[MaMa] [p] any other name
#1
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The smell of peppermint and sea-salt tickled her nose as a wayward breeze brushed past her. In the back of her mind, she felt a prickle of uncertainty, and guilt. While she looked forward to see the sun-kissed boy--maybe she was being too eager, the way her pace increased when she knew she was getting nearer to his land--the identity she presented herself with ate at her like nothing else. No, this wasn't Harrow of Salsola taking another routine visit to the south to look for useful baubles. This was Nahyt, a girl from whatever place, where from it did not matter, always bearing the scent of fresh mint when she goes to him. Harrow held little regard for the others that were not privileged enough for her pack, thus deemed unworthy, an undesirable incapable of loving no one but her family. Nahyt was nearly head over heels for a boy that just seemed to understood her, somehow evading through the defenses she had set up and striking straight and true to her heart. It was hard to believe that they were the same girl.

For the last month or so, she had been questioning herself who exactly she was these days. Once upon a time, she played the part for him, maybe fooling herself that their talks once meant nothing. But, it now seemed the roles were reversed; a mask of indifference had to worn at home, and it was slipped off when she was with him. A different world for each name, it was becoming ever so hard to keep up with the pretenses and to keep each of them separated. If only born Nahyt, she thought, and not Harrow. While her heart fluttered at the thought, it tore at the seams--if she wasn't Harrow, Eris wasn't mother, Salsola wasn't home. Would she be nothing without them? She did not elaborate the thought of another life without them.

She brushed her fingers over the slim branch of peppermint again and tossed the stick off into the undergrowth. Not an a drop of her pack's scent lingered on her, replaced by the spiced herb and other earthy smells. It was a subtle sign to show that she was near, and the thought of him allowed her to shun her festering thoughts, if only for a moment, and she walked even faster, her feet practically gliding over open air. "Skoll?" she called softly, too impatient to remain silent, already wanting to be in his comforting company. There was a childish but honest edge to her voice, and the woman reveled in the fact that she could be herself while here, not having to keep herself in check. Yet, this isn't me, she reminded herself faintly.

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#2
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[/html] Once upon a time, Skoll Haskel had been a prince. He’d been a prince with a mother and a father, and two siblings he loved so much, and dreams of becoming a knight, and a maiden with whom his heart had first begun to beat the telltale tempo of one in love. Everything had been going well for him, until his siblings usurped his position without him knowing, and then his mother had been attacked by a nameless monster, and it all fell apart. Ayita Catori had died, and it was clear that her death had taken away the part of Vigilante that Skoll had looked up to, the kingly quality he’d wanted and tried to emulate all his life. The mantle of knight weighed far too heavily on his shoulders when he realized it meant stopping endless bloodshed, or more to the point trying and failing, and patrolling until his paws cracked and bled. And the maiden—she’d been little more than an instant in a dream, and he couldn’t be bothered to cross the forest to visit an empty promise.

The sun-chaser had been broken when the aroma of peppermint first tickled his senses. He had been hurting when they first laid eyes on each other, two shades of the world’s brightest green, and then slowly the world turned and Skoll had worked hard enough to make her laugh that he found himself laughing too. Her name was Nayht, but she was like the morning sun in his life, and every morning he rose with hopes of seeing her again. He knew that she traveled far to visit him (never had she let him come visit her instead), and so there were only a handful of days that this actually came true.

Luckily, his duties of riding along the border on patrol allowed him a glimpse of the neutral territories where she must dwell. He was walking steadily, the wind toying with his mess of hair (although he’d taken at least some care of it since meeting her), when suddenly the breeze shifted and brought him that aroma of mint that heralded her coming. A grin flashed quick as lightning across his face, and he was jogging toward the boundaries of the Kingdom when he heard her calling his name.

The young man wanted nothing more than to keep running and capture her in his arms, drawing them giggling down into the grass for some playful tussling, but he made himself keep his composure. He folded his arms as he reached the border at last, grinning that cocky boyish grin of his, his green eyes dancing down her dark, slim body playfully as if surprised that she were even here.

