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The sun had been nearly at it’s highest point when Cercelee had left the church and by the time she arrived at the springs it was nearly dusk. How the time had eluded her and seemed to spring forward Cercelee couldn’t recall, normally the trek would take her a tenth of the time if that but somehow it had dragged on and the Rosea nearly turned around when she became aware of how late it was. Slay, though surely he hadn’t left the church at all unless it was to retrieve food for his pseudo children, would soon be settling in for sleep that would last well into the morning hours, long past when the sun rose again. The pups too would need to be settled in, although they weren’t so much pups now, shortly they would be getting their Folium ranks soon. Deciding that her family could do without her tonight, and (as she thought more and more as the sight of her mate depressed her) they could do without her most nights.
When she did bring herself near to the den entrance she didn’t enter, nor did she make a sound, but stood motionless for a long while, staring off into the increasing darkness. Cwmfen. Onus had come to her and told her of what happened, and Cercelee had been made aware when the Adonis had returned but Cercelee had failed the women in not coming straight away to the warrior’s side. What had kept her waiting, Cercelee couldn’t explain that either and she let several more minutes slip away from her as she stood contemplating her failure to her friend. Finally she found her feet moving forward until she was right outside, but whether Cwmfen was inside or not Cercelee didn’t know.
Cwmfen? Raped, pregnant, nearly killed. Cercelee hadn’t seen the female since before it had happened, would the Adonis look any different? Would she be any different? When Onus had come, the Rosea had toyed with the idea of finding him, but she knew that Onus took care of Cwmfen better than anyone else could have and that it was better not to interrupt them. Yet when the warrior had returned Cercelee had felt that Oberon’s Springs were like the opposite pole of a magnet, repelling her every time she sought to come near. Now here she was and the female was too nervous to stick her nose in the den entrance and inhale, for fear that perhaps Cwmfen wouldn’t really be there. In fear she’d still be far away, hurt and violated and maybe even alone. Cwmfen? Subconsciously Cercelee held her breath.
Though I don't know who you are
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After the woad marked female had traveled along the boarders earlier in the day, she had returned to her den. She traveled alone as she was accustom to, as she was accustom to in the past and as she was accustom to now. The day proved to be uneventful, the boarders unthreatened by intruders from the world without, the world with which the woman was now unfamiliar. The woad warrior was glad for the quiet peace of the days, but the restlessness would not depart from her soul, and it never would. The wanderlust had always moved her, as did the songs of war. Indeed, she had settled within Dahlia, but she wandered about the lands to satisfy her innate need, and in doing so she was able to fulfill her duties to her pack as well. But now with her wounds having grown quiet—save for the deep wound upon her leg, which cried out on occasion—she should have been able to continue upon such duties. It was the weight in her womb, wondrous and woeful.
The day was still bright, although night threatened to come swiftly. Regardless, the woman felt the desire to eat, and she felt a hunger within her. For a moment, the white orbs beheld the Raven Spear. Instead, she took up her bow and grabbed several arrows, moving back into the trees. She moved quietly, able to traverse the darkening woods with that natural grace. The warrior hunted, moving slowly through the woods, the woad bound maw moving through the air until she found a warm scent. And there, ahead of her, several rabbits sat in a glade eating obliviously. Slowly, she knocked the arrow upon the string, her fingers brushing against the fletching as her eyes locked upon her prey, which sensed now that something was wrong. Silently, slowly, she lifted the bow and pulled the string, listening to the bow hum to her with its anticipation. Almost immediately, the strain of the bow’s weight against her left arm shot through the healing wound upon her neck. She grit her teeth and released the arrow—it was a poor release, and the bow growled in protest. But the rabbit lay dead beneath the arrow.
