Slowly but surely, she was beginning to make a home for herself within the dark reaches of the Hollow. What could have once been considered a hovel was now...well, her hovel. Genesis had taken up house within a comfortably sized envelopment of stone, designating an eroded stretch of one wall as a shelf for her growing herb collection. She still wished to collect some furs to bring some relief to the hard floor, but for now, she was merely thankful for the shelter it provided from the cool spring rains as they drenched the earth from the outside--and for the soothing ambiance they provided in the form of a faint hum that echoed through the caverns from their distant mouths.

Another task on her list was to eventually make her presence more known to her new pridemates, of whom she had seen little in the months following the bloodbath in the Lagoon. However, just as it seemed the aftermath from the war was beginning to die down and proper introductions were beginning to feel more appropriate, her own life had crept up on her in the form of...her sister. One of the very faces she had been eager to see since her arrival in Amaryllis two whole seasons ago, even though she had promptly left her with a reminder of where her place and purpose was here.

Would Gwynevere scoff, she wondered, at the soft life she was beginning to achieve through her friends, work, and home?

They were only claw marks, and they had largely scabbed over and begun to peel, but they had been left by a much larger beast upon a delicate limb, leaving behind fresh and sensitive scars that Genesis was determined to make fade--something she quickly realized she had neither the skills nor resources to achieve on her own. So, that evening, with the sound of rain to soothe any shyness or anxiety, she sought the like-mindedness of @Isildur in hopes that he might be able to help her, even if at the cost of an explanation.

---

Spring Y13 | 2 years | Obsidian Hollow lion
Medic:
+5 Learn from another about your trade (0/2)

Assassin:
+5 Study a plant (0/2)

art by moogle

No matter how many times he walked them, the halls of Obsidian Hollow never seemed mundane.

Isildur may have walked them a thousand times, but no vigilant patrol or lazy promenade was ever the same. Sometimes he would catch Sorin following the skittering trails of bugs crisscrossing the walls, other times he'd be listening to his father's lectures, absorbing all the information the worldly and war-weary king imparted on him.

But there is something new traipsing the halls that has Isildur's attention.

And she's calling for him.

He swears he hears his name echoing on the walls.

When he turns, he spots @Genesis a short distance away. Her pale coat is impossible to miss even amongst the darkness of the Hollow. She is bathed in the flickering golden light cast by fires that lined the darker corners of the territory, giving her a nearly-sunkissed complexion.

She looks healthy. No longer roguish, or weary. But Isildur cannot tell if she wears a look of contentedness or concern, so he turns swiftly and cuts the distance between them.

Genesis, he purrs warmly, seeking to bump his head gingerly into her shoulder.

When had she gotten taller?

When did her very presence begin to make his heart stutter?

Is everything alright?

He wonders if he should be asking himself the same question.

Table by cala & art by blumalou

She recognized his silhouette the moment it eclipsed the end of the hall. Fuller, hardier, but it was @Isildur all the same. Genesis could tell by the way his eyes, bright against the darkness just as her form as a whole surely was, found hers--and then the rest of her, where they always tended to linger. Unlike their past encounters, though, she almost wished she could evade them, knowing deep down just how thorough they could be. Alas, he was the only one she knew whose brain she could confidently poke about her limb...and whose presence could reliably chase away any pesky feelings of self-doubt that her sister had managed to dig back up.

Whereas his touch had at one point been so foreign and so nerve-wracking, Genesis now found familiarity and reassurance in the silky fur of his forehead against her shoulder, a gesture she almost too easily reciprocated with a brush of her snout over messy tendrils of mane. (Had it gotten even thicker?) She also took some pride in how she felt just a bit less breakable in his wake, a sense of strength she could as much attribute to her newfound stability as she could the turn of the season.

Never mind the deliberate gentleness behind his greeting. "Isildur," she purred back, welcoming him as an antidote to the increasingly silly worries looming over her head. If only his touch had lingered just a bit longer.

At his question, though, her ears flattened, and she looked down at her ragged foreleg. "Actually," she confessed, presenting it to him with a nervous smile, "I was wondering if you might know a remedy for scarring?" And irritation, in the parts of the shallow gashes that kept reopening with the use of her limb, but she was sure anything of concern would catch her friend's eye without her help.

art by moogle

In the dim light of the Hollow he, at first, does not notice her wounds. At least, not before the coppery smell of old, dried blood slips through from beneath her feminine, herbal scent. It is still registering when he feels the brush of her muzzle nestle deep within his mane, a beast he has only begun to tame, and his heart begins to take another pace, stealing his thoughts with it.

