He pulls away and she's scared it's to leave her, to disappear from her life again, and she wonders for a second if he is just a ghost come back to haunt her her, to taunt her. Her heart stuttered in her chest, and for a moment she's on fire, trying to hold it together, atleast for now.

She wants to plead with him, but she knows it is not his fault he can't remember, how is she going to be angry at someone who can't help what happened to them? It wouldn't be fair. And Farrow deserved to be understood.

His paw reaches forward and she flinches, not meaning to, but a learned reaction due to her circumstances, but she feels no pain as he wipes her tears away, and speaks softly to her, telling her not to cry, and she tries to stop the tears, she atleast stops the choked sobs, her eyes close as she blinked away the tears and looks back up at him with watery eyes. And he gives her hope that she clings to, his voice a whispering promise, and she nods softly, listening to him, "Thank you..."

ART COPYRIGHT XXX / CODE COPYRIGHT ANALESE

His comfort feels little in the grand scheme of things, and though Farrow might once have known all else that went on in @Astarte's life, now he knows nothing more than the woman before him, crumbling and hurt solely because of him. It is a heavy weight, a burden he bears knowing that he had sired children and grandchildren who had believed him dead, now forgotten from a mind too worn and weary. His lips press into a firm, thin line, his paw turning so that the pad of it spreads flush across her cheek, allowing her head to slump freely into his grasp if she needed, if she desired it.

Has it been a long year? he asked, his voice barely rising above a whisper. Cassandra had not made mention of Astarte to him before (those names he did remember, Talisa, Morrigan); were she disconnected from her and the Brook? Were she someone else entirely? Were she a passing fling, or were she something deeper, something as involved and ingrained as the children supposedly borne of him and the bonds he had forged here so long ago? Tell me everything— he begged, —please.

The woman rests her head in his palm, she did not solely blame him for her hurt, the mistakes shes made, the life she'd forged had not been because of him, but when hed died, she'd felt as if a piece of her had too. The young, carefree, flirtatious girl had he'd met had been broken, beaten, and she'd slowly faded away, now in her place a woman, scarred, eyes filled with distrust, and pain, she bore all her scars, most noticeably when she shifted were the ones from Ronin, five long and ragged marks from chest to pelvis, marring her stomach, but she had other scars from her husband, the old scar of fangs that lay over her jugular and though the fur on her throat covered most of it, you could still see where Adalwolf had first held her down and claimed her.

Has it been a long year? Astarte looks back up at him and nods softly, it hadn't seemed long but at the same time, it felt like forever, she'd not known his other family aside from what Farrow had told her. But she wonders what life would be like had she ran away with him once upon a time. "The night I was attacked, you found me, I was broken, bloodied, scared of you... Not you, but just scared in general. You held me, protected me, tried to get me to come back to the Cove with you, and your wives, but I knew my attacker was following me and I didn't want any of you to get hurt. So we stayed that night together in each other's arms and then when you left, he found me."

She spoke softly, so only they could hear, knowing how the jungle could have ears, her voice was shaky, but she had stopped crying for now, "He threatened me, told me to take him to Alaric, the sovereign of Ecrosia, pretend we were friends, helo him get in. If I didn't, he would wait for me, anytime i left the mire he would be there, and would kill me." She swallowed, her ears pinned back, "I was weak." She admitted, her head tilting down as she felt shame burn her cheeks, "He fathered my children, and then we married so they would legitimate. He wouldn't let me leave the Mire, and the Morrigan came, and I overheard her tell Alaric what happened to you... It broke me... My saving grace, the only man who ever showed me tenderness, and affection, who protected me when I didn't deserve it. Dead.." She felt her lip tremble, eyes downcast, a single tear slipping down her cheek

ART COPYRIGHT XXX / CODE COPYRIGHT ANALESE

Her regaling was genuine; the scars upon her throat and every part of her alight in the dim glow filtering between the dancing leaves of the canopy stretching far above. Her tone, wavering with the weight of her grief. Her eyes, cast downward, though he felt the warmth of her cheek as it pressed deeper into the palm of his hand. She spoke of the Cove, of his wives; stories that matched so delightfully well with Cassandra's own. Perhaps Farrow had counted himself a fool for believing these women so easily, but when the stories of total strangers began to make sense, he began to doubt his own sensibilities. It felt, as if, long years of his life had been unaccounted for; the day he'd woken up, he'd felt as if he'd aged far more than he realized. What once he had accounted for being his heavily-wounded self suddenly began to make sense realizing he was perhaps also older than he thought.