Having eaten, the woman returned to her abode. The woad bound ears pricked forward, swiveling to catch the soft sound that the wound brought to her. For a moment, the warrior could not place an identity with that distant voice, and she grew instantly alert, a wild ferocity flickering in those white orbs. The black fae placed her left foot upon the large roots of the tree and pulled herself around the trunk, her eyes beholding a familiar face. "Cercelee," the soft voice called in return. A quiet, indiscernible smile whispered on her lips as the intensity of her gaze softened. Slowly, her movements slowed by the heaviness of her abdomen, the black fae descended the large roots so that she may be level with the Rosea. Setting her weapon aside, the Adonis gave a slight dip of her maw in greeting, choosing not to bow as she usually did because of her extended belly. She was glad to have the Rosea visiting, for a giving of thanks was long overdue. It had been Cercelee, after all, that had allowed Onus to come visit her on occasion. The black ear swiveled at the sound of a distant crow—or was it a Raven?"How have you been, Cercelee?" It was, perhaps, a generic question, but it was spoken with sincerity nonetheless.
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The expected answer did not come from within the den but it came nonetheless. Spinning around to meet the Adonis face to face any sign of surprise Cercelee had faded almost instantly as it was replaced with joy. Navy eyes quickly traveled from face to belly and back up, the sight of the bulking form reminded Cercelee it had been far too long. To watch Cwmfen become pregnant should have been a gradual process, a day to day change that was barely identifiable. The image in Cercelee’s head had been the fit and sturdy warrior, and while it was the same female before her now the figure of the woman had taken a drastic change. Although Cercelee smiled openly at her friend, it was towards her face and not her pregnant womb, for the Rosea did not quite know how her warrior felt about the new handicap she was experiencing.
Cwmfen! Cercelee returned the dip of her maw with a mirrored gesture, for she truly respected the Cwmfen as much as Cwmfen respected her. I am well. Simple words but they were not spoken as some offhand comment. Cercelee herself had been well, laying low and avoiding most others, watching over her shut in mate and remaining puppies. It was far more favorable to have little to talk about than much unhappiness, and though Cercelee wasn’t sure if Cwmfen was alright or not, she looked okay and so the question came out with a slight hint of concern. How are you?
Onus had let Cercelee know when Cwmfen was not okay, but the woman look mostly healed and other than being pregnant not much at a single glance would give away any details about the other’s ordeal. Surely the strange male had told his lover what he had shared with Cercelee, so there was no need to retell the story. However she did need to know about now, how Cwmfen was doing, how she felt about the pregnancy, what would happen with the children and all the little details that had to be hammered out. Most of all she had to know Cwmfen was really okay.
Though I don't know who you are
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A silver smile flickered within those white orbs, offering a quiet breath of relief. She was glad that there had been no apparent trouble since she had been absent. Brennt, then, must surely be dead, either bleeding out from the wounds she had inflicted or killed by Dawali Amara who had attempted to help her, although she had insisted that he pursue the pup-eater. "And Slay?" The last time she had seen the diamond marked male, he had been bleeding out, wearied and weak. But, in Cercelee’s care, the Adonis was sure that he had healed. The most curious thing, the woman thought, was that he had been shifted—not all the way, but shifted nonetheless. She remembered what the large male had said to her. She wondered what it all meant.
"I’m well," she replied quietly, a soft smile moving indiscernibly across her lips. There was a brief silence in which the white orbs drifted to the arms leaning against the great tree standing sentinel over her den. Soon that tree would also stand guard over the pups that would soon be born. Looking up, the black wolf shifted her weight to the left, her right leg still unwilling to endure the added weight of her womb. "I’m alive," she continued at great length. After each battle, life was something to be cherished. But after her battle with Brennt, there had been more happenings, a calamity, perhaps. "And healing." The added statement reflected upon her physical state, but her soul was healing as well. It would simply take longer, it seemed, than when a similar wound had marred her soul upon the cold fields of ice.
