I'm sending the raven

Foot fall after foot fall, the man moved onwards, pushing through the heavy foliage with a quiet purpose. A purpose without purpose, it seemed. He was simply moving, for he knew not what else to do — it was this or collapse into the dirt and sob, cry and shout until he could no more. He was suffering, suffering in silence for he would not, could not, utter a word to the companion he'd found himself with. He couldn't afford it, and he simply... did not want to. He had no more room for vulnerability.

He was cold as stone and his heart had grown calloused, unable to be penetrated. That was what he told himself, at least. But in the dark of the night when he was alone and left to nothing but his own thoughts, Vahaelarr broke down. His tears flooded down his dark cheeks and soaked into the frigid winter soil to be fed on by whatever lurked within the dirt.

He stepped into the passageway that led into the cavern he'd last seen Yvette at, where they had parted ways. They had agreed to meet back here once they were done with whatever they were doing, and now he'd returned to find her still missing. He was partly glad he wasn't the one to keep her waiting -- the man brushed through the glowing tendrils of growth that hung from the mossy walls, finding a soft patch of moss to settle upon while he waited.

for @Yvette

---

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The call back to their meeting point had been the sun setting over the hilltops. She had been busying herself with a makeshift bouquet of feathers that she had plucked from a dead crow. With her teeth, she'd pull them right from the winged creature and stick and weave them together. He'd like this, a silly thought that she had. But he had— Vahaelarr— kept her fed and well these past months.

She couldn't openly advertise her gratitude. He was far too prideful to know what she truly thought about him and his chivalrous actions. But he was also too brooding to admit the fact that he was looking out for her. Always looking over their shoulder wherever they went. While she did it too, never trusting him exactly, there was a layer of comfort that she couldn't ignore that had grown.

Yet she didn't think twice about it. Vahaelarr was a haunted man. And Yvette didn't dance with ghosts.

She made her way back to their cave, bouquet of crow feathers dangling from her jaw. By the heaviness of his scent, he had already been here. Damn it. She always tried to beat him back, but she always couldn't beat out the sun.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting," she said with a teasing tone, approaching him with a familiar pep in her step. She dropped the bouquet near his feet. "Feathers. Want me to dress you?"

---

stylist

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Crunching at the beginnings of the cave hinted at the approaching presence of Yvette, and shortly there after, her head was poking through the hanging vines that protected the cavern, followed by the length of her dark form. Vahaelarr was instinctively rising to his paws from where he'd been sitting, greeting the woman with a dip of his chiseled crown, his dark fur swishing softly in the currents of the bizarre breeze. He didn't know exactly where it came from, but it was there, filtering through the illuminated space. Clenched within her needle like teeth was a bundle of darkened feathers she'd woven together, and stand offishly the man watched, icy eyes glowering with something distant. 

“No, you didn't.” He replied quietly, voice hoarse from lack of use. He cleared his throat and lifted his head, mentally checking himself — with the changing seasons, Vahaelarr had grown different. But he still retained many of the mannerisms instilled in him from a royal upbringing, and that meant no slouching. He was nice enough to reassure the woman, offering a flash of his teeth, though it didn't linger long. “I only arrived minutes ago.”

She drew his attention downwards to the bundle of onyx feathers she'd gathered and then she had dropped them at his paws, and his gaze followed, his glassy stare bronzing across it. Still, his brain tried to piece together Yvette and what made her tick — when they had met, she'd tricked him into thinking there was a bear lingering within Velaris' hunting grounds just to steal his catch, and now, she had woven him a piece of decor. His brows knitted together but the man nodded, allowing his eyes to drift back upwards to the woman's golden eyes. “If you don't mind.” Vahaelarr would allow this, and he turned slowly, tail swishing behind his form and briefly brushing across her shoulder — and instinctively he yanked it away, setting atop it. 

Such close proximity with a woman that was not Gjalla felt wrong, but he couldn't deny the warmth of it. The way Yvette's breath lingered across his neck. The body grew lonely and selfishly he'd indulge in it. “So... what has inspired you to be so kind?” His tone was almost teasing as he relaxed. Vahaelarr's head turned to look back at the woman, icy blues settling onto her pretty face.