“Bonjour, ma cherie,” Skoll called at last, stooping in an elaborate bow.
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#3
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Her heart flew on without her as she stopped her fervent chase, over the borders that made her pause, and she knew simply that he was near, and he would answer her call in seconds. She held her arms close to her chest as she waited the seconds--how time would slow when he was near, making her old and gray in a matter of a minute from the enternal wait. The travel south was long, but to be there, so close, it made her impatient. At times, she would consider crossing the borders and into the boy's kingdom. What scent, what border. would keep her away from him? she would think. She would concrete the idea, resolve her moral, and as always, he would appear before the first step was taken. Even then, the temptation was there, to just walk over the line, but before she could formulate the will to do it this time, his smell suddenly came to her, and she saw the bright figure step into sight.

If waiting for his appearance drove her mad, his prescene did wonders on her. She wanted to get frustrated when he crossed his arms and looked over her, taking his time--how he dared make her wait with his playful antics! Yet, whenever any type of anger budded, it was quietly put out it. She could never stay mad at him for some reason, even when she tried to. He always brought a smile to her face, like the soft one that brushed her face now. His smooth French graced her ears, and she rolled her eyes at the spoken phrase, but her smile widened anyway, and she felt her heart beat a little faster when he took a bow. "Bonjour," she said back, the accent which she spoke with getting a bit better, though it was not as lavished as Skoll's. She had been practicing at least, and it was no longer the flatly spoken speech she had first talked with.

She took a few steps forward, and Nahyt's smile became shier as brilliant eyes shifted to the ground for a moment. "I missed you, you know." She couldn't count the number of times she would say this, but it could've been spoken a hundred more times and be no less true. She always missed him when they were apart, from the minute they would leave each other and until the point he would appear from his territory. But, maybe it was a good thing that she missed him so much--it kept her coming down south whenever she could, and it always made her excited to see him, treasuring each moment together. It was her own subtle way of telling him how much she loved him. After that said, she straightened up and flashed a small grin. "How're you, Skoll?"

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#4
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[/html] Like most teenage boys, the wolfdog liked to tease the object of his affections—although his adoration for her was plain as day if one glanced over his cocky smile to his soft green eyes. He hoped that she knew how much he cared about her even with his childish antics, and the thought almost brought a worried crease to his brow until the dark she-wolf returned his greeting. Hearing how her accent had improved, Skoll abandoned all pretense of cocky composure and wagged his tail in praise. It had been fun teaching her his mother’s language, though he was sure she’d taught him much more over the months. She was very intelligent and mature, and it was one of the reasons he’d been attracted to her, desiring to be free of his ruined childhood.

He noted her shy glance downward and let his grin transform into something softer but no less warm. “I missed you too,” he murmured, and at last walked past the boundaries of his territory. One hand reached out to touch her shoulder, running smoothly down her arm until his fingers could ink with hers, and he was about to say something cheesy before the girl asked a question. Mirroring her grin, he shrugged then began to talk excitedly, taking her question seriously as he always did.

“I’m doing very well. I’ve learned more fighting tactics—like, if you came at me with a knife,” he growled, and prodded at her stomach playfully with his free hand, “I could disarm you in two seconds flat—or, well, if I don’t screw up. And I think we’ve found a stud for Hwin, which is great; it’s a bit late for her, but I’d love to train one of her foals to be a warhorse, you know?” He grinned the dreamy grin of someone who’d learned, once again, to view life in an optimistic light, and then he planted a sloppy dog kiss on the bridge of her muzzle, squeezing her hand as he retorted: “And how’re you?”
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#5
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She flashed a small grin when he announced that he had missed her as well, but she became more excited--this was shown through the faint but definite wagging of her tail--as she finally stepped away from the borders, and she had to yet again stifle the impulse to dash to him. She was a sensible creature, she would tell herself, but that all but seemed forgotten whenever she was in his prescene. She did not move as Skoll touched her shoulder, but did watch from the corner of her vision as they trailed down her arm--the weaker one, she noted absentmindedly--and once his fingers brushed against her own, she did not hesitate to wrap her dark-hued hand around the bright paw.