A long silence ensured in which the woad-marked fae was still and unmoving, simply observing the Rosea with quiet eyes. "I wanted to thank you for allowing Onus to cross the boarders," the soft melody sang at length, the white orbs almost timidly meeting the Rosea’s blue gaze. That act, and she knew that it was no simple thing because of the Lilium’s dislike of the masked vigilante, meant a great deal more than even the Adonis herself realized. "I would have thanked you earlier," the soft song continued. But she did not offer an excuse, for surely there was none. Her days had not been filled with things of great consequence. Save for the continuation of her vigilance at the boarders and with the occasional encounters with her packmates, her days were slow and, for the warrior, uncomfortably idle. While the wounds should not be pushed beyond their limits, she knew as well that if she were to allow harm to befall her, the litter within her would be harmed as well. And so her days were ‘easy’. But there had been no adamant reason for her to not seek the Rosea. Perhaps she hadn’t known the correct words to speak in return for the given gesture. Even now, the words did not seem adequate. But for one whose life was lived with action, words were found with great difficulty.
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Slay is... Cercelee did not even attempt to hide the concern on her face, her eyes told the whole story. Slay had healed physically but aside from the occasional hunting excursion to feed their four remaining hungry mouths the male never left their shared bedroom, and even those rare hunting trips were becoming farther and further in between. The love of her life had become unresponsive and closed off, and though Cercelee tried to be supportive she found it more trying everyday. He didn't want to talk about any of it, he couldn't come up with excuses for his behavior and the best Cercelee could do was ignore it and curl up beside him in bed every night. Although the unhappiness was clear painted on her face, her words were the generic answer, her tone indicating she didn't wish to hand out details just yet. Not because she did not wish to confide in Cwmfen, but only that it exhausted her merely thinking of it. Slay is okay.
Cercelee was glad to turn the talk to Cwmfen, even if her situation had been just as traumatic if not more so. Cwmfen looked well enough, and perhaps the raven warrior would carry mental or emotional scars at least she was out. Outside and functioning, back at her old jobs already despite the recent ordeal and new physical burden she carried. Cercelee felt a little angry at this, not that Cwmfen had seemingly suffered no life stopping issue, but that Slay whose attack hadn't been nearly as brutal was. Her mate was non-existent emotionally and mentally, and his physical body brought her no joy without his happy go lucky self to accompany it. Although she knew she should rejoice at Cwmfen's recovery, she couldn't help but focus on bitter feelings surround Slay, it was becoming harder and harder to ignore them.
Cercelee's smile quickly became a frown at Cwmfen's words of thanks. It wasn't that Cwmfen had failed in thanking Cercelee in a timely fashion, it was in actuality that Cercelee had failed Cwmfen. I should have come to you sooner. Her voice, her body posture, her face, everything about her was apologetic. Partly it had been that she was afraid to see any lasting damage done to her friend, partly it was that she was so drained from her own life she barely had the strength to leave her own home now but despite either reason Cercelee should have been stronger. She had failed and briefly she lowered her head apologetically to Cwmfen.
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A dark frown marred the woad bound maw, and the blackness that seemed to move across her fur. But the Rosea’s voice faltered, and only the name of the diamond marked hunter lingered in the air. Those white orbs that seemed to glow in the dying light met the eyes of her leader and saw what was held openly. The darkness upon her own black maw grew from the knowledge of who had caused the male his pain. Many times within these days of idleness the warrior had considered the possibilities. What if she had moved with greater celerity? Surely the results would have been the same—or would the results have been different? Perhaps, for the unfamiliarity of love, no one would have found her having been subdued. And yet, those who had no stake in Corvus’ life would have been spared their needless harms. And while the warrior understood and accepted the grimmer tales of battle, those that had been attacked by the crow wolf had surely been needless. It was her own fear (or was it perverse affection?) that had stilled her. But in facing him that night, despite her utter defeat, she had conquered that fear. And it seemed that, for her, that was all that Nemain had required. Imperceptibly, the warrior nodded to the Rosea. But she did not push what not said.
There was much silence that followed the sparing words spoken upon the air, and so when the Rosea’s voice lifted, the woad-bound aurals pressed forward to catch them. But it was the silent, physical speech of wolves that spoke more clearly than the words of a voice, "You do not have to apologize to me," the quiet melody sang, a fleeting smile touching her quiet lips. Her hand reached out towards the white fae’s maw as if to lift it from that lowly place which the warrior saw to be unbefitting of Cercelee. But those woad bound fingers, as they were accustom, did not make contact. She lingered there momentarily so that her movement or the warmth of her fingers might lift that blue gaze. And as the hand slowly fell away, the white orbs, holding that darkened calm, sought the woman’s gaze. The warrior did not think that Cercelee had owed her anything, for it was the warrior who followed and served Cercelee out of fealty and respect, and because the warrior, although she considered few such a thing, considered the white wolf a caraid, a friend.
