the mist bathes her matted fur, dampening each twist and tangle that's been curled by the wind's spindly fingers. chest and chin open to the falls in offering, the huntress' eyes screw shut tightly, small white toes curling in the loamy earth at the bank of the fall's pool. even the lightest touch from the pool runs shivers up her spine and she exhales a deep breath, praying to abandon her fear, to leave the messy, disheveled events of months ago behind her.

its all a blur - strikingly violent - the way magnus found a way into her head and her heart, the way she had belonged somewhere, the way the water of the freeze had snatched her breath away in the same way nadia's confession had. its almost painful how often she thinks of them: the hollow that she had so desperately crawled away from. the kindred spirits of the caves that she sought to provide for, who in turn made the dark, winding tunnels a home.

she thinks to her den and the petals and pelts, the crystals and the soft drip drop trickle of water from the ceiling. it was soothing and sweet, a welcome thought in comparion to the roaring thunder of the falls through the echoing darkness of the plateau.

time. that's what she convinced herself that she had needed. time and space. she wanted to feel like herself again.

at one time in her life, desdemona had known nothing but the open world, solitude and adventure, but now, all she knows is her aching loneliness and the shadows of lions that come by the falls in passing.

Her scent had brought him here. The trail was old and worn, but mountain terrain had never put him off before and it certainly wouldn't do so now. The damp concealed some of her perfume, but not enough of it to keep her truly concealed. Magnus had done his best to give her time, to give her space, but to have her away from the pride during winter had been hard. He'd worried for her, thought of her during the long dark nights, unsure if he'd prefer the idea of her being alone and without tether (without rival) or the idea of her in the embrace of safety with someone else. Possessiveness and selflessness tussled in his gut, and there was no clear winner. Tentative steps carried him closer to the source, and when the calico shape finally came into view he slowed to a halt.

To see her - to see her like that - was gut-wrenching. @Desdemona had been a once proud and well-groomed woman; now she appeared a shell of her former self, and it was all down to him.

Foolish man.

Desdemona, he rumbled, stepping out of the shadows and once more seeking to face her. Perhaps this time things would go better. Thank Vellen you're still here. Still alive.

the finest fury is the most controlled

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her dreams had been littered with flashes of light and her own tinkling laughter - memories of a happier time, she supposes. they were also taunted with the sound of magnus' voice, so tangible that it was often enough to sate her need for comfort. so when she hears her name, cradled in all too familiar baritone, she doesn't budge. it isn't real - yet another trick of the light from the cruel, cruel god above that authored her dreams. only she wasn't sleeping.

slowly, she peels her eyes open, pupils widening in the lowlight. her head tilts upward, ears pinning back against her crown as she scents the air. the caves, the wilds, the unmistakable cling of something foreign - the homeland that wouldn't abandon him even during his rebirth here in this new land. @Magnus, she murmurs and realizes how long it has been since she has spoken his name. how could something once so comforting feel so alien? painstakingly slow, the patchwork huntress dares herself to look back. her chin comes to rest coyly on the crook of her shoulder, timid and afraid, and her eyes turn to moons in disbelief.

if this ghost truly is her king, he looks well. as bold and handsome as she could remember: but specters loved to play games and she would be loathe to fall for their tricks. unmoving, she watches him, lips pursed and eyes narrowed as she takes him in. is that really you? her voice is low and wavering, nearly washed out by the din of the waterfall.

and if it is, she's almost ashamed for the obvious mess that she is and the mess that she's made and the undeniable fact that she still loves him.

The longer he stood and looked at her, jaw slack and aghast, the worse he felt.

Stoicism only went so far, even in a brute like him. @Desdemona lit a fire beneath him; an itch he could not scratch, embedded deep beneath his skin. It tormented him - her absence, the memories of what he had done to her. Thoughtlessly and without malice, true, but a deep and painful infliction all the same.

A wrong that he intended to right, should she let him.

His name on her tongue was a weakened murmur, and while his impulse was to lurch forward and comfort her he would will his gait to remain slow and steady. The gap closed between them, only minutely, and in the dim light reflected by the cascades he would seek to scan her frame more accurately. To search for wounds, or anything else glaringly obviously wrong.

All he would see is dismay.

It is me. He would pause, swallowing thickly. Where have you been? I looked for you.

the finest fury is the most controlled

code by corvus

the shadow doesn't disappear, not when she blinks and not even when she squeezes her eyes shut so tight that little specks of light twinkle in her vision. he is there - solid and real - and his words both bring her comfort and horrify her. it is me.

she never knew what she would do if she ever ran into her king again. she has the overwhelming urge to run into his arms, to take in his scent and bury her nose into the crook of his neck, but she stays some distance away as if a fissure if ripped through the earth between them. desdemona almost draws into herself as he nears, her damp fur clinging to her flesh and her flesh holding tight to the frame of her bones. the huntress looks every bit rogue she is and her ears keen downwards: where has she been?

the fields, the falls, desdemona pauses, eyes bright despite her inner turmoil, a reminder that there once was and still is fire deep inside. the wild. the word is drawn out in a breathy exhale. the world seemed a lot more harsh after having adjusted to the safety of the pridelands and the adventuress' short tenure outside of the passage had led her in circles before she was drawn back.

desdemona slowly pivots towards @Magnus, toes pointed and every bit graceful as she was, the mist and moonglow casting a halo about her thin shoulders. are you upset with me? upset that she had been so absent? that she remained just out of arms length, tip toeing around every boulder and stone that he hadn't left unturned?

