Cirilla rose from her idle slumber and left the comforts of the Brook. It had become eerily quiet since Lachesis had taken the crown, meaning she had very little to convey back to her family in the Summit. It was all a bit dull, really, and the tan lioness was growing agitated.

As she moved through the neutral territories that Amaryllis had to offer, the lioness dipped down into the flamingo pond to quench her thirst. It had been raining on and off all day, sometimes with hours going between each rainfall. As she arrived at the pond and descended down to its edge to get a drink, rain began to fall idly once more.

He saunters across the golden fields, the summertime sun warming his fur for the first time in months. Its warm caress feels almost alien now; a far cry from the algid prison he's been wilting in. He sees a lioness outlined against the setting sun, indistinct at first, and then clear as day.

Something stirs in his chest at the sight of her—he can't believe she's finally here, real and tangible. Eric was the one who kept him from going off the deep end, but there wasn't a single day that he didn't think about her.

Go to her. He pitches forward, but he stops himself. What will she think of his ruined face? Will it scare her? He didn't forget the expression the Andal yearling had on her face when she saw him. Fear.

No. This is @Cirilla; she knows him. He gathers his courage and picks his way towards the pond, approaching her without much pomp. He sidles up beside her, breezily enough. "If I ever have to see any more sand ever again in my life, it'll still be too soon." A beat—insecure, when did he become so insecure? "Hi."

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Her hearing becomes amplified when the rain begins to fall. She can hear the sound of the water crashing upon more water, the vigorous flapping of flamingo wings as they all rush to huddle together to protect themselves, the sound of loose earth slipping beneath heavy paws. The sound of her own tongue lapping up the water the pond offered was almost deafening against the patter of raindrops.

The cacophony of sounds soon grind to a halt when the sound of another pierces her eardrums. The Sigrún does not need to look up to know who it was that had entered her personal space. The sound of his heart thrumming against his chest, the jagged and rushed breathing, the heavy paw steps - Cirilla knew this was @Ambrose without turning her attention away from the water.

His body (and presence) is a welcome one as he comes up beside her. How long had it been, since they last saw each other? Cirilla allows herself a moment longer to think, unable to cast her mind back further than the shit show that was her Oasis challenge. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, Cirilla shifts her weight and pulls herself away from the flamingo pond. Her crown turns to look at her lover, and she is taken a back. The tan lioness cannot help but be drawn to the hole in his face, where his eye was supposed to have been. Anger, a feeling she knew as though it were a parent, began to bubble inside of her. Who did that? She asks, unaware of @Ambrose's feelings of insecurities and lost confidence. It did not make him any less of a man to her, did not make him any less of her husband, but what it did make her was angry. She wanted to know who had done such a thing, so that she, in turn, could return the favour.

A pause, a realization occurs as silence drops between them. Cirilla's eyes try to move away from his eye, scanning his body for any other injury that he might have sustained during his time in the Oasis. I'm glad to see you. She finally whispers as the rain seems to increase. Vellen was clearly sending Cirilla a sign, but quite what that was, the Sigrún did not know. She might never understand the way in which Vellen's mind worked, but right now, for once in her life, he was not important. Ambrose was the lion she needed to understand more - to protect more, and she hadn't done that. She had failed him, almost, and the feeling - the responsibility of that - weighed heavily on her shoulders. I missed you, She says, finally, aware that she was not normally one to express her feelings so outwardly. Did they treat you okay, in the Oasis? A need for more and more information seems to flood into her mind along with the questions. Was Uma alright? She had missed the feisty lioness, too. But Cirilla draws her attention back to the matter at hand, and looks Ambrose in the face. Please give me a name of the lion who did that to you.

Was that desperation, Cirilla?

Rain is sheeting down on them both, droplets creating numberless tiny depressions in the flamingo pond as they chastise the earth. It glances on his eyes and cheekbones and steals down his body in cold runnels. Even the flamingos crowd together—why is it that rainfall always seems to follow @Cirilla?

But he gives it little thought; he addresses her, and for a moment she doesn't respond, the steady thin drum of the rain filling in the silence between them. Then she finally turns around, and those eyes of pink tourmaline hold his gaze. Everything comes back to him, the hideaway—and the challenge.

His sanity had drifted often in that armpit of the desert; if it hadn't been for Eric, he might have come out a different person. His eye had festered to the point it's a miracle he survived at all, but somehow, he did. He thought about Cirilla often, holding out hope that she had made it out unscathed, but he never could be sure.

Insecurity surfaces again when she looks directly at him; but he doesn't see fear. He sees anger. Her question enters him like an arrow, his attempts at levity thwarted. "No, Ciri." It's all he says before he presses his striped forehead to hers—he knows her, he knows her trigger temper. He can't allow her to risk injury for him.