"The pack will have needed you, and Slay needs you," the warrior’s song continued softly, unable to discern the origin of the anger that flitted across Cercelee’s features. And the woad-marked wolf was accustom to being alone in her solitude, although her solitude these days had been marred by the black soot that had settled over her. A distance had even been placed between Onus and herself. The warrior experienced a longing so unfamiliar and yet dire, but she silenced such a thing, unwilling to place the masked coyote so near to something that was not his, that belonged to something with hollow nothingness. Even his touch had caused her to recoil. A quiet sigh was emitted from the pregnant female as her gaze lingered upon the great roots of the oak. How suffocating this blackness was, and the black fae could not purge herself of it. The woman shifted her weight briefly upon her right leg before moving it back, allowing her left a moment of relief. Then, those white eyes returned to white fae.
"I have seen this Darkness before," the soft susurrus sang, "and this Darkness will pass." Cwmfen could not recall to what extent she had shared her past with her leader. Yet, the black fae’s words were meant to assuage Cercelee’s concern, but whether they would, the warrior did not know. Once more, it was those social ineptitudes that hindered her.
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That they could communicate so well without words was a blessing, and Cercelee could convey how she felt even if the reasons for those feelings never were revealed. Slay’s very being now brought her much worry and anxiety, but so long as someone knew that she felt this resent helped her. To share misery and unhappiness lessened it, it seemed, and she knew that Cwmfen would not look down on her for such feelings. Perhaps it was wrong to feel so about one’s own mate, but it couldn’t be helped. Nor could she help to feel guilty for Cwmfen’s current condition, though Cercelee herself had done nothing to put her in such a state. And it was true that there had been nothing Cercelee could have done to prevent it either. Sometimes opposing forces were too strong, sometimes Cercelee felt it was fate that smashed them down and they could only do their best to regroup and go about their lives.
Cercelee saw the shadow of Cwmfen’s hand reach out to her and she raised her head, looking squarely into Cwmfen’s white eyes. Yes the pack needed her, and Slay had too, but so often it seemed that the pack ate up much of her time and yet still needed more of it. If only there were more than one of her, but she supposed that is why she had Haku and Cwmfen. Only, Haku and Cwmfen couldn’t stand in her stead when it was a friend who needed her and not a pack mate. You are part of this pack, are you not? The pack would have needed her, but Cwmfen was part of that and why Cercelee hadn’t found the time for a pack member was inexcusable, but if Cwmfen was willing to forgive Cercelee was willing to forget. Her voice tried to sound cheery, indicating they need say no more on the manner. And they will be part of the pack too, yes?
Cercelee’s eyes flitted over the swollen belly of the pregnant women. Children of incest, such was Conor and Emwe although not so close as this litter was bound to be. Her face was warm and kind, for such a act had not been Cwmfen’s will and puppies were puppies no matter where they came from, they should be a joyous occasion. They are due soon? It was a question and not a statement and Cercelee’s navy eyes sought for an indication on Cwmfen’s face about how she felt about the puppies. Cercelee couldn’t of course change her mind if it was negative, but she could offer comfort and support in the very least.
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Quietly, a fleeting smile moved across the silent lips. She was a part of the pack, the woman did not question that. But she was accustom to her solitude, to being alone even in her times of need. Save for with Onus, the black fae had never experienced the care of another, and she did not know when such a thing were required, for that knowing had been numbed by solitude itself. Indeed, Bane had carried her from Hybrid’s jaws and had ‘stitched’ her, as he had called it, but it had not felt the same, and she had returned to Dahlia within a matter of days. But two weeks she had been gone, her wounds and her pregnancy rendering her helpless, and her mental wounds making dark her days.