She listened patiently as he started off. While she usually had little to say, he was always filled with new things to say, and after so long, she had truly begun to take keen interest in the happens in his life. She nearly squeaked as he poked her stomach playfully, but managed to keep quiet and roll her eyes, but kept the smile on her face. Like it'd be possible for a cripple like her to go against him, even when she was flailing a knife; it would hardly be a fair battle. The girl became more attentive at the mention of Hwin, and nodded quietly at the mention of the stud and future warhorses. She was about to add something when he suddenly gave her a messy kiss on her muzzle, and she could not contain the soft squeal that escaped her, and she immediately brushed off the excess spit with her other arm. Again, the rising urge to dislike him rose, but when she looked up and saw that goofy smile on his face, she sighed and grinned.

"If it's any consolation, I'm soaked," she stated pointedly, and tried to give a hard squeeze in return--but, with the lack of strength in her arm, it merely came out as a soft one. "Besides that, I'm fine. Nothing much is happening back at home, still, so there isn't much to talk about." At least that was true; Salsola indeed held nothing exciting for her at that moment, but then again, she would never asked for anything else but for peace. Thinking of the thisle kingdom brought up her earlier dilemma to mind, whether or not she was this or that, and she suddenly fell quiet--a different kind of silence that wasn't like her usual one. Her hand felt like lead as it was held by the caring, unknowingly lied to hand, but she did not dare let it slip out from the hold. At least she knew one thing for sure: that she liked him, liked him a lot, and nothing would change that.

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#6
Sorry for the wait. :C[html]
[/html] The blonde boy conceded that he was a bit of a talker, and he always took would-be rhetorical questions with a childish seriousness. However, Nayht seemed content to just listen to him, and that made him glad. His thumb brushed absently over the path of hers even as he babbled on at length about his life, and he only stopped when she squealed at his doggish lick. He had to laugh—well, practically giggle—but was quick to flash her a grin that was one part apologetic and two parts taunting.

Squeezing his hand back, the dark-hued girl scolded him then more or less brushed off the question with a vague remark about her home. He snorted. “There never is,” he agreed in half a mutter, trying to smile to make light of it. Though as usual the evasion caused the back of his mind to prickle, he was generally content to ignore it and proceed with whatever they wanted to do for the day; their hours spent together was more important than what happened at home, he had to think. This time, however, Nayht went quiet, and he guessed he knew her well enough to note the dark shift in her vivid green eyes.

“Babe?” Skoll pressed lightly, frowning. “Are you sure everything’s okay at home? Is something else bothering you?”

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#7
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/biggest loser ever

​She should have known that Skoll would have caught on to her change in mood. That was one thing about him, she could barely hide things from him now. When they first met, it was easy to lie to him, since, frankly, she thought of him as no more than a mere outsider. But, only a few untruths remained between them, and she could never attempt to cover up things with false statements, mostly for the sake of preserving whatever likeness he had for her. Thinking of that only buried the thorn deeper into her heart.

​"Everything is fine at home," she reassured distantly. She took a moment's pause, of thought and steeling of nervous. It did not take long for her to reach an decision; if she was to continued her meetings with him, she could no longer come as different people. She spoke again. "I have something to tell you." Fear and uncertainty gripped her, but her weak hand grasped the boy's nearly as tightly, not allowing to be torn away from it. Even if she knew him well, she was not sure what kind of reaction he would have; disgust, hatred, hurt. Nothing positive came to mind when she would think of his face at her news.

​Panic swelled within her, and she blurted out, "I'm not Nayht." She wanted to press closer to Skoll, but her feet were rooted by cold hands. "My... my real name is Harrow." She was prepared for her hand to be shaken off. "B-but.." But what? Could she ask for forgiveness, make an excuse? Would she dare? Crumbling within herself, she did not have the courage to meet his eyes, and looked down at their pale and dark feet.

