safe t'drink seein' as we are... wolves, but I would know its scent anywhere.

The tunnel widened, opening up to a sprawling village settled into the magicked forest. Homes were nestled into the crooks of intricate tree roots, as though the trees themselves had permitted the inhabitants space rather than having been infringed upon. Other domiciles were forged into the earth, almost like Sidhe mounds with cheerfully painted doors to afford the homeowners privacy. Every single home was placed with thought given to the living world surrounding it, inobtrusive and working with nature instead of against it. Motes of light hovered around tall, nature-made torches along the well-worn paths, creating visibility for both the inhabitants of Samhain and their visitors alike.

It was not unlike a fae village, except on a much larger scale and with impossibly tall trees whose branches created a protective barrier so high above them that the furthest reaches were blots of autumn tones. There was a permanent haze of warmth, but Fable concluded it was likely the nectar's ambience.

Fable's paws came to a stop as she studied the scene. Normally, the space was full of life and bustle, but it had grown hallowed and quiet. Not a soul stirred except for the two of them.

This is th' holy site o' m'coven, the Hand, she explained, her voice hushed, as though an octave higher might disrupt something sacred. Her eyes tracked to a particular pathway that disappeared into a collection of trees before shifting sidelong to Fox. Follow me.

Pressing forward, she followed the half-cobbled path. It was familiar beneath her, the moss-covered stones soft underfoot. She was reminded of being a child and running barefoot in this clearing - days that seemed so very far away.

skill: tunnel of love 4/5

It wasn't exactly a great shock to Foxglove - not when the oldest stories of his lineage came with the tales of the shifters. It was a wild thought to think of a wolf on two legs, able to reach and use tools - they had tales of all the things that Fatin had done in her day. She had been fiercely protective of anyone she'd acquired, considering how many times she'd adopted someone into the fold. She'd also been able to do do much - things that he could only dream of, if the legends were true, of course. So who was he to say that Fable couldn't have seen those threads - and that maybe they'd guided her a bit in her choices, if the way she'd explained it was anything to go off of. It had to be almost alarming, going from seeing something all the time, mapped out and webbed throughout the world and suddenly not see them - or maybe it was a relief not to have that burden anymore.

Don't let the rest of them hear that - they'll ask you to analyze their glimmers all the time. He tried to joke a bit, green gaze shifting from her up to the canopy that stretched above them. The tunnel was interesting, beautiful in its own rights, and he couldn't quite settle where he was looking. He wanted to see it all. One of my many times over great grand-mères could shift - she'd go from four legs to two, be able to do all sorts of things that the natural wolves couldn't. Her children could shift too, for a while, but over the ages we've just stayed on four legs. Would she think he was crazy? Or that his people were? Maybe explaining the legends he'd grown up on would help her too, make her more comfortable talking about the things that not everyone else saw the same way.

Something was wrong in Foxglove that the second that she'd explained and went on to say the nectar might be too much he wanted to try it - even just a lick. Just to experience it, to know. Even just a bit? He asked with a roguish smile. They might have left it for us on purpose. But he wouldn't force her, and he wouldn't impare himself and make it her problem to deal with either. That wouldn't have been wise or fair to her. There was something deep in the sensation that pulled him, and Fox didn't stray too far from Fable wanting to make sure that he heard everything that she was explaining to him. There was something that he felt, almost an instinctive sort of tug, like it was settled deep in his bones or maybe even past that into the stardust that made up his very soul.

His eyes swept the buildings, unfamiliar with the structures as what he'd known in his youth had been reclaimed wilderness, something wild and unkept about the way that nature had taken back what had been made. This was different, and Foxglove could see it in the way that each building seemed to give space to the next, it was organized. Not unlike the way they'd laid out the garden in the Golden Glade, actually. It was different than the way that the trees were, scattered in some places, spread in others, thick and bunched to a point that they almost touched and twined their branches together elswhere. Fable stopped, and so did Fox, and the tone with which she spoke told him that this was somewhere special. His ears cupped the words she offered, immediately committing The Hand into his memory. Of course, Fox said before he started to move again, a few paces behind her this time.

