Darkness enveloped the Grove, hiding away it's creatures as they fell into nocturne slumber, the calls from above, either owls or the smaller monkeys, it was unclear which, or the unusual frog mouthed birds, either way, most would be unsettled at night by the unknown. But not Astarte, she welcomed the darkness, wore it like a cloak, she was adorned in spotlights from the moons rays cutting through whatever treetops sparse holes where the branches and leaves didn't quite meet eachother.

The glow gave the crimson woman an ethereal appearance as she wound through trees and over the land, she found a spot where she would softly let out a series of chuffs, calling out in hopes he would be around, that he would be close enough that he would hear her. She desperately needed him and his strength, needed him in the most carnal and emotional ways, if he would have her.

Since she had healed, her ribs finally not acting anymore, the stump where her tail had been still bandaged but not as painful, she was able to come out of the Mire, able to seek him out and embrace his whole being. The lioness would find a large rock where she was able to lay out upon, under a large patch of moonlight and wait for him, her heart beating heavily and slow against her chest, her breath was held in anticipation, only did she breathe when the burn in her lungs reminded her she has to exhale and inhale to stay conscious.

@Farrow

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Had he his memories, he might have been there at the challenge. But when the call rang out for his wife's kingdom, Farrow had remained in the Brook, patrolling its borders so that the war did not spill into their territory, or any ambitious lions seek to take advantage of the chaos halfway across the country.

Very seldom had he left the Brook these days, focusing on rebuilding what all had been torn down in the war and preparing their defenses for the next one to come. He had also attempted to gather information about the lionesses missing from the pride, though such endeavors were better suited for stronger, younger warriors. And while Cassandra had first promised to take him to the Summit to try and trigger his memories, the Queen had been far too busy to do so, and Farrow had been content to be pushed to the side for far more important things.

Strange, how this life came so easy. It were as if he had lived it once before. Farrow had never thought a more sedentary life would appeal to him quite so much. And yet, still, ignorant was he of the fact that his grandchildren frequently ran about his paws, that his family blossomed all around him.

When @Astarte called out for him, Farrow answered. He was not too far from the borders of Vermeda when he found her, draped in silvery moonlight and shadowed in the darkness of the trees. Fresh wounds littered her frame, and when he grew closer, he could see the crude bob of where her tail used to be. Brows furrowed, a concerned expression unfurling on his face. What happened?

His arrival brings her new energy, her wounds not mastering as she pushed herself off of the rock, making her way to him and pushing her head under his chin, trying to ignore the wince of pain as the feeling of pressure against her wounds lights her body up. With her husband missing, her daughter leaving, she was so lonely, and the nights were the worse, alone, cold, hurt, it caused her a deep pain, deeper than any of her wounds.

She gives a sigh of relief as she sinks into him, feeling the weight lift from her shoulders, her crimson body feels frail against him, feels broken, and she's sure she looks broken too. His question falls upon her ears and she gently pulls her face away from his mane, still keeping the side of her head against it, "My husband brought me to the Summit challenge, I was attacked, my tail was torn from my body, and then I was thrown from the top of the summit.. " She spoke gently, her voice still hoarse from days without water, the frozen tundra taping it's toll

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Suddenly, he wished he had been there.

He himself bore new wounds; long clawmarks stretched down his eye, mirroring the same as the attacker who had given them to him. But he had not lost something, and couldn't have imagined what the adjustment to such a strange new normal must have been for @Astarte. As she reached to nuzzle him he felt the stiffness of her wince, and his lips curved downward into a frown, his brows knitting.

It was the Summit she had been brought to, where she had been attacked, and though Farrow might have wished desperately that it had been a mere stranger who had assailed her simply for the sake of war, he knew that it was unlikely; they were on opposing sides, Farrow had long learned, and he wasn't sure if it had quite been that way when they had first met. But he was in far too deep now, and cared about Astarte far too much to let her slip free of his fingers simply because it were easier.

