3/26/2026, 9:48 PM
![[Image: Viv_FablePost.gif]](https://sig.grumpybumpers.com/host/Viv_FablePost.gif)
SKILL : - - - ( 1 / 5 )
His laughter was the first sign of spring after a long winter and the sound drew her ear, as it did every time she heard it. With the fire's effects weaving into her very being, it was more intoxicating than it typically was. She couldn't have fought the smile off her muzzle or the affectionate glint from her eyes, especially as he called her daughters "our girls". Fable's heart skipped a beat at the warm possession there, as if they were nestled into his heart as much as her own.
But they were, weren't they? He had been there since very early in their lives; like herself, he had been by their sides when the world was tender and new and they were learning how to exist in it. She had still been a stranger to Mythris when they met beneath the fateful tree in the Highlands, fresh and new before the ground fell out beneath her.
But when it all crumbled, when the good days ended and grief threatened to overtake her, he was there to pick up the pieces and she hadn't even had to ask him. Fox was steady in that way, catching her elbow when her steps were stumbling.
The thoughts were spider's silk, ephemeral and drifting from her grasp as the fire made complex thought difficult. She was trapped in its haze and the euphoria came easily, lying right along the surface.
They had grown so fast, but she would have to get used to the idea of them growing up. Aisling had already expressed interest in being a courier, and she shouldn't be surprised, but she wondered if her fawn-spotted daughter would settle into a life far away from her. Like two of her daughters already had.
The morose thoughts couldn't touch her, though, for the warming glow she felt across her skin. It was like basking in the sun's springtide rays, even as the snow descended around them, outside the fire's perimeter.
But bliss could not hold her forever - not when Fox's words and her own stolen ones tossed her into freefall.
Panic was alive and well in her veins.
It pumped adrenaline into every fiber of her being, demanding she make a choice in fight or flight; danger was near, and it was cloaked in fox-red fur and looked at her with familiar eyes of emerald green that reminded her of the rolling hills of her homeland.
Her mind buzzed, the chaotic whirl that was her thoughts blurring at the edges as each strand fell into the next and the fire's effects ardently attempted to distance her from what troubled her so. It was only half successful, but the part that rose valiantly kept her tufted paws rooted to the spot.
He was sorry and the anguish that washed over her was bitter, cutting into soft flesh she shouldn't have left exposed. She had shown her throat and each syllable ripped it out; she should have known and yet the part of her that hoped had done so, so recklessly. It was a four-letter word with all the weight of the world upon its fragile, tenuous shoulders, but promised destruction when it fell.
She couldn't hold his gaze anymore and she ripped it away, looking around them but seeing nothing. If anyone asked her what surrounded them, she couldn't have answered; she processed not a single thing as she choked around the stone of rejection lodged in her throat, despite how gently it was delivered.
Her tongue worked to find something to say, some balm to offer him, because he was not the marshal of her emotions - he didn't deserve to pay penance for how she felt and it wasn't his fault in the slightest. Somehow, everything had been misread. Perhaps even her sight was wrong - she hadn't been able to see her string of fate before, so who was to say it wasn't a mistake? A trick, a punishment for the mockery she had made of it before.
When no words came to her, she went to take a half-step back but stilled when his muzzle touched hers and found herself falling once more into ivy-green eyes. Confusion tinged his expression, but there was something else there, too - an intention, a resonating purposefulness that evoked a desperation in her that was so raw she could attribute it to nothing else: hope, a small ember but kindled in the cage of her chest.
The emotion felt like it belonged to someone else, as if her body was not her own, as she stood stock-still and held his gaze with bated breath. Despite her halting lungs, her heart hammered beneath her breastbone; she was certain he could hear it, but she was powerless to slow it - especially when he began to speak.
"Do you think I called you Abhaile and was wrong?
Yes, wasn't that why he apologized... ?
But as the words sank in, she wasn't certain she heard him correctly. Fable's heart sped up for a different reason this time.
Her brows furrowed as she finally reunited with her voice, shifting forward a step so her nose skimmed into the fur of his cheek. She felt the world might fall to pieces if she grew nearer. She was sticking her hand into the fire and bracing to be burnt.
She needed him to be clear, to leave nothing to guesswork. Fable's eyes searched his furtively, as if she could unravel the answer with a look alone.
She wasn't even sure he would know what she meant - maybe they were both speaking too ambiguously, but the pathway between her brain and mouth was rife with obstacles.
The idea of losing his companionship entirely left her feeling hollowed out, the mere suggestion akin to entering a vacuum, all the air disappearing with the glimpse of a reality she would lament until her dying day if it came to pass. She would find a way to patch herself up again, even as her heart bled out, if it meant staying in his orbit; it wasn't her first lost love, but she was sure a part of her would die with it this time.