Now there was almost a childish light to his eyes, awestruck as he drank in everything that he saw. The feel of the cobblestone under his pawpads shifting slowly as the grass reclaimed it stroked some deeper part of him - reminding him in a way of the wild that was in them all. It wasn't just in Mythris - it was in him, in Fable, in her home that was so far away. Was it the same for all of your family, Fable? He asked curiously. Did you all see the strings, or did your family see different things than you? It would be interesting to him if they all had a different grip on their magicks, if each was blessed in a separate way.

SKILL : --- ( 1 / 5 )

If she had been able to retain the ability to see the strings of fate, Fable wondered if it would have set her off-course from the disaster that was her marriage. Would she have seen the brewing trouble, would she have seen anything at all? Without a mentor who shared her ability, she did not always know how to parse the information she was provided; she instinctively gleaned their meaning on a base level, but she did not know why she couldn't see a thread originating from herself.

There was only empty air and a vacant spot on her chest where a gossamer strand should have been.

At times, especially in her adolescence, she wondered if it meant she was doomed to stay forever single and simply be the purveyor of love matches for everyone else. If it was what was best for all, it was not a role she would buck - Fable's depth of compassion extended far beyond her own feelings. She did not reject it in her previous life, where she avoided relationships for the fear of treading upon toes and preventing soulmates from finding one another. It would have been much too taxing upon her heart to look into the face of someone whose heart belonged to another and know that she was to blame.

But now, in Mythris, she was blind - for better or worse.

They would have t'be disappointed all th' same, I never shared what I saw, Fable hummed, flashing a toothy grin. I nudged, but I did not tell - I did not want t'steal th' journey away from those bound together.

If she had outright told everyone who their hearts sang for, she worried they would reject the knowledge, leading them further astray. Time and fate had a way of working itself out, Fable could simply see the end result - not what would lead them there. No matter how well-meaning it might have been, she traded honesty for gentle guidance.

Fox seemed to be familiar with two-legged creatures and it soothed some of Fable's concern for how to explain it all. Her gaze wandered in search of a living example, but none presented themselves, at least not yet.

Shifters? I have heard o' those, too - well, what existed in m'world, she replied. Some could turn from animal t'human on whim, an' then there's werefolk - but I never knew many o' them. They could exist in th' in-between like your great grand-mères.

The werefolk were often on the side of reclusive, remaining with pockets of outlying communities that understood them. While The Hand was welcoming to all, it was oftentimes difficult to convince outsiders who had been burnt before.

Her expression grew serious - though it threatened to crack with amusement, the twitching at the edge of her lips that ached to turn upward - and she halted briefly to fix him with her gaze as he attempted to sell her on a single sip of nectar. Mister Fox, Fable began, her voice at first one of authority with an edge of mocked scolding. Ye might forget where ye left your own hide if ye get even a single sip.

A conspiratorial twinkle entered her eyes, one side of her muzzle successfully breaking free from the bondage of her falsely stern expression.

I should probably test it first, t'see if it's safe, hm? Fable teased, now wondering if she was playing with fire by attempting to drink nectar while here in this seemingly mortal realm. She had no idea what would happen, and perhaps it would not affect them at all - maybe it'd kill them dead.

There was only way to find out, and it wasn't standing around.

Fable flitted ahead, her steps light and energized with the promise of fae liqueur. She made a point to not become drunken in front of her children while at the celebration, but they were nowhere to be seen here and were in safe hands. That was good enough for her.

Only I could see th' strings; we were all gifted in different ways, Fable explained as she navigated the path. Ahead of them, noise began to surface - music, the din of chatter. M'mother was a druid, m'father an' Shiloh shared a tactical magic; Fleta wove fabric with magic and her twin, Ffionn, could infuse charm and illusion magic into mundane things. Th' only one o' us without magic was Vixen.

Vixen - the mortal among demi-fae. She had resented them on some level for something they had no control over and, although they all readily accepted her as their eldest sister, it had never been enough for her. Fable attempted many times to patch the rifts between them, but Vixen burnt the bridge every time she tried - every time any of them tried.

It was unfortunate, but the dreamer found some solace in knowing she truly tried for good reasons, even if she hadn't been successful.