Despite his best efforts, he didn't know @Astarte. Perhaps the old him would have scooped her up then, once more tried to get her to fold, to escape with him. Perhaps he would've been stronger, more familiar, more capable of protecting her. Now, he felt helpless; powerless, unable to wrench her free from an enemy he did not know, bring her back to allies he could not recall, who thought him dead.

And yet, her story ailed him. What kind of man would he be to leave her here, now, after she had believed him dead for so long?

Would you come with me now, if I asked it? he questioned her, though there was a hesitancy in his tone. Would the Farrow of old not whisked her away, married her instead, adopted her children as his own, even if half of them belonged to the monster who had done this to her? Did he not feel that ache now, the almost instinctual pull of a body and an instinct that recalled every bit of her but a mind that lay cruelly empty? Even if I don't remember, I— he strained, swallowing hard, —I can't in good conscience leave you in danger.

At the very least, if she desired, he could petition Cassandra to free her of her chains. He did not know just how deep the seeds of hatred had been sewn between Vermeda and the Mire, and all the warring families that festered within them.

Maybe in another life she had ran away with him, joined him and his wives, in another life, she'd went with him before she'd ever fell into Adalwolfs paws, maybe he had sired her cubs, maybe they had lived happily together. But that was not this life, and the crimson woman knew it as she moved to gently kiss the palm of his paw before moving to lean against him, inhaling his scent as she did so.

She smiles sadly, though with her head against his mane, he wouldn't be able to see it that well, Astarte knew, even if she'd managed to leave, her sons would not come with her, both boys too much like their father , and hee daughter, whos father was ready to dispatch should she prove to be defective. The mother swallowed a lump in her throat, and if she left, she would be signing the death warrant for her and any of her future offspring. "Farrow... i could not put you or your family in any danger, I care about you too much, and you should not suffer because of my life." She spoke softly, her heart thudding against her chest, then a new fear hit her, causing the girl to slightly stiffen.

"Farrow, please don't just disappear after this?" She pulls back to look up at him, "Even if you don't remember, please don't just leave me behind." She pleads softly, her brow furrowing with worry, she'd just gotten him back, if he left for good this time, of she had to lose him again, the heartbreak would leave a part of her missing

ART COPYRIGHT XXX / CODE COPYRIGHT ANALESE

It is strange to be so intimate and inexplicably entwined with a woman he did not know, a woman he knew he should know. She shifts to move beside him and never leaves his touch, and it gives Farrow pause; a part of him enjoys it, the warmth of her pressed against him, a belonging he felt intrinsically true, honest. But another part of him fears it; fears what he may say, what he may do, how he may hurt her. How easy it would be to abandon his fear of the unknown and play into her memories of him, to recite what all she had said and forge it into a new path as if he'd never forgotten in the first place. But it felt base, wrong, disingenuine.

And had Farrow known, he might have laughed. Were they not already in danger? Did Morrigan not stare down the throat of the Rike every day and rend them free of it? Did they not already have so much to war over, that adding another woman into it would be a mere drop in the ocean of their archaic hate? But Farrow did not know, and he could not tell her this; instead, he stifles a sigh, his gaze lowering.

What is it then, @Astarte? He asks again, his gaze finally lifting to meet her own. If she would not come with him, was she asking them for him to come with her? Or were they to continue these little meetings, those of fleeting old memories and ones newly-forged? We will keep it like this, here, where nobody can touch us? It was strange to talk of such deep things with a stranger. Farrow knew not how to balance familiarity between unfamiliarity, and as much as he might have been content to push her away, he felt the urge to pull her closer far more unrelenting. What if he follows you here?

Their bodies are pressed together, and she does not want to move from this, from him, her eyes close as she leans into him, she could deal with the physical pain of fights, but she was still young, and her emotions still scarred her deeply. Losing him had brought forth a dark period in her life and she wasn't about to let that happen again, if he allowed it, she couldn't just let him slip through her paws, like a ghost. .

She knew Morrigan would not accept her, not now, she was the wife of the enemy, and that's all she could ever be to enemies of the Rike, but that did not matter, not now, not when she was pressed against him, her muzzle buried in his mane, inhaling his scent. Finding herself intoxicated, and unwilling to leave him, she gently would raise a paw and run her fingers through his mane, her chin tilting to look up as he speaks to her.

