Ghyslaine, or Meira as she was known now as, had come to spend a lot of time in the gardens. She had a fondness for the flowers, and the soft, floral scent of the place. Her swollen belly, full of life to be born into the Summer, was heavy and left her back aching so she spent a fair bit of the freedom she had- lazing in the sunny days in the flowers.

The cloudy sky above, did little for sun to warm her fur, but she remained lazily stretched out- enjoying the rest and the fact that she had no responsibilities. She had nothing but Folke and the coming litter, the life they were leading, the way they had left everything behind...

Except that scent, was something she never could leave behind. It was here in the gardens that she had met him the first time, and it was here again... that she sat up suddenly and called out. "@Violarum?"

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He was used to the coming and going of her scent. Though he was not a man to be plagued by much - if anything - the familiar smell of @Ghyslaine on that fateful day, intermingled with blood and death, was enough to burrow firmly into the subconscious of his mind. Occasionally he re-lived it; regretted leaving the murderous wench to die, instead wishing he'd torn flesh from bones until she had perished. For her body had gone missing.

Yet, what wasn't usual was the voice. That voice that sounded painstakingly her. It makes the hairs of his tawny spine stand on end, and his ears sink uneasily into his mane. Slowly he seeks her, a golden body buried in the flowers. Interesting. The beast stands there a good while, simply staring, his mind wandering over the most likely possibilities.

"Lucky you look like your mum," he says finally, nostrils flaring, "And smell like her. Your dad was stinky."

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Ghyslaine's lack of knowledge about her presumed demise, was probably a big thing. Perhaps she wouldn't have lurked around the lands, like a ghost if she knew that others thought her dead. She, of course, scoffs lightly at @Violarum 's words, as he lumbers closer and realizes that he seems to think that she is one of her children.

"It's me, Vio. Ghys. Not one of the girls. Maven's abyss anyway. Capucine albino. Both prettier than me." She said with a smile. "And... uh, well, I don't think either of them stink." She chuckled. "Smell like the Summit, or like rouges.. I don't.. actually know." She added thoughtfully, before rising to her paws, swaying a bit as she fought for balance.

"How have you been?" She asked, her tones gentle as she studied him, as if she could just ask such a simple question and not acknowledge her vanishing months, no, a year now prior.

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How very fortunate to be the spitting image of a certain tribal-marked lioness, and not the snowy pasty-white of her choice of marriage. It was quite besotting really, the like-ness, and his vision is quite marveled upon her as she scoffs and moves to stand. It was a little odd she knew him so very well, and he couldn't even remember the names of his best friends spawn... Mervielle? Or something or rather.

Yet, he is only further befuzzled upon the lionesses insistence, and the haunting familiarity of her very being. The way she moved, the way she spoke, the way her smile blossomed like the very flower-filled fields they stood; each petal radiating genuine kindness and tender compassion. His chin tucked, crimson gaze widening uneasily; his weight drew back, paws sliding him a step away from her.

"Well," he says, swallowing thoughtfully, "You are very fat as a Ghost." That is a bit odd. Was he happy his friend was haunting him in the afterlife? Maybe he would be in a moment... when he was less confused.

@Ghyslaine

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Well, this wasn't how she had thought her reunion with Violarum would go, and she wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry in exasperation. When he spoke again, she is baffled, for a second. "Ghost?" They'll circle back to the fat comment. "I'm not a Ghost." She said shaking her head, and she stepped forward- holding out her paw. "Touch me, Vio." She breathed.

She hoped he'd take the silent invitation of her paw. "I didn't know you thought I'd died." She said, quietly, her tail dropping a bit at her back. "I was pushed from a cliff but I didn't die. Felt like it... but I didn't die." She said, shaking her head.

"Also fat?" Really? She smirked a bit. "Pregnant. Not fat." She chastised.

