Perhaps it is unwise, considering the instability of the slopes and the ice that adorns her home, to venture up to the highest peaks. But Séverine has never been particularly good at self-preservation; one can attribute it to her god complex, and constant affirmations that she is a class above the rest, untouchable and infallible.

One day, such confidence is going to be the death of her.

She thinks, maybe, if she gets up high enough, she can break free above the storm and get a view of the chaos that has engulfed her world. Snow whips against her pale fur and the wind whistles in her ears, and she doesn't even hear it coming — the clattering of rocks down the slope.

She doesn't know they are coming until it's too late, and they sweep across her path, knocking the yearling's legs out from under her and sending her sliding off the path and directly for the precipice of the edge. She scrabbles with sudden panic, clawing at the ice with desperation to grab anything that will save her, but it's too late, and before she knows it, she is careening off the cliff...

@Kieran

_{BG — ART — CODE}

made with gunmetal bones and wolf's teeth
a warrior, a soldier

Time passed by far too fast.

He supposed he had the wars and the storms to thank for that. But as the weeks drawled on into months, Kieran knew that the family he had returned back to had not eased their distrust of him in time. He had kept his distance at first, wanting to give his daughters the space they needed to adjust to him being around them again. But those first fleeting days had long passed by, and the longer he'd spent away from them, the more it seemed as if he'd given up.

Kieran would never give up, however. Their distrust in him fed into his anger. It drove him to wield the sword where once he may have stayed his hand. It drove him insane.

The Bluffs had become an inhospitable environment. The storms did not recede, nor did they temper the cruel desires of others to take advantage of such an electrifying political environment. They once more stared down the throat of those who would seek their destruction, abandoning their own safety in favor of ruination. Kieran had been driven as a Dieudonne hound once more, but this time, even his home was no longer safe. He'd moved his den to the far outskirts of the territory on far more level ground, hoping that the fringes of the rockslides would never reach.

Why he was here right then? He wasn't entirely sure. Something had driven him to come here; perhaps it were some morbid curiosity, one that finally abandoned safety in favor of seeing if the mountains had finally relented. But as a rumbling above-head creaked and groaned, Kieran knew his journey would not be quite so lucky. He turned to leave, having kept a safer distance from the peak and steep cliffsides, but as he turned a blurred white silhouette caught the corner of his eye. Tumbling, spread-legged, gasping.

@Séverine.

Kieran acts without thinking. The approaching cliff beats him to her, and she crests its edge, just out of his reach. He bellows a loud roar, hind paws desperately digging into the terrain to give him the leverage and push he needed, the aftermath of the rockslide still tumbling down and pelting him with rocks. It is only through luck or fate alone that Kieran finds the strength to kick off the cliffside fast enough to reach her, and at enough of an angle that, when he attempts to grab her by the neck mid-fall, the force of their connection would send them onto a nearby cliff rather than plummeting further below.

It happens faster than she can blink. One instant she is scaling the rocky slopes of her home, and the next, the ground is rushing up to meet her in a cruel and violent display. This, perhaps, is the penance she has earned for always being so damn haughty. How unfortunate, then, that is unlikely to humble her in any way.

But she doesn't fall to her death.

At first, Séverine isn't even quite certain what's happening; there is some blur from above, teeth sinking into her scruff, a weight against her torso as they collide into a shelf that she most certainly would have flown right past otherwise. They land hard, crashing into the precipice with an audible thud, and it is only the fact that @Kieran has managed to garner a grip on her scruff that keeps the girl's head from slamming into the rock.

The rest of her is not so lucky, inevitably landing beneath the weight of her father with his weight bruising her from one side and the stone splitting open her shoulder on the other. The air rushes from her chest, and she lays winded beneath his bulk, gasping for breath like she never has before.

_{BG — ART — CODE}

made with gunmetal bones and wolf's teeth
a warrior, a soldier

They land—hard. In that swift frenzy Kieran is unable to afford the final surrender of catching her. Instead, he lands on her, trying desperately to keep his weight on his paws but unable to in the wake of their brutal fall. He doesn't notice the wound sprawling on her shoulder where it had connected to the rock, but he does notice the rock itself, and though his muscles ache with the roughness of their thud and the fall they did endure, Kieran swiftly tries to pull himself off of her. As he slumps to the ground beside her, he can feel nothing and everything all at once in his mangled limb, the nerve damage done by Gwyn all those years ago still a fervent reminder of his duty to his family.

He'd endure this feeling a thousand times over if it assured @Séverine's safety.