"We can find a better place to meet... If it worries you " She speaks softly, her lips almost touching his, her paw still resting in his mane, her Romanian accent was still just as luring as it's been a year ago, she listens as he speaks and her heart flutters, "No one but us.." She replies, heart now hammering in her chest, and then he asks her a question that she had thought about, over and over again, and she shakes her head, "I'll be smart." She counters gently, "Or we'll find somewhere else. Anywhere else." Anywhere for us. She gently tilts her chin up a little more, pressing her lips against his again, the kiss is filled with passion, both starved and needing.

ART COPYRIGHT XXX / CODE COPYRIGHT ANALESE

He relishes in the way she feels; so soft, so womanish. Farrow had always been weak for pretty things, and even as the weight of her grief filled the air and the fleeting of his memories kept him from knowing the true depth of their past, Farrow at least found this final surrender in her softness. He shudders as her paw thumbs through his mane, a small smile threatening to steal away the sadness and steeliness that otherwise etched onto his expression. If only I'd known, he thought cruelly; perhaps he would recognize the true depth of their dire predicament, the way that Farrow's own home may not be safe for @Astarte as it might have been before.

Nowhere was safe; not even here, not even now. Not when Farrow had nothing left of them but this moment, the hope of her own memories.

The way she speaks detracts from the anxiety that stirs in his stomach, a feeling of fervent heat rising to his cheeks as the breadth of her lips brush softly against his, inviting him to reach closer, to take it in full. And yet, he refrains; it feels almost sinful to do this, to take advantage of her in such a way. Even if her remembrance of him is one of love and safety, Farrow felt innately wrong, in a way. No matter how desperately he wanted it. I need to know more, he relents, his brows furrowing as concern fanned across his expression, About me. About us. And perhaps the best source of it would be Cassandra. At the very least, he could get an idea if it would be better to keep Astarte hidden away, or it would be better to wage war for her sake.

Perhaps if he knew more, he'd know what to do. Clearly, he had tried to rescue her before; would it be the same now, after this long year?

I don't want you to have to hide, he breathes again, pausing briefly on the word you, where he may have once said us. But I want to keep you safe. And knowing more...may help.

She wants to lose herself in him, she almost does, she's pressed into his body, and she wishes for him to envelop her once more like he used to, just let it be them for tonight, even if they have to part ways, she just needs him tonight. Her life was signed away when Adalwolf had taken her as a mate, she would not be welcomed within his family, but a part of her wishes for change.

His brow furrows and for a moment, she thinks he is angry, that is until he speaks and her face softens, she couldn't tell him much about his family life, other than what she knew, "I only know very little about your family life, and I think it's the same for them towards me, if they know anything about me from you at all.. I know you love your wives, Talisa and Morrigan, I know you loved the Brook." She speaks softly, her voice gently caressing him, "We were never official, but you were my first, you were my friend, you were my lover. And when you found me bloodied and half dead, flinching from your touch, you held me. You protected me, and losing you, thinking you were dead, I..." She pauses, before a small sad smile graces her features, she looks down at her paws.

"My husband is the Rikes jarl, an enemy to the Sigrun, and by proxy, you. By being his mate, I'm labeled enemy, even if you wanted to save me Farrow, " His name falls off her tongue, her R's rolling just a bit, his name in her breath was like golden nectar, ambrosia from the godly deities.

ART COPYRIGHT XXX / CODE COPYRIGHT ANALESE

Talisa and Morrigan, those same names, endorsed by Cassandra and @Astarte both. Farrow cannot help but feel a twinge of grief. At first, he would have been content to have written off still that they had been mistaken, that he was the wrong man. But two perfect strangers who knew who both his wives were was enough to compel Farrow to think of it as the truth, that everything he had ever known up until this point was wrong, that he was missing a large piece of him that he was unsure how to get back.

His lips turned into a frown as she continued, seeking to rest his paw on the small of her back and bring her a touch closer, to comfort her through the pain of her words. Suddenly, he regrets asking her all that he had, his lips pressing into a firm, thin line. He waits in silence as she continues to speak, continues to weave the tale of her life and his and how they'd become so inexplicably interwoven through the years.

Eventually, he relented, and wished he knew more about Talisa and Morrigan in that moment to give her a proper answer. Farrow's taste in women stretched so far that it was possible he could have married someone who was far more forgiving, and far more unforgiving. It was difficult to promise her safety when he truly had no idea how either of his mates would react to it. And yet, the pressure to whisk her away to safety grew deeper.

Give me some time, he finally begged of her, lowering his gaze so he could see right into her own, Let me...reintroduce myself to Morrigan and Talisa, to try and recover more of my memories. Perhaps there's something in them that can help you. A place where she could start anew, or a people who would take her in despite her past. He wished he could say that both his wives would not fault her for something she couldn't have helped.