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#8
Nuuu I am.[html]
[/html] The reassurance was not quite that; it was more of a preparing statement, one that fell into a long pause in which Skoll was aware of his breathing and how it matched hers even now. Her next words and the squeeze of his hand only brought more cruel anticipation, dread mingled with the stone-cold optimism that it will always be okay, and he could imagine a million things that she might need to tell him, some of them with consequences that would impact his entire life in the worst and the best ways. But he tried not to settle on any one thought, his green eyes instead staring into hers with mingled concern and trust, his throat clenching around a lump that he pushed down noisily back to his twisting stomach.

The small, dark she-wolf suddenly burst out that she was not Nahyt, and the boy’s brow furrowed under his untamed blond bangs. He didn’t understand; she couldn’t be an imposter; he knew the smell and feel of her well enough, how her midnight hand fell into his morning one, how they touched and spoke and a million other little things that he knew he couldn’t forget for as long as he lived.

And, suddenly, the rest of the truth followed. His eyes widened even as hers fell to the earth, but the shock flickered quickly over his features then faded into deep contemplation. “What else?” he prompted, his voice smoother than usual as he stifled his thoughts—but not cold in the least, and accompanied by another, more fragile press of her hand fallen into his. She wouldn’t have kept something as trivial as a name from him; he expected that there would be more, and only once he had heard what “more” entailed could he decide what this might change.[html]
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#9
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I have reason to believe I suck more. and I love this thread and I don't want to leave it unfinished even if mama is over haha. ;________;

The look he gave her did not help her rolling thoughts, pushing them further into the squall that flooded her mind. Ignorance from the truth, and trustful of a lie. Was that not what she was, a deceit? She had kept so little from him, but their weight pressed heavily against her chest, making her breath labored as she tried to get around the sudden emotion that choked her.

Grace forsaken, she had stated the barbed words without any pretense. Skoll didn't seem to realize the importance of it at first, but when the rest of the truth was tacked at the end of her words, he was quick to catch on. Harrow felt small, and she knew in the back of her mind, that if he shoved her away--hardly blamable, in fact expected--she would not be able to face him again. The thudding stone in her bosom fell at the thought of never seeing the boy, their last words being of her revealing her ultimate lie. Surely, she would not be able to move on from that day if it was ever to dawn.

Soft words greeted her flattened ears, and while she wanted badly to look up at his bright face, she did not have the courage. She was scared of what she would find there. Not even the soft press of his hand reassured her; she was buried too deep in her hole she had dug herself in. "I am not a loner," she continued with a breathy whisper, the words hard to form. Why was it easier to lie than to be honest? "I come from Salsola. I mask my scent every time I come down here... so that you wouldn't be able to tell." She knew Salsola had a bad reputation, and for all the right reasons, she supposed. A knightly place like the court would surely find folly within her thistle and thorn kingdom.

Lies were commonplace for her. Salsola was a mountain built upon them. But what they had was not a commonplace, and yet she raised their relationship as Nahyt the wanderer. Would Harrow the Salsolian burn down what they had? Air was suspended within her as she waited for what he had to say.

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#10
ajfdjsakfajslfadsklfjwioer okda.x[html]
[/html] Skoll reasoned that he should feel more dread in this moment; certainly Nahyt (not Nahyt, he thought, her name is Harrow) felt enough dread for the both of them, a twisting anticipation of the worse things to come. Were his emotions numbed with this shock? Should he be pushing her away and tearing out his hair and asking her how she could lie to him all this time? His mind recoiled from that image.

Maybe this… Maybe this was faith—faith in God, who’d taken so much from him already, and faith in her, and faith in love. There was an acute, desperate tenderness in his eyes, but her lovely dark muzzle was pointed downward as the words scraped up out of her throat like thorns—like thistles.

The sun prince knew the stories as well as anyone—of the dark northern kingdom full of liesmiths and backstabbers. Some of the tales were embellished for absence of any concrete evidence of the goings-on of the secretive pack, but he wasn’t sure which was more deadly. The two kingdoms were like night and day; his home was a place of light and joy, of music and seasalt and cloth and horses. It was a place he had imagined, a hundred times over, Nahyt might be able to fit into once he could claim her as his.