As the adrenaline falters and the shock of their near-death falls away, Kieran finds himself unsure of what to do, what to say. He wants to chide her for being so reckless, for thrusting herself so blatantly into danger. Another part of him wishes only to ask her forgiveness yet still, knowing very well it would take more than this to earn back all the time he'd lost with her. And then, a cruel thought:

Had he not been here, would he have had any chance at time with her at all?

Without thinking, he reaches forward and attempts to pull her into his chest. The remnants of that rockfall scattering all about them, pelting them with debris and dust, small annoyances compared to the way his body ached now. His eyes clenched shut, jaws tensed, and in those few moments he felt everything all at once.

Truthfully, she has no recognition of who has saved her from certain death in the moments that follow. Her head swims and her chest burns, her jaws gaping as she tries to regain control of her breathing and make sense of what the fuck just happened. The weight lifts from her, and in its absence, a cold seeps in, leaving her searching for the source of it.

Her muzzle tips to the side, bleary eyes making out a figure too familiar, one she has pushed against and avoided and hated in recent months. Of course it would be him, to wrench her from the certain clutches of death.

Is this that dreaded fate that Andromache had spoken of?

Is this the sort of thing that makes the godless believe?

"Père," ( father ) she manages hoarsely, and when she is busy trying to right herself and get her bearings, he looms in again, scooping her swiftly against his chest as though she weighs nothing at all. Strange, how her bitterness fades when she is met with an embrace she had convinced herself she did not miss, and did not need.

At first, she tenses against his grasp, a lump swelling in her throat — but it recedes, and she sinks into him, burying her face into the thick tendrils of his mane. She won't cry, she won't, she won't— but there is no denying the tumultuous emotions when they spew out against his fur in a choked sob, "vous avez quitté." ( you left )

_{BG — ART — CODE}

made with gunmetal bones and wolf's teeth
a warrior, a soldier

Père.

He does not realize how much that word haunts him until she's said it. How aching it felt, how undeserving it was. Just how much he craved that word from her and the rest of them. He can feel everything, those long seconds dragging on like hours. When she tenses, so does he. He had acted without regard, feared for her safety and lacked refinement, respect of the boundaries she had put up so hard. He almost lets her go, utters a half-dazed apology, but as she begins to ease, he begins to relent. And then, she pushes forward. Into him, into his embrace. He is certain she can feel the way his heart pounds furiously in his chest, the way it beats and breathes for her.

For them all.

“Merde,” he seethes, pained. Shocked. “Ma fille.”

Vous avez quitté.

“I did,” he chokes, grabbing onto her now as if she would slip through his fingers if he dare relinquish any slip of his grip. They were given that surrender of quiet, a haze of dust kicked up all around them, but the rockfall had subsided. There is no denying what he had done, no salvation for the greatest of sins, and so Kieran selfishly takes in this moment. He so desperately wishes it is not the haze of their near-death that eases her hatred, but even if it were, Kieran seeks to take up this every moment, to live as slowly as possible. Even as pain thundered through him, even as he began to take notice of crimson sprawling across her pale pink shoulder.

“Je suis vraiment désolé.”

How long those months had pressed on — so many nights spent without him, so many pivotal moments when she'd had no father to look down upon her with pride or guidance or love. She had been so young when he'd gone that her memories of him are only fleeting glimpses in her mind's eye, some looming figure when she had been small and innocent and blissfully unaware of the woes of this world.

Now, she is nearly as tall of him, but when she sinks into his embrace, she feels small again, and there is some fractured part of her that begins to stitch itself back together — a beacon of hope, though if it is meant for her or for him, she cannot tell.

She burrows deeper, ignoring the burn in her shoulder (and the wet heat of her blood trickling down it), as if she might crawl into the thick of his mane and hide away there forever. As if she is still a little girl, and she has not spent countless nights watching that horizon wishing, hoping, praying for his return.

And when it had finally come, she had solidified her walls so vehemently that there was no door to open for Kieran.

Too late, too late, too late.

But he is here now, and she had been blind to how much she needed this until she is enveloped in his warmth, and she feels safe. Safer than she has ever felt before. "Plus jamais," ( never again ) she whispers fervently — a plea, a promise, a threat. If he ever thinks to leave them again, she will throw him to the wolves herself.