Such was the nature of war. For so long had Farrow been content to stand on its sidelines, to relish in the spoils of victory and only just. Never had he felt such a bitter confliction, especially involving women he was supposed to know, women he no longer remembered.

If this continues, you'll be killed, he warned her, a heaviness in his tone where once there had been joy and relief. We can't...keep meeting like this. I'm supposed to head to the Summit soon, to try and get my memories back. What will happen when I do? What will happen when he is forced to choose between the mates he'd loved and fathered children with and the woman standing before him?

Seeing his own wounds made the lions want to reach up and press her lips softly to his temple, but she held back, instead mirroring his frown, what was left of her tail flicked, and she ignored the burning shame it caused her. Losing her tail had affected her both mentally and physically, but she refused to show it, unable to show weakness, not even after the loss of a limb and then being thrown off a cliff, left for dead, crawling back home, starving, dehydrated, she should be allowed that moment of weakness but it is her own mind standing in front of the lock to her emotions.

The crimson woman kept her eyes locked with Farrow, wondering what was going through his mind, her brows furrowed, her mouth partially open, torn between saying more or pressing her lips to his, allowing herself to melt against him.

Was this what being loved and being in love was suppose to feel like?

If this continues, you'll be killed,

She feels her gaze tear away from is, as if she didn't know this, hadn't thought of this. She goes to speak, but as he continues his sentence, she feels her heart start to drop, the feeling of falling off a cliff, no pun intended, familiar and heart wrenching. Shed lost Adalwolf, her daughter, her brother, she fees her body tense.

We can't...keep meeting like this. I'm supposed to head to the Summit soon, to try and get my memories back. What will happen when I do


She hears the hurt in her voice before she feels it, her body moves slightly back, pulling away as if shed been burnt, "Id travel to meet you, I'd make the journey.." She is quick to.come up with a plan, something, anything, "Please don't.. " Don't what? Don't leave her, don't break her heart, don't go away? She feels hot tears prick her eyes, her chest shakes with the threat of choked sobs in her throat.

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He could feel her need in waves, watched it in the restlessness of her motions, in the way she seemed to linger in that in-between of wanting to lose themselves in each other, and wanting to listen intently to what they each had to say, what heavy burdens they had to bear. Farrow swallowed hard, keeping himself fettered to where he sat despite the way she seemed to curl so hauntingly, the way the hurt was etched into her frame. And the way she pleads, the soft tenor in her voice that echoed in her trembling lips. Farrow would have felt content to fall all apart, to promise her he would not leave, that he would continue to meet here like this, under the threat of war, bearing more and more wounds each and every time.

But everything reached a head. Everything ended somehow, and Farrow was trying his best to meet it before it took them by surprise.

He has to look away, for he cannot bear to see her cry. A hard lump forms in his throat and almost keeps him from speaking, but Farrow does not wish to break her further, to fetter her to this strange stasis they lingered in. I have to tell them about us, he cautions her, but the idea of not knowing haunted him further. He owed a strange sense of loyalty to these wives he couldn't remember, and the feeling of owing them that without even recalling what they looked like felt novel and overwhelming. @Astarte was here, right in front of him, was she not? I just...don't know if they would be more inclined to help me rescue you, or too wary of you to let you close.

And what then, Farrow? Where do your loyalties lie?

Suddenly, he wished he had never forgotten anything at all—or that he had truly died. Either would have been a mercy.

"Then tell them, please, tell them I love you, I've loved you since met you. I don't have to come live with you, I won't bother them..." She cred not for the thought about how her father would have scoffed at her weakness, groveling, pleading with a male to love her, to not leave her. She's quick to agree with him, pressing closed to him as she hides her tear-stained cheeks in his mane, her shoulders shake with every shaky inhale, it was clear she was trying to hold it in, but was beginning to fall apart.

I just...don't know if they would be more inclined to help me rescue you, or too wary of you to let you close.

Rescue her...