A soft nod of confirmation was given. "They will be." They would be unless they would be killed. Onus had said nothing, and Cwmfen herself had remained silent as well. Yet both knew of the possibility. These lives created of a black seed could carry the black hollowness of the crow wolf. For a greater good, the woman would kill her own young. Perhaps it could be said that Cwmfen nic Graine, sired, too, from the pied Korean, had grown far from darkness. But the woad warrior knew herself, and she knew what lingered there in her soul. Often she had wondered when the darkness would come for her, for surely it was as inevitable as the grip of Death. And she hoped that, when the time came, someone would be there to kill her. Perhaps it would be Onus. Perhaps it would be another. And whether she lived long enough to become the creature of darkness that was inherent within her blood or not, she knew that she would be killed. Those that lived by the sword died by the sword.
"I suppose the time is nigh," the soft alto responded, openly admitting that she did not know. The white orbs flickered over the Rosea as she fell back, leaning against the tree with a soft sigh. Her maw turned toward the swollen abdomen and she beheld an uncertainty. She wondered what it would happen next. What was next upon the pages of Fate? "It will not be long now," the susurrus came, nearly lost within the silence. The white orbs lifted to find Cercelee once more. "I will not be able to fully fulfill my duties until they no longer need me." She spoke as if the pups would be purged, as if her efforts to keep the darkness at bay would be successful. And the black fae spoke as if the litter would not accept her, not as if she would not accept the litter.
"But Brennt, the puppy-eater, is dead and no longer a threat," she informed the white woman, "as is Corvus." There was a dark certainty within the final words, and yet, strangely, no hate. Perhaps such a thing would go unnoticed, however, for emotions did not burn strongly within her as they did in others. "I expect little trouble to arise, but I will check periodically when I can." Cwmfen had suddenly become formal with the talk of her duty. But it was more of her passion than mere duty, and it was from that passion that she was kept. But it was clear that the woman would not allow danger to befall the pack, nor would she allow it to befall her litter—none save that which may prove to be necessary. "The pack should be safe." It was idleness and uselessness that sank into her bones, and, for the warrior who moved as the water and the wind must, stillness grew to a quiet, unbearable level.
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Of course. Cercelee nodded to the Adonis, who also served as the pack lead, and only, warrior. Having her out of commission meant that Haku and herself would have to pick up the duties that usually fell back onto Cwmfen, and it also meant that no one would be patrolling the borders, at least no one with the intent of fighting off evils. Yet they could always enlist Alexey to help serve, for as a council member it was among her duties. Slay too would have been expected to pick up the slack, help with border duties and other odd jobs yet Cercelee did not imagine him rising from his what seemed like eternal slumber. Somehow they would manage. And as Cwmfen noted, Corvus and Brennt were both gone, dead. The pack was once again safe, for a while anyway.
Onus told me about Corvus… Onus had told Cercelee many things that day, revealing the romantic relationship between Cwmfen and the strange male as well as letting Cercelee knew where the pups Cwmfen carried came from. Her eyes sought out Cwmfen’s, as if to confirm that everything the male had said that day was true, but of course the Rosea knew it was. She only wanted for moment to be on the same page as the Adonis, so they both knew the other knew. I am glad to hear of Brennt though. Surely no more dangers will appear so suddenly, after all, how much bad luck can Dahlia have? Cercelee smiled weakly, knowing that when grey clouds passed, sometimes the storm persisted, but she was optimistic. She had to be optimistic.
Cercelee smiled again to Cwmfen, had she known the worry that lurked in her friend’s mind and the potential solution it would have churned her stomach. Puppies, no matter where they came from, were blessed and Cercelee would allot all the time in the world for Cwmfen to raise her’s, it was perhaps a more important duty in Cercelee’s opinion than the Adonis or Warrior rank. We will be fine, I’m sure. The important thing is to take care of yourself and them. How ever many of them there might be. Firefly had given the pack two children out of a litter of three while the de Sadira clan had arrived five strong, hopefully all of Cwmfen’s would arrive into the world alive and well however many she might carry. If you need anything, let me know. The words were genuine, of course Cer would do what she could anyway, bring food or something, though with the care of Onus she doubted Cwmfen would be in need of much. Still, the offer was ever on the table.