_{BG — ART — CODE}

made with gunmetal bones and wolf's teeth
a warrior, a soldier

How he'd longed for this moment. This moment he didn't know could have existed. He'd felt it once with Amara, that first glimpse of surrender, of a feeling unfamiliar to a man who'd known nothing of love. For so long had he been subjected to only the harsh cruelties of this life, to see and want and fight and conquer because it was all he'd ever known. He'd never known what it was like to love something unconditionally, selflessly. That day that he'd left them, he'd done so without turning back. Without looking back. And it had been his cruelest act. Damned be the undeserving battles he'd fought and the atrocities he'd committed on innocents. The cruelest thing Kieran had ever done was leave his daughters without a father.

Her threat-veiled promise weighs heavily on Kieran. It is a finality, a line he dare not cross. He had taken and now it was @Séverine's turn to take, his to give. He wanted never to let her go, to slip from his grasp, even now that he knew he should. This cliff was not safe, her shoulder was bleeding—those thoughts came rushing in like a harsh reality, one that finally caused Kieran to relent, to let her go. But he would not let her stray far. “Plus jamais,” he promised with a whisper, and then he let her go. It would no longer be safe to linger here.

He offered his shoulder to help her up, stumbling onto his own four paws as his mangled forelimb struggled to bear the weight. Never before had it bothered him quite so bad, his permanent and learned limp now worsened, unable to place the paw on the ground without searing, shooting pain. He would endure for it, however, he had to; he would lead them from this place and into the safety of elsewhere.

This strange place felt only half like home. Its destructed rendered the landscape reshaped and torn asunder. What once was here was gone now, but perhaps the change would be welcome. Perhaps it would wipe clean the distressing memories of old and pave the way for a new future.

He promises, and she takes that bait — a contract, sealed in blood. Last chance. He will not get another one, not with her. She is not some naïve girl hinged a prayer, on hope, on unconditional love. Séverine's love comes with many conditions, and she will never give it freely. Does that part of her come from him, or her mother? Both, probably. Kieran had resigned himself to a difficult path when he had chosen Amara.

He promises, and then he relinquishes his hold on her, and Séverine draws in a steadying breath, pulling back to take assessment of their current predicament. Her muzzle swings to grant her a view of her shoulder, and the rivulet of blood that spatters lightly onto the ground, and then she turns back to appraise her father, her gaze narrowing on the obviously painful state of his scarred leg.

And then there is the matter of their precarious position, poised on a shelf far below the path overhead and far above the distant ground underneath. A frown purses her lips as she studies the rocky slopes for an out — and there is one, but it is dangerous. A narrow ledge cuts into the cliffside, intersecting below with the next safe patch of path.

The risk of another fall is higher than she would like, but what other choice do they have? "Par ici," ( this way) Séverine ushers with a gesture of her chin, the determination clear in the hard set of her eyes. Even if they called out for aid, there is no way that anyone else can help them now. So she leads the way down, one meticulous footstep at a time; her entire life has been spent learning to navigate these slopes, but today is the first time that she has felt like it has overpowered her.

She will take her ownership of this mountain again. She must.

_{BG — ART — CODE}

made with gunmetal bones and wolf's teeth
a warrior, a soldier

What sweet irony it was that such disaster could push them together. Kieran had thought time and again about whisking them away from this place, securing the safety of his family in an elsewhere untouched by this blight. He'd held off only because of his daughters' hate, knowing that @Séverine and Louve would sooner have thrown themselves to the jaws of nature than relinquish any power and faith to Kieran. Now, things were different; and how sweet an irony was it still that they had nearly rounded the corner, that perhaps this would be the last of those brutal rockfalls that would shake and destroy their home.

Perhaps their relationship would be repaired with the coming of peace. Kieran had never believed in anything otherworldly before, but what else could this be than divine providence?

He is hesitant at first to take the path she has suggested, trying desperately to find a safer way down. But there truly is nothing else, and they are forced once more to endure the uncertainty of safety or fall; Kieran stays behind her, watching her every move, overly-cautious of the way that mountain creaks and trembles. A few rocks fall and skitter down the slopeside, disturbed by their careful pawsteps. They take it slow, one foot after the other, Kieran close enough to grab Séverine should she lose her footing and stumble. He is thankful, in that way, that she is small enough to navigate this path better than he, though both their injuries causing them extra strife.

The end of the path down would come like a welcome relief, something he never thought would come. Kieran had never appeared so frazzled, mane disheveled and eyes wide and wild, but happy that they had finally made it. Happy to finally have Séverine back, to no longer have to live in those fleeting moments of happiness before he left, when she'd been nothing more than a little girl.

exit w Séverine