She assesses him further, but there is nothing else. "I'm glad to see you too." The words feel like an understatement, but he says them anyway. Not a day went by that he didn't think of her, and this is all he has to say? He takes a moment to appraise her, satisfied to find her without a scratch. She asks him if he was treated okay; and his mind reels back to the long, grueling months he spent confined to his makeshift prison. "Yeah, we had a slumber party. Braided each other's hair and everything." He smiles guiltily; it's an half-assed attempt to deflect the question. He doesn't want to play into her anger any more than necessary, she's finally here, and by some miracle, unharmed. He intends to keep it that way.

But the tan woman insists, a distinct distress weaving through her voice. "I can't, Cirilla. Revenge is a bad road to go on." A pause. "Promise me you won't go after them."

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Cirilla had always found comfort in the rain. It soothed her when she had become dysregulated, grounded her when she had become enthralled with anger, and centred her when she could not see through the red-rimmed glasses. She had grown up by the sea, longing to be touched by the water - the unpredictability was home to her, so she was not one to complain about the downfall of rain.

The silence that falls between them is agonizing, as though there was so much that they both needed to say, needed to get off of their chests. Yet there was a childish reluctance, one that seemed to engulf them both. Neither wanted to say what they needed, as though they were too scared to offend each other. The emotions that flood @Ambrose are evident, and Cirilla sees them on his face. Her stomach turns into knots, feelings of confusion and anger submerging anything else she might have felt.

No, Ciri.

What? In her short life-time, Cirilla had rarely been told no. She had been used to getting her own way, doing her own thing, so why should she stop now? The woman pulls away from Ambrose's touch as he presses his striped forehead against hers, and she puts a small amount of space between them. No? She repeats, in a slight state of disbelief. You can't stop me from going after the lion that did that to you. She says, choosing her words carefully. You and Uma being kept prisoner, along with my daughter, is all my fault. Cirilla says, rising to her paws and turning away from Ambrose as her anger continues to grow. She flexes her paws in and out of the ground as the rain continues to fall. I have to set it right. Her strong sense of justice and revenge clouded her judgement, and who was Ambrose to stop her?

The topic turns to their time in Andal as prisoners. Cirilla sits on the edge of the flamingo pond, her back to her husband as her ears pin against her crown. Her head turns to look at him as he speaks, her expression blank as he smiles with guilt plastered across his face. She does not respond - she just needed to know that he was okay, and that they hadn't been beaten or tortured during their time there. If that had been the case, Cirilla would be hell-bent on revenge, and no one would stop her.

Revenge is a bad road to go on.

She turns her head away from him, back to the pond. She pauses.

Promise me you won't go after them.

Cirilla sighs, and shakes her head. I cannot promise you that, Ambrose. She remarks with a notable sadness in her voice. I have to know who did that to you. Cirilla re-iterates. It's my fault. These words slip from her lips as a whisper as her shoulders sag with the feeling of guilt laying heavy on them.

She pulls away from him, and even if he left Andal, it still feels like there's a desert between them. The tan woman regards him conflictedly, seeming unsatisfied with his answer. He can see it: the anger—it preys upon her mind, weakens it. It scares him; anger has never caused him to abandon reason, but he's seen what it can do, he's seen it bring every flavor of ruin to his sister.

It's written clearly across her face, and he's not sure what he can do or say to change her mind. No one should risk grievous harm on his account, least of all the woman he values above all else. He doesn't like seeing her like this, beside herself with rage. It's his fault she's feeling this way, in a sense. Uma might have initiated the power struggle that cost him his eye, but he never hesitated to follow suit.

You can't stop me from going after the lion that did that to you. He doesn't want to get angry. He really doesn't. Why does this woman have to be so damn stubborn? "Hate to be the voice of reason, but that's a stupid idea." He protests again—but something tells him his wife won't be swayed. Ambrose can technically see the rage chipping away at her. She has to set it right. Why does she think she has to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders? The two have always been prone to disagreements—opposites attract, isn't that what they say?—but he's not ceding the field on this one. Not when it could get her seriously hurt.

"I just found you, and your first instinct is to set off into the sunset again?" He doesn't bother disguising his outrage. Leave on a whim, to do what? Get herself killed? No. It won't change the fact his face is permanently disfigured. "I only thought you were dead for months! Looking sharp for a dead woman, by the way." There he goes again, escalating the situation. He doesn't want to fight her; maybe wasting away in that godforsaken desert has twisted his psyche, after all. "I didn't make it through hell and back again just so you can go off on some suicide mission. You can't just punch all your problems in the face, @Cirilla! What if something happens to you?"

Talking things out.

When was the last time they ever did that?