Nahyt—but what about Harrow? He tried to stare at her, tried seeing two different people, the loner and the Salsolian. All he could see was the insecurities passing through the dark girl’s frame, the weakness of her injured arm, the little kink of hair around her ear. None of that had changed.

“Then are you a spy, Harrow of Salsola? Did you intend to make me drop my guard and tear my pack’s secrets out of me?”

They might have been words of accusation and anger had they been delivered straight, but there was an amused lilt to the boy’s voice, and his mouth quirked ever so faintly as he gave her arm a little tug as indication to look at him. He wanted to see her eyes, to see Harrow and Nahyt’s eyes. There was some childish certainty that he’d be able to tell if she was lying with her answer—even though she’d lied easily to him all this time.

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#11
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Night and day. They were two separate worlds apart, and yet they had somehow found a way to cross between. Harrow, she had built a bridge of lies between their realms in order to traverse. If she had not hid her true name, would two such polar opposites ever have came close to what they were now? The midnight woman feared that they would, indeed, would not be.

And she was confused. Despite the words tumbling from her mouth, she did not feel his hand tense, did not hear the spitting words come from his dark lips. Ideally, he would at least be registering some form to show how displease he was with her disloyalty. The impassiveness almost felt worse than the idea of him displaying vivid emotions. At least, she would know what he was thinking, but without words or even the littlest of signs, she was left to tortuously wonder what he was feeling. Imagination was sometimes worse than reality.

The breath she was holding released itself without warning as Skoll spoke, running into the air to escape from what he had to say. Quiet and—playful? The pull on her arm coaxed her to turn her head upwards, and her heart twisted inside of her at the faintest of ghosts of a smile on his face. Hope swooped in and clasped her into a death grip, and would not release her. Abashed, she spoke much more loudly than she would have otherwise preferred, her desperation speaking for itself.

"I am not a spy, Skoll. I swear—I'll swear by anything." She shot a glance at the ground for a moment, to come up with more words, and looked back up at the boy, her gaze becoming ever more insistent, as if she had not been ready to sink beneath the earth to avoid his stare only moments ago. "I swear as Nayht that I am not here to spy on you or the court, Skoll."

She couldn't swear by that—Nayht was a lie. "I-I swear by—" She couldn't swear by Salsola, either. Not finding anything suitable to show the certainty that she had came to Skoll as a lover and not as something malicious, she keeping murmuring, choking up often, "I swear..."

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#12
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[/html]Bright green eyes met for an instant, and Skoll allowed the smile to become ever so slightly more tangible; though he was careful to keep the expression from blossoming fully on his face until she had answered his question. Her voice was loud when she answered, and he could tell that she was flustered, and maybe desperate. It might not have been something to laugh at, but there was the same little crinkle around her eyes when she wanted to drive home a point. He pressed his lips tightly together, the laughter loud in his eyes and becoming more and more bright and passionate and proud.

Her swears trailed off, and the blond man finally smiled fully. He reached up with his free hand to push her dark hair back from her lovely face. He cupped her cheek then leaned his head closer, letting his muzzle brush against the side of hers. Words memorized long ago from the story he’d taken as too lovey-dovey as a child rose up from his throat, and he murmured them now in Harrow’s ear.

“What’s in a name?” Skoll asked in a whisper, pressing a tiny kiss against her temple. “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

He pulled her closer, releasing her hand finally only to wrap both arms around her, enfolding her in his embrace. He let his head rest against hers and sought that faith inside of him, the optimism and precious certainty that had died down after his mother’s death. It was only a chapter in his life, and now there was another: and many more yet until the story ended. He knew they’d be able to make the most of it.

“Harrow, Nayht, it doesn’t matter. We’ll talk this through, ma cherie, and figure out what this secret means for us. But it doesn’t change that I love you. Je t’aime.”
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