Once, when Alexander had brought him and his siblings to the sea and regaled them with stories of their mother who'd once ruled it, Isildur had found himself engrossed in the crabs that nestled along the shore. At first, his shadow alone had been enough to frighten them into their shells or little dens; but as he watched, with patient anticipation, they eventually emerged from their hiding places and began to seek the light of the sun and the sea.

@Genesis is much the same, in a way. Not so much a crab, but—

He swallows hard, and thanks the Mother he doesn't think aloud.

She's brighter since she's been here, he wants to say. More confident. More beautiful.

Actually, she begins, and his eyes refocus, following her line of sight to the source of the smell of old blood. I was wondering if you might know a remedy for scarring?

Oh. Fuck.

How stupid he is, following the frenzy of his heart rather than his head.

His blood runs cold.

Gen—megbasz, he curses, attempting to grab her arm in his hand with gentle urgency. Who did this to you?

He pushes away the awful, scathing thoughts of what he might do to the one who harmed her in such a manner, and instead desperately recollects the lessons his aunt imparted on him so long ago, hoping for an answer.

Table by cala & art by blumalou

She almost felt guilty about spoiling the mood, for even despite her desire for assistance, his presence brought up the same addictive flutter in her chest that seemed to plague her every time she sensed it, whether via his touch or (less potently) his scent as it mingled with those of the countless others that walked these halls. However, at the same time, Genesis believed it was her ability to seek moments like these that were among the most precious. Under solely her mother and siblings, she had largely felt shame when presenting them with any sort of wound or blemish, which would usually be met with a remedy but at the cost of ridicule. Here, though, and especially in front of this young male who trusted her so, she felt little reason for fear or apprehension.

Which was why, as he swiped her forelimb from the air, her ears flattened, and she silently scolded herself for othe reasons. She was not used to such freedom of expression. What if her openness went too far and landed any of her kin in trouble?

What then?

@Isildur's grip, of course, was much gentler than her sister's, but the familiarity of the motion sent a tingle through her half-mended marks that might have caused Genesis to withdraw--if not for his voice and words of concern, among others she absentmindedly wished to ask about later. Instead, she turned her wrist over in his grasp, attempting to wrap a reassuring paw around the bend of his elbow. "Actually, it was...my sister. It's complicated. She was trying to protect me--I think." Her tongue was quick and wavering, but she attempted to steady herself, and him, with a gentle squeeze of the same elbow. "It's okay, though. I won."

The last words were relative, as their fight has been more of a seething discussion, but she had made her point clearly enough. Genesis peeled her eyes away from her arm to look at him, hoping she had provided him with some level of reassurance. That said, though, there was more--about her sister and about the circumstances of their encounter--that she felt needed to be laid out in the open. "I can tell you more...away from these halls."

art by moogle

He immediately regrets grabbing @Genesis in a panic. It is a feeling so visceral that he at first tries to let go, but as she gently guides her own hand to the crux of his elbow, he relaxes into a grip that merely ghosts upon her skin. Warm, electrifying. Undeserved, he chides himself.

Isildur is allowed to rough-house and baby his sisters in one fell swoop. Until recently, they have never known anything but the safety of the Hollow and the familiar comfort of family. But @Genesis is someone different entirely. He knows so little of her past, of what endears her or frightens her. He doesn't know whether to fret over her without restraint or if he should be distant, considerate.

He doesn't know—but he wants to.

For reasons more, he suspects, than just being polite.

Actually, it was...my sister, she admits, and Isildur isn't sure if he feels more relief or more dread. It's complicated. He lifts a brow. She was trying to protect me—I think.

Mother have mercy, he gapes.

It's okay, though. I won.

Is it okay, though? he wants to ask, to grab her by the shoulders and shake the answer right out of her mouth.

Winning, he's come to understand, is painfully subjective.

I can tell you more...away from these halls, she whispers.

Any boy his age should be leaping at the opportunity. And Isildur might have, were his seemingly innocent patrol not been thrown asunder by her startling revelation. Yet, he cannot hide the way his heart practically leaps into his throat, and the slackjawed stammer he gives in response to her proposal.

There's an empty den—right around the corner.

Suddenly, he begins to remember what herbs help with scars.