But they were, weren't they? He had been there since very early in their lives; like herself, he had been by their sides when the world was tender and new and they were learning how to exist in it. She had still been a stranger to Mythris when they met beneath the fateful tree in the Highlands, fresh and new before the ground fell out beneath her.
But when it all crumbled, when the good days ended and grief threatened to overtake her, he was there to pick up the pieces and she hadn't even had to ask him. Fox was steady in that way, catching her elbow when her steps were stumbling.
The thoughts were spider's silk, ephemeral and drifting from her grasp as the fire made complex thought difficult. She was trapped in its haze and the euphoria came easily, lying right along the surface.
Aye, they can,she acquiesced with a huff that turned into a laugh.
Fae-blooded an' all, but I still see them as small enough t' fit between m'paws.
They had grown so fast, but she would have to get used to the idea of them growing up. Aisling had already expressed interest in being a courier, and she shouldn't be surprised, but she wondered if her fawn-spotted daughter would settle into a life far away from her. Like two of her daughters already had.
The morose thoughts couldn't touch her, though, for the warming glow she felt across her skin. It was like basking in the sun's springtide rays, even as the snow descended around them, outside the fire's perimeter.
But bliss could not hold her forever - not when Fox's words and her own stolen ones tossed her into freefall.
Panic was alive and well in her veins.
It pumped adrenaline into every fiber of her being, demanding she make a choice in fight or flight; danger was near, and it was cloaked in fox-red fur and looked at her with familiar eyes of emerald green that reminded her of the rolling hills of her homeland.
Her mind buzzed, the chaotic whirl that was her thoughts blurring at the edges as each strand fell into the next and the fire's effects ardently attempted to distance her from what troubled her so. It was only half successful, but the part that rose valiantly kept her tufted paws rooted to the spot.
He was sorry and the anguish that washed over her was bitter, cutting into soft flesh she shouldn't have left exposed. She had shown her throat and each syllable ripped it out; she should have known and yet the part of her that hoped had done so, so recklessly. It was a four-letter word with all the weight of the world upon its fragile, tenuous shoulders, but promised destruction when it fell.
She couldn't hold his gaze anymore and she ripped it away, looking around them but seeing nothing. If anyone asked her what surrounded them, she couldn't have answered; she processed not a single thing as she choked around the stone of rejection lodged in her throat, despite how gently it was delivered.
Her tongue worked to find something to say, some balm to offer him, because he was not the marshal of her emotions - he didn't deserve to pay penance for how she felt and it wasn't his fault in the slightest. Somehow, everything had been misread. Perhaps even her sight was wrong - she hadn't been able to see her string of fate before, so who was to say it wasn't a mistake? A trick, a punishment for the mockery she had made of it before.
When no words came to her, she went to take a half-step back but stilled when his muzzle touched hers and found herself falling once more into ivy-green eyes. Confusion tinged his expression, but there was something else there, too - an intention, a resonating purposefulness that evoked a desperation in her that was so raw she could attribute it to nothing else: hope, a small ember but kindled in the cage of her chest.
The emotion felt like it belonged to someone else, as if her body was not her own, as she stood stock-still and held his gaze with bated breath. Despite her halting lungs, her heart hammered beneath her breastbone; she was certain he could hear it, but she was powerless to slow it - especially when he began to speak.
"Do you think I called you Abhaile and was wrong?
Yes, wasn't that why he apologized... ?
But as the words sank in, she wasn't certain she heard him correctly. Fable's heart sped up for a different reason this time.
Her brows furrowed as she finally reunited with her voice, shifting forward a step so her nose skimmed into the fur of his cheek. She felt the world might fall to pieces if she grew nearer. She was sticking her hand into the fire and bracing to be burnt.
Fox,she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
What are ye sayin'?
She needed him to be clear, to leave nothing to guesswork. Fable's eyes searched his furtively, as if she could unravel the answer with a look alone.
If ye don't feel th' same way, we can-her voice broke, betraying her before she wrested a tentative control over it once more.
We can figure somethin' out.
She wasn't even sure he would know what she meant - maybe they were both speaking too ambiguously, but the pathway between her brain and mouth was rife with obstacles.
The idea of losing his companionship entirely left her feeling hollowed out, the mere suggestion akin to entering a vacuum, all the air disappearing with the glimpse of a reality she would lament until her dying day if it came to pass. She would find a way to patch herself up again, even as her heart bled out, if it meant staying in his orbit; it wasn't her first lost love, but she was sure a part of her would die with it this time.
![[Image: Viv_FableFB.gif]](https://sig.grumpybumpers.com/host/Viv_FableFB.gif)
