[Being vague on pride status]

---

Paws carried the red and white lioness into the scorched wilds, paws steady in their movements. Her curly fur was shiny once more, neat and properly groomed once more. She'd also put on more weight, not leaving her the underweight and hungry creature she'd been in winter-time. The spring season had helped her regain the sheen to her coat and bulk out her frame once more.

Striding proudly through the Wilds, her nose to the ground, Órlaith was on the hunt for information. She had heard rumors that there were ghosts and supernatural things occurring within this part of the lands - had encountered some strange happenings herself - and she was curious to see what else was here. Tail flicked behind her as she continued to wander along the territory. Her eyes scoured over the land, trying to catch a glimpse of anything that was decidedly otherworldly.

---

@Rhys

Rolling wildsevent 1d13: 2
You can hear the sounds of a long-ago battle: Snarls and clashing teeth and cries. They grow deafeningly louder. Until they all of a sudden stop and your heartbeat quickens. Are they coming for you now?

code by corvus

Rhys is beginning to believe in ghosts.

He'd never been superstitious. His mother made no more claim to oracles or the guidance of ancestors as his father. The mortal world is only for the living, and in death there lays nothing but finality. A bitter or beautiful end. After that, who knows?

Except now he knows. And he's not as at peace with the idea of it as most would be.

He's hearing echoes in his ears. The throes of battle in languages he cannot begin to understand. Common, foreign—a mix he cannot make sense of one way or another. But there is one thing within all their detached cries that he understands, the brutal undertone of war being lost and won. Two sides of the same violent affair, one astride with the thrill of hard-won victory, the other languished, and dying, and dead.

And then it's gone, and Rhys' heart is pounding so loud in his chest it drowns out the creaking of the trees and the whispers they left behind.

Miraculously, he stops right in front of Órlaith. So ironically timed that he's certain it must be divine intervention.

He's beginning to believe in ghosts, after all.

Fuck— he curses; and for once, he's visibly unsettled. Sorry, Órlaith. I didn't see you there.

---

@Órlaith

As she continued to explore the wilds, she hears the sounds of a battle. But she cannot see the battle. Fur prickles along her spine, and she takes careful steps - unsure to know if the battle raged just out of her sight.

Ears swiveled around as her heart beat in her chest as the battle raged around her - invisible but all too audible in nature. And then, as quickly as it had shown up -

It is gone.

A frame materializes (or seems to) in front of her eyes, and she nearly jumps out of her skin at the voice that breaks the now almost too silent world.

"@Rhys —" She breathes, her heart racing once again at the sudden appearance of her friend. But this time - it wasn't for the reasons it was before. Her duotoned blue eyes raked over his frame, noting that he was as visibly unsettled as herself.

"You're good. You came out of nowhere to me, and had you not spoken I likely would've run into you." She said, fur still prickling along her spine at the feeling in the air.

"Honestly, glad to see a familiar face here." Órlaith said with a breathy chuckle as she aimed to give him a friendly headbump.

text. "speech."

Art by Drifty | Table code by Zodiac

Rhys— she breathes, and he's once again reminded that she is real. The echoes of the battle linger in the back of his mind, stubbornly held in place by a healthy free of just how real it had all sounded. Had he not eyes to see nothing but the smoky wilds, he would have assumed war was being waged practically atop him.

But her eyes said she'd heard it, too.

Fuckfuckfuck.

Rhys decides that he hates ghosts.

Unless they're particularly pretty ones, of course.

You're good. You came out of nowhere to me, Órlaith begins, calming the shudder that threatens to run down his spine, and had you not spoken I likely would've run into you.

You heard that, right? he wants to say, but at the risk of appearing foolish he instead quietly nods his head.

Honestly, glad to see a familiar face here.

Her touch eases the racing pace of his heart, and Rhys finds himself lingering braced against her for a moment longer before he reluctantly pulls away.

Me too, he smiles, allowing it to swallow whatever nervousness might otherwise be there. I don't remember this place feeling so...unsettling.

---

@Órlaith

She too was shaken by the wilds around them, and it was visible on her frame as she shifted uneasily. She had never believed in the supernatural, of ghosts and things that haunted the night.

But she'd be damned if she didn't almost start to believe in them now. Especially with the ghostly battle that seemed to rage around them. "Didn't think I'd ever believe in ghosts.." She said with a breathy laugh as she glanced around the pair of them.

As @Rhys lingers against her headbump, Órlaith allows her breathing to slow and the fur on her spine to slowly relax and lay flat once more. As he pulled away from their embrace, the red and white lioness tries her hardest to not show her sadness about his moving away.

"I've been here once or twice before... but I don't think it was ever this unsettling before." She said, tail tip flickering behind as as an ear turned around - trying to see if she could hear anymore sounds of that ghostly battle still raging around them.

"... you heard the ghostly battle too, didn't you?" She asked - though she had a suspicion that she already knew the answer to her question.

text. "speech."