Table by cala & art by blumalou

There were gaps in her explanation, she knew. Scrambled and unnecessarily ominous details about herself--her family, her upbringing--that she had not yet had the opportunity to share with @Isildur or that had simply not come up yet in relevant conversation. But now they were current and necessary, pressing even, as Gwynevere's arrival and residence within Wolfbron was now confirmed. Genesis had not forgotten why she and her litter mates had made the trek to Amaryllis, and she still fully intended to uphold her promise to support them, but she had others now who she cared about as well who she did not wish to see on their bad sides. Him and their fellow Hollow dwellers included.

So when he directed her somewhere more private, away from the halls and their powerful acoustics, Genesis hardly hesitated to follow. In fact, only once she was within the vacant den did it hit her why he might have at all, and the realization made her wish she could have melted away into the rock. Alternatively, she chose to blame his continued unease on concern for her, which was a much more innocent reality than what her choice of words could have conveyed. Yes, yes, that would do.

Looking back at him sheepishly, the pale woman turned to face him and settled compactly onto her haunches. If she had a tail she might have wrapped it around her toes. "I apologize. I was worried our voices might carry, and I didn't want to risk alarming anyone," she explained softly, her eyes following him if he remained on the move. There was irony, though, in that she knew she had already alarmed him--and might only continue to do so.

"I happened on a challenge for Wolfbron's crown," she finally confessed, her voice steadying and words slowing as she found some confidence in the secrecy of the den's walls. Hopefully the statement would help clarify her reasons for wanting to dodge any ears within the tunnels. "At the same time, I found out that's where my sister's been living. She's the one who marked me. Tensions were...high, though, and that was the first we'd seen of each other in seasons. She grabbed me, but I made her let go, and that was the end of it." Genesis paused in wait of his reaction. She fully intended to elaborate on the topic of her family tree as necessary, but she knew her first words were likely much heavier. One thing at a time.

"That red-eyed girl from the war. Your...friend." Was that the word? Genesis had just mirrored with Isildur the same gesture she had observed from them at the Lagoon, but from her perspective that had looked more than friendly. At the moment, she could not let herself be flustered by the possibility that the same stood true for them here. She looked to the ground then met his gaze again with what she hoped was reassurance. "I saw her there, too, but she was untouched."

(515 words)

art by moogle

As much as she guards her secrets, Isildur never thought of @Genesis as any less deserving of his companionship. Rather, there's almost an alluring mysteriousness about her. Every little bit of clarity she resigns to him is a tangible measure of trust and security, and the more he learns of her, the more he begins to understand who she is and how she came to be.

And how through, some delightful twist of fate, she ended up here with him.

But nothing hurts quite like a betrayal from family. Isildur could never imagine harming any of his sisters or brothers. Even the older, larger ones who bully him as much as any protective older sibling would, still never left quite a lasting mark on him. The few he has are of his own doing, telling tales of tumbling down mountains or meeting the business end of a porcupine.

They duck into a small, unoccupied den, nestled deep within a less-traveled corner of the main hall. Here, there are no fires, and what little daylight trickles through the cracks in the ceiling is only just enough to shroud her silhouette in a thin veil of light. Mercifully, the den is more than large enough to accommodate them both, allowing for a comfortable enough space between them that he can ignore that strange stirring in his chest and focus on her hurried, nervous confessions.

I happened on a challenge for Wolfbron's crown.

He blanches.

Isildur had been hunting in the north when the challenge had been issued. He hadn't even been back long enough to know it ever happened.

At the same time, I found out that's where my sister's been living.

He swallows his nerves as Genesis continues, dancing between shock and concern and bewilderment. Suddenly, he feels as if he hardly knows her at all—that these customs of her sisters sound so strange and foreign to him. He begins to feel guilt, shame; at first, perhaps, for feeling so appalled that her siblings afford her so much undue roughness, then for not trying to spend more time with her in the first place. If he did, he might have known this was a possibility. If he did, he might have been there to stop it.

Just how hard did she grab you? There's a softness in his tone tempered by his remorseful thoughts.

That red-eyed girl from the war, she suddenly broaches, Your...friend.

The red-eyed girl from the war, he thinks, is more than just a friend.

But he hasn't told a soul. Not even himself.

It makes his heart flutter in his chest, all the same, and he's suddenly all-too-aware that the space between them feels like it's shrinking, and that the walls of the den are closing in.