@Violarum

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Well, Violarum was never really conservative when it came to permission to touch anybody - especially a friend. Most of the time, he was painfully oblivious to another's needs for personal space. Yet, he is suspicious. Crimson gaze squints upon @Ghyslaine's strangely life-like paw, but he does not relent - not yet.

The cogs within his mind tick over. Through her reassuring words - and Violarum's eternal willingness to believe most everything that was fed to him - it seemed most likely that she was, in fact... alive? He remains stiff, a big taut lump of fleshy muscle, unmoving and inanimate.

Then a paw, oddly slow and promising of precision, reaches toward her creamy chest - and the prod that follows is oddly reserved for the likes of he. She's soft, and warm, and not at all ghostly. Gradually his ears tip forward, scarlet eyes flicking across the familiar slopes of her face, and then he dives.

Completely unreserved, void of thought to the life in her womb, Violarum seeks to tackle her; smashing his breast against her own and trying to scoop her under him and into the pollen-infused grasses; teeth searching playfully for the folds behind her jaw with a wildly exaggerated series of chuffs and groans.

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Ghyslaine remained silent, the thoughts of Meira and Folke slipping to the furthest reaches of her mind as she calmly studies Violarum. She waits for him to realize, to perhaps scent her- to reach out and touch the paw offered to him.

Of course, of course, the paw is ignored, as his own large clay paw reaches to touch her chest- and it is like the damn cracks. She does not protest, does not do anything but chuff softly, as he darts into her, pushing her back into the earth into the flowers. Her own flesh prickles as his teeth find and nip along the folds of her jaw, and she contentedly breathes him in.

A moment or two later, she breathes out. "You called me fat, but you are heavy!"

@Violarum

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She yields to his exuberant reunion, the warmth of her flesh and the sound of her chuffs is enough to momentarily wash away all the pained thoughts that had plagued him post Cersei's arrival on the Lorien borders. He was not a man to dwell on anything, and yet the hole of Ghyslaine's loss had triggered a slow bleed; each day expanding the cavern under his ribcage.

They had not left things well. Ghys had married a man who in Violarum's eyes did not deserve her - but, would anybody deserve her truly? The clay beast sighed, his thrill fizzling beneath the repeated chuffs and nuzzles, tapering into relief and contented purrs. His forehead forced it's way under her chin and sought to nestle against the wheat lionesses throat.

"I still love you," he declares, not the first time he's said such a thing; but @Ghyslaine knows it's true extent, born of limitless friendship and an eternal devotion. It wasn't the same love that came with fiery passion and want for closeness, but it was a love none-the-less. A family love.

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There were things between Ghyslaine and Violarum that would never change, and the loving bond was one of them. She could be mad or upset, and yet the surge of affection she felt for him did not diminish. She did not care to be mindful of her swollen belly, not as she pressed against him with just as much fervor as he exuded. When he rumbled out his words, she chuffed softly in response, pressing against his touch. "And I you." She breathed.

She would not deny him his need to be close, though she didn't understand why he had thought her a ghost she worried, wondering why he had thought her dead- and perhaps wondered how he had thought it. "Why did you think I was a ghost?" She breathed out, a furrow in her brow at the otherwise joyous and happy reunion with one of her greatest friends.

@Violarum

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Violarum eased into her embrace; forgetting all the fuss that had come between them all that time ago, the fuss that had torn @Ghyslaine away from him - seemingly forever. He can barely believed that she is here, warm and sunny beneath the rattling purr of his voice-box as his massive skull would smoosh affectionately in under her throat.

He didn't care to think about the fact he'd killed a woman (or thought) to avenge his best friend, enjoying the easy silence that lingered between their meadow tangle. Yet, she asks - and reluctantly it pulls to the tawny buffoon away from her, shuffling awkwardly to sit over her - a once-loose jaw growing a little tight.

"A lioness that looked like you came to Lorien. She had a piece of you..." crimson vision wandered across the frame of the wheat woman, a paw reach to smoosh at her round belly, as if to roll her like a barrel in search of the missing puzzle-part.

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