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The tan lioness had never really been very good at regulating her emotions, and being able to understand them. She had never had anyone to guide her through the feelings she had experienced, nor had she been able to trust anyone enough to open up to them and explain. It was inner turmoil for the Sigrún, and she needed someone strong - someone like @Ambrose - to guide her through the inner turmoil she needed to come to terms with.

Ambrose protests against her idea of going after the man who had gauged out his eye, calling it a stupid idea. Cirilla's ears continue to stay pinned against her crown as his words cut through her like a knife. But before she can say anything else, Ambrose's feelings get the better of him and he speaks his mind. Cirilla was not expecting such harsh words to fall from the lips of a man who was normally upbeat and comical.

She turns to look at him, her entire body swinging round to face him square on. Her inner turmoil is beginning to pay havoc with her. She was at risk of self-destructing, self-sabotaging her first relationship. Why would she do that? Because she was scared of losing him, scared of losing herself?

I don't know. She whispers, finally, in answer to his question. Why does that matter? Why do I matter? She asks, her eyes swelling up with tears as a frog forms in her throat. I just want to set things right. Make things right, for you, for us.

Nerine eyes fasten onto him, flashing with surprise and tumult. For once, the tide-tongued Sigrun has no answer. For a moment, silence lengthens between them, and his ears snap back into his mane. He realizes he might have been too harsh, and his mind desperately scrambles to formulate the things he wants to say, but they never crystallize into words. What does he want to say?

He's not surprised @Cirilla's kneejerk reaction is to seek revenge. Were the roles reversed, he doesn't know what he would've done—he just knows he'd risk his life to keep her safe and in one piece. Then tears well in her eyes, and his stomach goes cold. He's never seen her cry before, and a thread of guilt worms into him immediately.

This is all wrong.

Why do I matter? His staccato heartbeat quickens, unbridled emotions clawing at him as the downpour crashes around them. "I can go without everything else, but without you, I can't go on living." There's not the slightest trace of jest in his eyes as he looks directly at her. "You're my life, Ciri, the best part of it. I'm not gonna let you destroy yourself."

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As the fears fall from Cirilla's normally stone-cold eyes, the woman cannot seem to comprehend how she is feeling. These are emotions that she has been unable to process for such a long time - for so long she has been contained solely by anger and revenge, seeking so desperately to wage war upon the world that had done so wrong in the first place. It had taken her brothers from her, her mother, even her daughter - how was she expected to find peace when all she had been presented with was loss?

The tan lioness could not lose @Ambrose, either. She had faced too much turmoil in her life, so it was to be expected that she was to be pent-up when she had seen the gaping hole in her husband's face. His words calm her, fall on her attentive ears, and she looks to him and sighs. Without a single word escaping from her lips, she rises back onto her paws and turns, moving to sit by him and push her face into his chest. Eventually, after a moment, she leans back and looks up at him with a defeated smile. Thank you, She whispers, knowing that anyone else would not have the strength to deal with the stubborn and distant lioness. I've always had to destroy myself for my own gain, you know. She thinks carefully about what she was going to say next - she had to be careful. I was abandoned by my mother and my brothers when I was just a yearling. Left alone to fend for myself and ensure that I didn't die. Only when I found you, Uma, and my daughter, did I have some purpose. Cirilla pauses for a moment, watching Ambrose's reaction carefully. I've never had to care for anyone other than myself. I don't know how to navigate these feelings that I am experiencing... and I really do not want to lose you. Not again. I want to build with you... have a family with you, and -- She pauses then, as though the cat had got her tongue. Had she really just said that? I want to protect you and Uma with my life. Aurelia too. And anyone else that we might consider family.

She edges forward, reclining to a sit and burrowing her face into his chest. He leans into her and moves the hollow of his jaw onto the flat of her head. His pin and needle heart slows then, warmth returning to his limbs. Beads of rain collect on his white pelt, but he doesn't really notice the rain anymore, doesn't notice the gathering gloom of the darkening, steely sky above them.

All he can think about is how warm she is, and how pleasant her touch is—he doesn't want the moment to end. Then she looks up at him and her familiar voice rises onto the air again. He's no stranger to abandonment; his family rejected him and his twin sister because they thought they would inspire bad luck everywhere they went.

And for a long time, he believed them.

"Not happening. You can't get rid of me that easily." He smiles, and this time, it reaches his eyes. He's not her brothers, and he's not her mother. No, it'll take more than some pride lions to take him out. And then she mentions family. He never wanted to settle down, to be anchored to just one place. Ambrose has steered clear of prides for as long as he can remember; he never cared for their complex political leanings.

His brow furrows, considering the weight behind her words. "I don't even know what to say." He finally concedes. "I'd make a terrible dad." He protests. "I tried to drown a fish once." Self-doubt is written clearly across his face, but his eyes don't leave hers.

Is she serious about this?

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