Her body stiffens a bit and she pulls back, her cheeks wet with fallen tears, her ears pinned back, what was she suppose to say? A few more tears slip down her face and she sniffles, "I understand.." Her voice is quiet, shaky, her eyes cast down to the ground, unable to look at him, she didn't want him to see her so broken, a moment of silence lingers and she feels as if the world opens up, and plopped them down on either side of a vast canyon.

But she knows he's right there, she knows because when her paw extends out and gently touches his mane, the solidity of his body causes her to lean into him, her cheek resting against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart as it slowly brought her back into the present.

"W-would you stay with me... Just for tonight? Can we just pretend for tonight nothing was in our way? That we weren't ever apart? Please.. Love me.." Her voice is gentle, wanting, asking, if things went bad, she wanted a good memory to fondly recall, to look back on and remember him. His love, his body, the feeling of being wanted and wanting .

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It is difficult to offer her reassurance when he has no idea the outcome of what may happen. Farrow finds himself struggling between making false promises simply so he did not have to see her weep and telling her the blatant, hurtful truth. Brows furrowed atop his head as she continued to dig and cry into him, a paw swinging upward to cup the small of her back so that she wouldn't fall or pry away from him. A solemn, grieving look flushed onto his face, his cheeks rising with heat as he struggled with the thought of keeping her so close, of feeling her hot and wet breaths against his skin.

When she pulls away to look at him, his paw gives the slightest bit, leaving only enough room between their locked faces to feel the warmth of her breath on his lips, to see the glint of tears prickling in the corners of her deep eyes. A look of uncertainty was etched into his scarred features, his mouth twisted upwards in a crooked slant, as if both sympathetic to her plight while also unsure. He would have to talk to them sooner rather than later; he had put off meeting (or rather, reuniting) Morrigan and Talisa for so long because so much had happened; but here, now, with her wounded and maimed and missing her captor, was his opening.

Okay, he finally relented, letting out the breath he had not known he'd been holding. Just for tonight. Then tomorrow, everything changes. He would compel Cassandra to take him to the throne of the Summit so he could finally seek an end to this. Though their midnight rendezvous had been short in their stint and he was still finding himself falling in love with @Astarte all over again, he knew that, more than anything, time was everything.

Feeling the paw cup the small of her back keeping her to him, Astarte is torn between feeling trapped and suffocating, and feeling love and protected. Her teary gaze ears away from his, the thought of what tomorrow could bring a dark cloud hanging over her, she gives a small whimper, but says nothing, there was hurt in her eyes, she had dealt with so much in such a short time span, leaving her wondering when things would get better.

When she pulls away, his paw gives only slightly, and she doesn't take herself from his embrace, he would be leaving soon, and taking part of him with her, and if the worst happened, she wanted to remember what they had, what could have been. She breathes a sigh of relief when he agrees, just for tonight... She nods gently, "Thank you Farrow.." She smiles, though it doesn't fully reach her eyes so she closes them and leans up, pressing her lips to his.

She'd fallen in love with him when she had fell in his trap, how they'd joked about it, the nights they shared, his death had hurt her deep, and she would never admit it, but she worried his return from "death " would hurt her more.

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He is content to lose himself in this way, to give himself the final surrender of one night where he thinks of nothing but her, and nothing of all the consequences that came after. Farrow's eyes closed and he relished in the way she smelled, the way she sounded, the hush of her gentle breaths against his fur. It were easy to let his anxieties fade in this way, and the more they saw of each other the more he'd begun to fall for her all over again. He could not deny the pleasant feeling of getting to know her all over, of getting to experience for the first time what he had already done once.

He wished for nothing more in that moment than to know. To know what he would need to say next, to do next. But Farrow had enough experience to know some things were out of his control; and that things took time, and consideration, and navigating. And perhaps it is this ease of age that gives him that final surrender, where a younger he might have valiantly attempted to usher her from the Mire right then and there, and steal her away into the Brook where he would not have to let her go.

So he would steal this time while he had it, surrounded in her entirely; and if she allowed, he would seek to sweep her beneath him, to live through these last dwindling hours as slowly and carefully as he possibly could.

---

Fade to black.