It's recognizable now, this feeling. When he's with Genesis and thinking of Manon, or with Manon and thinking of Genesis. It's a strange mix of bliss and confusion and guilt. Desire. Want.

And want is an unfamiliar feeling to Isildur Savante.

I saw her there, too, but she was untouched.

Thank you, he says quickly, so immediately overcome with relief that, as he reaches forward to grab her hands into his, he does not realize that he might be sliding the knife deeper.

She's...important to me.

Table by cala & art by blumalou

Genesis had not known how to approach @Isildur cleanly about her marks and her desire for his help, but as the minutes between them ticked by, she began to realize just how uncomfortably messy her situation had turned out to be. Perhaps she was the one making it so--at least as far as her conscience was telling her--but she could not fathom omitting certain knowledge that she knew could be valuable to him: the value to a prince of a neighbor's pride being challenged, to a starry-eyed boy of a close companion almost losing her home, to her friend of possible interferences by her own family. It was simply a matter of figuring out where to start...and how to lay it all out in a way that he could process before his mind drew its own cruel conclusions to fill the gaps.

In fact, as she watched him hang on every statement, she worried she might have failed. He had asked about her, but she had only given him more reasons to worry. Yet, following the words of reassurance uttered cautiously from her lips, the distance between them crashed closed with his paws snatching hers in a resounding, "Thank you.

"She's...important to me."

If he had been anyone else, Genesis might have pulled against his sudden grasp. However, his touch only quieted the ringing in her ears. She found the last of her tension slipping away in a soft exhale, and she slowly withdrew one paw to rest it gently atop his if he would allow it, effectively sandwiching his toes between hers with a featherlight pat. "I know," she assured. Though, in all the similarities between his actions toward the two of them, she willfully ignored what that might have meant about his thoughts of her. She did not know and could not even begin to know how to process such...possibilities.

"As for this," she went on hesitantly, circling back to his original concern as she looked down at her healing limb, "it wasn't hard, or...it wasn't meant to be." Genesis paused. "We weren't expecting to run into each other there--at the challenge. So when she spotted me, she grabbed me to keep me close, but things got a little intense between us while we were talking, and I snapped at her to try to create some distance." Shame entered her voice at what she had done. "I nicked her by accident, so she pulled away, and..." And here we are.

Generously, she left out the intention behind Gwynevere's unsheathed claws. Something told her she would meet Isildur far too soon, and under unfavorable circumstances, if she did otherwise. And anyway, before Isildur could have the chance to do anything rash, she needed an opportunity to warn him that if Gwyn was here by now, there was a chance their brothers were lurking around too. And the whole bunch tended to take each other very seriously.

(509 words)

art by moogle

He's so preoccupied by the how and why that he hardly notices he's barely answered her. It's easy to forget what he believes superficial things like wounds and scars, and he does not think that he might be prying, that she might have wished the anonymity of her circumstance just a little longer before he decided to invade it. These are thoughts he would have later—long when the din of his own concern is settled and he's alone in his den, rethinking how this conversation goes in his head over and over again.

For now, however, there is little else more important than her. And Manon. And the war that wages within him between them.

I know, she says, and Isildur is wrenched back to reality.

He feels her paw begin to shift, and is surprised when she does not pull it away but instead rests it gently atop his. A shiver, pleasant yet unexpected, races up his spine.

As for this— she begins, and his attention leaves Manon behind, content that she is alive and her pride is still under her mother's rule, returning instead to the concern Genesis had originally brought to him. The reason he's still here, in this dark and cramped space, where he can feel the fan of her breath and see the dim light of the halls outside dance in her eyes.

So it was a...misunderstanding, he says, more to himself than to her; it is the only answer he can process, the only sense he can make of it among the intricacies of her family and her past.

He has a thousand more questions he wants to ask. But as his nerves settle (admittedly, at the mercy of ignorance), and clarity begins to take precedence over rashness, his eyes begin to wander to the wounds she now bore from the encounter, and the reason she's sought him out in the first place.

I think you've waited long enough, he laughs, attempting to hide the embarrassment that threatens to seep to his cheeks. I don't know if I can prevent all the scarring, but I know a few herbs that can help mitigate some of it.

A small, flickering part of him hopes that she'll let him help her apply it—if only to find an excuse to linger longer in her presence. selfishness, he thinks it at first—but another part of him says it's something different.

---

@Genesis

Table by cala & art by blumalou