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At the sound of her lover’s name, the woad bound ears lifted, pressing forward as if to hear a sound that was familiar and yet too distant. But that familiar and distant name was soon followed by that of her father. For a moment, the woman grew still as the water does when the wind has died. But, as with the dying wind, the stillness was fleeting. "Yes," the soft melody replied. Onus had told her only afterwards of his discussion with the Rosea, and, although he had not gone into great detail, the black fae had known that such words would have been exchanged. "I failed that night," the soft melody explained, those tones ringing as if she were noting the presence of deer. And perhaps, for the black fae, the darkness of that night had merely been the result of her own physical inadequacies. There was conflict within the warrior’s soul, a conflict of contentment and discontentment.
There was a brief silence. "If Onus had not come, I would not be here today." The white orbs watched the Rosea with quiet eyes as she admitted verbally what had only been said with silence. "But whatever would have happened that day, Corvus would have left." And those white eyes remembered the promise she had made to the Rosea after Ril’o’s death. Her own life was insignificant in magnitude of the world, and the world would not have taken notice had she died. She walked only upon that preordained path, doing as she knew that she must and knowing still that things could not be changed. Her only regret in dying would have been to leave Onus. He had lived life alone just as she, and he, just as she, had been content with such a thing. But she had made love with him, and the solitude now was not enough—at least it no longer seemed to be for the woad marked fae. And yet, now, she must continue to cause him pain by the bearing of the lives within her.
A faint smile flickered across her lips, but she was silent as she had been silent in these past two moons. Cwmfen nodded, believing that, at least for a moment, Dahlia would be able to breathe. She did not think that a new threat would arise, but she did not discard the possibility. And, if she could, she would do what she must for her pack, and she would do it because her passion for war was as great as her love of Onus. But she knew that she could not be there all the time. Not yet. The warrior nodded. "I will." The woad-marked fae knew, however, that she could protect them only if she could protect herself. The protection of the pack required the same thing. And so, when the warrior could move once more as the wind and the water, she would strive to regain what was lost and to gain what had not been gained before. As with all, there was always room for improvement. Even with her. Defeat was the only way in which to better oneself.
"I need only your patience," the soft melody replied, an indiscernible smile of silver touching her lips. That was all that she felt she could ask or demand of Cercelee. Already the Dahlian leader had much with which to deal, and Cwmfen did not wish to burden her. The black fae was not accustom to requiring the care of others. Even her dependence upon Onus made her uncomfortable, for his purpose was not in the caring of her. She knew, however, when she did indeed require such aid, and she could accept it when given. But from the snowy woman, she desired only patience.
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You did not fail. It was not spoken encouragingly or comforting, it was not soft spoken as was her custom. The voice that spoke was that of the Rosea, authoritative and firm. It was a statement and spoken in a manner that indicated, regardless of Cwmfen’s personal feelings on the matter, it was not to be argued. Cercelee did not consider what Cwmfen did, or rather did not do, a failure. If that was to be considered a failure, then the attack Cercelee had suffered from Hybrid, leaving her useless to Dahlia in Twilight Vale was a personal failure and for her own mental health Cercelee did not consider it such. Even when others did. As leaders they had little room for error and Cercelee would not acknowledge that which had passed and could not be changed. Learn from it, perhaps, but never dwell on it. Never count it among the list of failings.
Still, Onus had been thanked once. He had done not only Cwmfen a favor but all of Dahlia, even if his motives had been purely personal in keeping the woman he loved alive. Thank Onus again for me though. Had that coyote not have been there… Cercelee did not spend too much time thinking of it. That was not the reality and imagining the worse was a waste of time. Cercelee only hoped that the male knew how grateful she, and Dahlia by extension, was. Haku perhaps was the exception, he had been informed of Cwmfen’s situation surely, but he was not happy with Onus’s role in it, or rather the reward Onus had been granted. To come and go in the claimed lands. Still, at times, Cercelee’s word triumphed.