Art by Drifty | Table code by Zodiac

It's as if she's read his mind. Or, at the very least, she's experiencing the very same things he is. Rhys made no mention of ghosts or the supernatural, but the way she says it almost naturally has him freezing. And for the first time in too long, Rhys feels the slightest bit frightened. It's easy to combat things he can see and make sense of. But otherworldly occurrences are far from the realm of controllable, and it's equally as daunting to have his conceptions challenged in such a manner he never anticipated.

Rhys looks at her with silent incredulousness, unable to hide the way his fur stands to attention as she parts; how strange it is that it seems that much colder with the presence of her warmth.

...You heard the ghostly battle too, didn't you?

He laughs, hiding the sudden trill of nerves in his ears.

No...no, he lies, though every part of him wishes he was telling the truth. Ghosts don't exist.

But he's met one. At least, he thinks he has. There was certainly something otherworldly about Vindicta, in ways he's tried to explain away over and over again, but each time left him with more questions than answers. Spring has always been about new growth, rebirth—but never so much as to convince the dead to rise and walk among the living.

...Right?

---

@Órlaith

Her ears flicker around, listening intently to everything around them. She almost paranoid now of something jumping them from behind, and the fur on her spine prickles again as she recalls the haunting sound of the battle that had been invisible to their eyes.

Duotoned eyes are drawn to the way @Rhys' fur bristles when she steps away from him, suddenly feeling the chill in the air herself even more now. As he laughs, and states that he didn't hear the ghostly battle, her gaze narrows at him.

He hadn't acted like he hadn't heard the battle... Especially with how on edge they both were at the moment from the supernatural feeling in the air.

Her ears push back slightly as he spoke of ghosts not existing, questioning even his own statement shortly afterwards.

"I would not put it past this land to have something... otherworldly about it." She murmured, a sudden chill coming over her once again. Stepping forward, Órlaith would aim to press against Rhys without even thinking about her movement and motions at the moment.

text. "speech."

Art by Drifty | Table code by Zodiac

Rhys is an excellent liar.

But he is usually dealing with mortal affairs. Thieving, deceiving, slipping fingers into pockets while he charms through bared teeth. He knows who he is talking to, knows the nature of his own lies thoroughly. But in matters of the supernatural, it entices a new feeling that Rhys seldom ever lets show: nerves.

He is nervous. And a trained eye could see it hidden beneath an otherwise easy, cool countenance.

I would not put it past this land to have something... she begins thoughtfully, ...otherworldly about it.

Rhys blinks once, twice, as the sudden pressure of her weight and heat presses against him. Firmer, longer, far less a passing greeting and more a seeking of comfort or warmth or something else entirely. He's almost thankful for it, suppressing the urge to shudder as a paw lifts and braces against the small of her back, pulling her even closer.

You don't suppose they'll take kindly to us asking nicely to leave us alone? he teases, biting back his fear and redirecting the fervent flutter of his heart to be born of want, instead. Of her.

And not this creepy fucking place.

Let's not think about it, he eventually decides, before pressing his nose into the crook of her neck. You smell different.

---

@Órlaith

The two of them are similar in ways they don't yet understand it feels.

She'd never experienced anything with the afterlife and supernatural, and feeling the weird vibes they were getting - not even talking about the invisible battle that had raged around them shortly after arriving here in the wilds.

However much the pair of them tried to hide their nervousness it was still visible to the ones who knew them well.

As she presses against him, he lifts a paw and places it against the small of her back - pulling her ever closer.

"Its worth a try." She breathed as he teased her about if the ghosts would take kindly to being asked to leave them alone. "Who knows what would happen." She chuckled.

Eventually the decision is made to not think about it, and she agrees with him with a soft nod before he presses his nose into the crook of her neck. You smell different he comments, and she flicks her tail as she leans into his touch.

"Joined a pride. Figured I ought to have somewhere to call a home base and to help keep me fed - especially if the seasons change again." She said simply. She could smell the traces of something different in his scent too with as close as they were now that they were focused on each other.

"I could say the same of you." Órlaith murmured, her tail curling around to brush against his side as she spoke if she could.

text. "speech."

Art by Drifty | Table code by Zodiac

Rhys is much more inclined toward the change of topic. It eases the unsettling of nerves that rise at the back of his neck, warms the taciturn chill of the stale, hanging air. He rumbles a soft purr as he feels the press of her nose fit into the crux of his neck, the dark tendrils of his mane cascading across her cheeks like an inviting plume. With her this close, now, the smell of the mountains is unmistakable.

And underneath it all, he swears he catches a hint of Brighid.

Illyria? he asks, one corner of his mouth turning up into a half-grin. Excellent choice.

A familiar choice. A safe choice. Cold, but lavish. Brighid would never let her halls be empty, would never let her subjects starve—even if it is borne of unrelenting pride.

I could say the same for you, she replies, and Rhys cannot identify the emotion in her words.

Andal, he replies truthfully, craning his head so he could trace his teeth along the outer edge of her ear. Suddenly, he’s finding himself wanting for any excuse to talk less. It was an arrangement just for the winter. But then…

But then he became particularly fond of a certain prince, in all his twisted and pernicious ways.

...Things changed. The king was a friend to my father.

And Rhys is fucking his son, right under his nose.

---

@Órlaith