The distance between them is deliberate and painful. To hear her voice after so many weeks of separation brought him both great comfort and deep regret; a pain that he had not felt before, and one he did not want to experience again. She moved, finally, closer to him - he was almost so mesmerized by her movements that he would have to focus harder to process what she was saying. The wilds, he rumbled back, lip twitching at the corner, when you could have been home. With him. Though we know why she wasn't, don't we Magnus? A cruel voice whispered to him, clawing away at his resolve. Though.. I understand. Ears would pin, and while he would not lie to her about his feelings he knew that in order to progress from this point he would have to hold his temper.

He was not the only injured party in this.

I feared you were dead. So a little upset, yes.

the finest fury is the most controlled

code by corvus

when you could have been home. it burns in a way that she didn't expect to hear it spoken from someone else. she had chided herself day in and night out: home, home, home. a mantra that echoed in her dreams and across the peaks. a single ear peels itself away from his head as he mentions that he understands, and desdemona wonders if he truly does. there were times when she didn't quite understand it herself.

i feared you were dead.

perhaps, to any other lion, the gravity of that would sit heavily on their shoulders. though for desdemona, one once so free, so brave, it earns a soft chuff of surprised laughter, delicate despite itself and the pensiveness surrounding their reunion. dead? you insult me, she scoffs, nose raising a little higher, tail tickling gently at her ankles. of all lions, i thought you'd know me better than that, @Magnus. there's a glimmer of a smile there, somber in its own way, but a smile nonetheless. she may have been worse for wear, but the wild would not take her just yet. despite herself and her aching, breaking heart, desdemona was not weak.

as she stands there before him, suddenly self-conscious, she's reminded yet again that she has never once stopped loving him. i missed the hollow... the patchwork huntress' voice trails off, golden eyes averting down to her damp paws. they knead at the slick earth and the cat gathers her mettle before she looks upward at the titan once more, and you, too.

And there it was - that glimmer. He hadn't felt its warmth in months, and it would be so easy to get lost in the bliss of it. Magnus could not afford that, though; he had pressing things to attend to. He had to clear the air. He had to bring her home. I do, though, he rumbled in low retort, seeking to find eye contact and hold it there, even if just for a moment or two. She would go on to speak of the pride, and how she'd missed it. An unpleasant feeling gnawed in his gut. Guilt, yes, but something else too. A looming dread, perhaps - what if she never returned? What if this was the last time he ever saw her?

What if this was goodbye?

If you missed me then come back, Desdemona. Attention shifted away from the finely chiselled features of the calico, shifting to take in their surroundings. It smelt dank, here - not warm and earthy like home, but damp, like mildew. It was cold; there was nothing inviting about this place. This is no place for you. He sucked in a breath, brow heavy as he focused back on her. He would try it again; for her. Come back home. A pause. I love you. Expression grew slack, eyes pinched at the corners and jaw slacking. Soon it would be too much to bear. Fuck.

the finest fury is the most controlled

code by corvus

he did know her: from the tips of her ears to the rosettes splotched over her flank, there was no way possible that desdemona could deny him that. and she, herself, also knew him well enough. well enough to note the way his features pinched and the subtle shift in his posture. the lofty way his voice echoed out towards her, beckoning her forward with slow steps. if you missed me then come back, desdemona. it could have been considered cruel to use her admission against her, but the calico relents. this is no place for you. come back home. she's drawn towards him like a moth to a flame, the sun to the moon, a shadow beneath the peaks. simultaneously, she wants to turn her nose to him, to let the fear and doubt settled within her chest win over her fairer, softer feelings. i love you, she murmurs, nearly at the same time that magnus does.

her heart beats rapidly and the huntress works her lip between her fangs, blinking back the surprise. to hear it from his mouth is different, to watch the way he faces his own inner turmoil is damn near painful. desdemona still cares deeply for him, even in the midst of her struggles and seeks to close to the distance between them with a few nimble bounds. the huntress doesn't hesitate to press up on the tips of her toes, to press her forehead into the crook of @Magnus' shoulder if he would allow it. she feels her whiskers tickle at the dark of his pelt, she inhales the depth of his scent and croons there, a sound so delicate that she almost misses it herself. he was real, this was all so real. this had been what she wanted and now that it was hers, she juggles those three words around in her paws, holding them close but being pulled down beneath their weight.

no matter what has changed with magnus or the hollows, or even between them, she knows this feeling. i... she pauses as she presses a kiss to neck, voice wavering, i love you.

Perhaps his phrasing was manipulative, but Magnus had never pretended to be a good man; at least not intentionally. In a small way he felt as if he wanted to be better for her - it felt strange, and gnawed at him uncomfortably, conflicting with his usual demeanour and everything he'd been raised to be. Around her he was content, and though they'd spent months estranged from one another they had melded back together so easily. Renewed. It merely served to reinforce his position on their relationship. He felt ready for a second spouse, and he could not imagine it being anyone else but @Desdemona. She would nestle herself into the crook of his neck, soft vocalizing, and instinct burned in his gut and threatened to take over. It was only respect for Nadia - his wife, his Queen - that would hold fast his hips and his jaws. If this was to work - and Vellen help him, he wanted it to work, he needed it to work - he knew he'd have to be sensible. He would do things properly. Come back to Obsidian Hollow with me - we will speak with Nadia. Chin lifted in a bid to rest on the top of her head, just for a moment. And then he pulled back, seeking to look upon her face properly.

the finest fury is the most controlled

code by corvus