2/9/2025, 3:11 AM
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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.
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.
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.
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.
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