Cercelee’s patience. The Rosea had that, perhaps more for the Adonis who so rarely required it, than for the others. With Haku her patience grew thin at times, strained by their past together. With Svara and Firefly her patience had run out and so had the women’s welcome in her pack lands. With Slay it was at a breaking point. Everyday that she went home a cloud descended and she got no rest from sleeping in the bed. Yet with Cwmfen there were ample amounts. A plethora of patience. Of course. You always have that.
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End soon? Unless you want to continue—I am fine either way! But then maybe when you have time (and probably when I have time too, hahah!) we can have an updated one and Cer can meet the pups or something, heheh
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There was a faint glimmer—and yet it was gone—within that white gaze. The discontent at what had occurred was lessened marginally by the Rosea’s words. If she had not failed the Rosea, then she had not failed completely. And she had not entirely failed herself. Indeed, she had conquered the fear of her father. But she had not physically overcome him and instead had been overcome. In that sense, she had failed. As warrior, she had failed. And the black wolf knew that every encounter could not be victorious. She accepted that, and so she was able to easily admit to failure. While not complete, what had happened had most certainly not been victory; thus was it left to failure. A soft sigh was admitted. When her body would be permitted to move, she would have to regain much of what would be lost in idleness. But she would, too, have to gain what had not yet been gained, to better herself, to improve herself. And what better way to better oneself than through defeat?
The black fae softly smiled, something a little brighter than had been permitted upon those quiet lips. The Rosea’s words were warming, surprisingly so to the black fae who had never truly felt such a thing in such a way. The friendship, now, that she had with Cercelee seemed much stronger than she had believed it to be. Where once their relationship had been of simple loyalty and respect (and yet loyalty, for the warrior, as not lightly given), their relationship had now blossomed into something stronger. It was a peculiar sort of thing, the black fae mused, that was similar and yet not similar to the relationship that was shared with Onus. But the words that Cercelee spoke made such a thing apparent, and the warrior was immediately humbled. The white gaze was lowered almost tentatively, the silence almost awkward for her lack of words. A simple ‘thanks’ would not suffice. For she whose life was tenuous, it was a strange thing to have her life valued in such a way. At length, a simple nod was given and the gaze was lifted. She would thank Onus on Cercelee’s behalf and on her own.
For a moment, despite the shadowed thoughts that hung over the swollen abdomen, she was permitted rest. The carrying of that black seed was lifted if only briefly, but it would be enough for now, and it was more than the warrior should ask. A soft breath sang into the quiet air, and perhaps it sang of relief. It spoke there, held openly within the white orbs, moving as if light were filtered there. "Thank you." The words were sung quietly, rising as a Raven’s feather to join the song of the earth, and perhaps the rings of relief were sung there also. Softly, the woad-bound maw was dipped. And for the Rosea’s patience, the warrior would, in return, do, as warrior, what she always did with strengthened loyalty and trust and friendship.
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I pray to you
Yeah end here. Sorry this is short and sucky! We’ll have another thread in a while.
Cercelee smiled as the Adonis thanked her, though it was unneeded. They didn’t need words to communicate their true emotions, not like strangers tend to need words, and more and more as they began to understand one another, and Haku too, less words were needed to reveal the others’ true thoughts. Despite what tensions and discord ran through the leadership, at least they could communicate. At least there was loyalty; that could not be denied. Even from Haku and to Haku, there was loyalty. Their personal relationship had blossomed after the professional one, but in no way derived from their friendship. If anything, it only made it easier, for each knew that for the other Dahlia de Mai and duties and ranks was often the priority. They could both understand that about the other.
Quickly Cercelee embraced the women, and then it was gone: a fleeting encounter where Cercelee showered affection on those not of her household. It had been rare but was becoming more common, perhaps having the pups around had opened her up and yet it still felt strange. Good but strange to have physical contact with another. As if when the warmth of one body touched the warmth of another they could transfer other types of energy between the two entities. Yet so quickly the moment was over and Cer smiled again. I should be getting back. It was good seeing you. And so proper she dipped her head to the Adonis and turned to go, leaving Cwmfen again to her solitude.
Though I don't know who you are
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