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Vahaelarr's chiseled form reflected and stared back at her own nimble, acrobatic physique. They were a stark contrast to one another. While he held all the brawn and gall, she held the agility and cunningness that would make up for a forlorn meal. Although, Yvette hasn't had a reason to be stealing food nowadays. Not when Vahaelarr insisted on hunting himself. And who was she to deny him such a...masculine pleasure?

His fur had began to turn darker as winter's approach quickened. What slate blues remained turned to a feeble shadowed glint of navy and blues. A shade that she had grown to enjoy, especially when it glimmered against the morning sun. It suited him— this new change. When she had met him, he was just a vulnerable prince in a Queen's shadow. But now...he was more than that. He will continue to be more than that if Yvette has any say on it.

Despite their presence becoming intertwined together for the past moons, he was still guarded. A shell of life that she could only think has been abandoned throughout. But she never questioned him. Never asked about what troubled him. She had no reason to bother him, to pester what was going through his head. If he wanted her to know so badly, she'd think that he'd outright tell her.

He sidestepped for her. Yvette dipped down to pluck some of the feathers from the bouquet and was careful about the way her own body twisted. She sat perpendicular to him, hunched over, as she nestled the first feather between his thick hyde around his neck. It fell nicely, layering with his newly darkened fur.

"I'm not starving, am I?" She thought it was obvious that this exchange was just of...mutual gratitude. She placed another feather in his neck. "Did you know your fur changed with the season?" The question was light, not invasive. It was merely a statement.

After another few feathers, she commented with a heaviness on her chest. "I like it." It was quiet. She almost hoped that he didn't hear the words slip from her delicate lips.

---

stylist

the staff team luvs u

She managed to pull a light, breathy chuckle from the son of a titan, his head pulling forwards once more. It was a deep seated chuckle that shook his shoulders, bringing his entire being to vibrate gently. “You shouldn't be.” He replied breathily, referring to the amount of hunting he'd been doing the past few days. It was not only a way to keep his mind on other things, more productive things, but it felt good to provide. To be given meaning when he felt as if he had none. 

He almost found himself leaning in closer, enjoying the gentle way in which Yvette delicately placed the feathers into his fur. Something new to replace the trademark braids of his homelands, a thought that drew his attention towards the clumped parts of fur that hung down the side of his neck fur. The braid that'd once been there had begun to unravel, slowly but surely, not yet to be replaced despite @Bran's incessant urging. 

His ears perked at her question and it was only then he found himself looking over himself, noticing the way his fur had darkened like the bleak atmosphere of the world around them. He was quiet for several pauses, opening his mouth to respond, only for it to snap shut when he caught what she whispered beneath her breath. He swallowed, blue eyes popping upwards from his fur and wildly looking around the room, searching for the words to fill the silence. “I, uh..” His throat was dry. He moved suddenly, bringing himself to turn towards the woman, brows sliding down closer above his brooding eyes. “I'm glad.” He spoke.

What are you doing. He snapped at himself. “You're done?” He suddenly asked, abruptly changing the topic and rising once more to his paws, moving towards the clear water that pooled from the waterfall that rushed inwards. The glow of the water peered upwards at him, casting him in a translucent glow, and he peered downwards at his reflection, eyeing the way the onyx feathers complimented his coat.

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Yvette never thought she could pull a chuckle from him. Her ears flattened at the sound. What was this feeling? She wanted to make him do it again, hear it again. The fuck? She didn't care. She shook her head lightly, placing the last of the few feathers remaining into the scruff of his lower neck.

His eyes were glowering down at her when he registered her compliment. Instead of lunging away from his space, she merely ducked beneath his chin and placed a feather on a side she couldn't reach. It was to ease herself from the tension that settled heavily in his eyes. She couldn't bear the look of melancholy that fell wherever he looked. He was so pained, but she didn't want to ask him about it.

"You sound speechless," she enjoyed poking fun at him. It made him bristle. She wondered if when he would frill with anger if the feathers he now carried in his coat, too would shoot up like a bird.