Her steps subconsciously quickened as the path began to dwindle and the world around them darkened with the closing of the canopy overhead. What dying light had been afforded to them was now reduced to the glow of the magic-made torches lining the path. Figments of magic energy floated through the air, their pinpricks of light breathing not unlike fireflies. The previously distant sound of celebration was upon them even before they passed through the thin barrier of yellow rose bushes and into the festival clearing.

Sprawled before the duo were earthen-made tables decked out with an array of food a wolf might have found unusual - prepared meats and breads and other fare Fable found quite common - and bowls made of black pearl and filled with gold liquid that gleamed radiantly, promising certain warmth if ingested.

Swatches of night sky seemed to hover overhead, stars dripping from the tree boughs and hanging freely in their sparkling splendor. It was the only light source provided to them, save for a crackling - and carefully controlled - hearth fire in the center of the clearing and the streams of flickering lights that drifted through the air.

Despite the sound that beckoned them before, there was no one here now, save for themselves, and it grew muffled, as though belonging to a space next-door. How strange, Fable thought to herself, but she was not so troubled she did not invite the magic willingly to weave its deceptions.

Fable tread forward a few strides, her steps testing the stability of the illusion. When it held, she stopped again. It all smelled, felt, looked real and each inhale seemed to drag ambient magic with it - or perhaps it was just the nectar and a little wishful thinking. This is where we held almost all o' our festivals - but especially Samhain, our start o' th' new year, Fable explained as she tipped her head in Fox's direction, gauging his reaction to the clearing.

: skill??

Foxglove's brow furrowed when she said they'd be disappointed in her, and he almost started to say so - but as she continued on, he understood more what her perspective was. She had made the choice for their sakes. You wouldn't have disappointed them. He still voiced once she was quiet. I can respect that you wanted to give them space for finding their own ways - anyone would appreciate that I think. If her siblings didn't think the same way, he would have been shocked. And now that they were here and apparently she couldn't see them fully anymore, there was no harm in telling Shiloh if she wanted. Fox wouldn't have pushed either way, it wasn't like he was the authority on the Goldencourtes dynamics. It would have been presumptuous of him to insert himself that way.

There was a curiosity in him and he instinctively moved closer, as if trying to catch every whisper she offered, even if she was speaking clearly. Fatin could choose when and what form she took - but it was always a wolf. She'd heard of others that couldn't choose, and I think that would have been awful. Foxglove held that little glimmer of familiarity between them close, finding comfort in the fact that something bound both of their previous worlds together. What if they'd had the same world, just different parts of it? What form would you have chosen? Foxglove asked curiously, because he'd only had this form it was hard for him to imagine what else he might have become.

His ears shifted forward, cupped towards her as the intensity grew on her face. She stopped them from going forward and her gaze shot right through him, pinning him easily in place. Oh. It was like that? Her facade cracked slowly, a little twitch to her lips, a light dancing in her eyes, all of it told him the truth. He could follow her lead, mirroring her actions. If she could, he could, right? His ears twitched as she explained her family more. That must have been hard. He did not know how he would have felt if his siblings had all been given these extraordinary things, and then he was just....himself. But how astounding that all of you had such gifts. He had no knowledge of La Familia Madrigal, or else he might have suggested Vixen reach out to Mirabel. There was no time to even think as Fable shot off, steps light as if she were the fae she had often described, just flitting along.

Still, Foxglove found her excitement to be infectious, and he was all but skipping along behind her like he knew this place or what was special about it. If he could shift and choose his form, it would have been an owl currently - with the way he was swiveling his head to try and see everything and take it all in. He didn't exactly need to have lived it to see all of the ways that this sacred space was full of revelry. The blend of scents from the spiced drinks and food was intoxicating, but Foxglove wasn't sure if it was the combination of scents and the residual magic that made his head swim. He fixed his gaze back on her when she spoke, a little smile on his face. S'nice to see it with you. He admitted. Hearing stories is one thing but....being here with you is another.

He didn't particularly fixate on his own wording about being with her there - he'd only meant it was something nice that he got to share with her. Foxglove could see it now, and when she told him stories, he would be able to understand better where she'd been in his mind's eye. It was strange that for as new as it was, he almost felt it was familiar and cozy rather than intimidating. Or else it was just the comfort he felt with Fable that took over any other emotion.