"Done." She backed away from him, giving him the space that he desired. She took a moment to admire her work of a mirage of feathers, the curve of his neck, the icy cut of his jawline. He looked...horrifying. A monster born from the shadowed ichor, with blood as black as the oil the monsters became. His fur had an iridescent gloss of roan blue that caught on the light shimmering from the moss entrance. Staring, plainly, she could only cover it up with her own touch.

"I outdo myself every time." She smiled, taking a light bow as if she were accepting an award. "I accept payment in the form of quails." A half-joke.

---

stylist

the staff team luvs u

A shadow against the cutthroat light that glittered against his rough silhouette. Vahaelarr watched quietly, seeking for answers in the rippling surface of his reflection, unmoved by the splatter of misty water that bombarded the front half of his presence. He listened to Yvette speak and yet he didn't register it, not fully, instead entranced by the blue, waxy glow of his own stare burning back up at him. When he looked at himself, he saw his father's face; where his cheekbones pulled high and broad, cut from the stone from where his lineage hailed, and the scruffy chin that'd begun to wisp out as he aged. Yet, his eyes... they spoke of something cold, something cunning. His mother's eyes stared back up at him and Vahaelarr swore that his breath caught in his throat. 

What he didn't know would hurt him, break him. 

He pulled his stare away finally and his head turned halfway, his dark profile cast with a blue glow. “You did.” He finally agreed, and slowly he began to turn fully around, until his squared stance was facing the woman and his brooding stare was beating down the length of his snout, pinning icy eyes onto her. “Thank you, Yvette.” He sounded genuine, for the first time, he sounded appreciative. She did not have to go out of her way to give him something, to decorate his fur in the feathers of his namesake. “I will return the favor.” He nodded then and began to move past her, the thick fur that ringed his neck shaking softly, feathers swishing languidly with each motion of his large frame. 

He was silent then, resuming the brooding that'd become his new normal. 

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Yvette shouldn't have felt a heat when he agreed with her statement. Typically he'd brush it off with a grunt, a curt nod of his head for the amount of times that she'd change out his feathers. But this time was different. He openly agreed with her. Her of all creatures.

And then he had the nerve to sound grateful towards her. Shocked, her eyebrow curved upward, stunned. Her mouth hung open and for such a long time that flies could be caught with such a trap. Who was this man and what happened to his unruly edge of a personality? Where was the cold, dead crow that she stole food from?

"I don't like to ask..." it was true, Yvette never took part in asking about Vahaelarr's life. That's not what this...relationship was about. It barely hung on to the thread of symbiotic. "Or know how but...y'know, is everything...okay? You've never once thanked me."

The feathers were just a gesture. A way of showing her appreciation without actually having to say thank you. And now that Vahaelarr actually spoke the words of his gratitude, it felt like something had changed. Something alleviated in what they shared with one another. "They're just feathers, aren't they?"

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He paused in his tracks, the sudden abruptness in the way he stopped causing a rush of breeze to shake the foliage that covered the floor and the stone walls. His breathing was soft and yet heavy all the same, coming and going with the rise and fall of his heavy shoulders of burdens and his thick, low set chest. She had never, not once, asked him how he was in their moons of travel together. 

Their relationship had never transcended one of give and take. It was simply transactional, and yet, something shattered in that very moment. Or thawed, he couldn't figure it out. A layer of ice that'd forever been present between the two shadows came shattering into a million pieces, and slowly, the man turned. He could not decide whether to lie, or to confide in her. 

“Feathers, yes.” His words came with the slow nod of his head, but he didn't believe what he said. They were so much more than feathers now — at the beginning, yes. But no longer. The feathers were only the beginning of something larger, something bigger — something that felt treasonous and filled his soul with a crippling guilt. But that was what Vahaelarr was, right? A traitor. 

“Everything is not okay.” He confessed it, but he left it there, eyes filling with a stone coldness that he refused to let go of now. “But it's nothing to worry yourself with.” He meant that. Vahaelarr peeked out into the furling wilderness and wild growth, noting the way the sun had officially disappeared, leaving nothing but darkness. 

“It's late. I am going to turn in.” He swallowed and began his slow, shrunken walk towards the bedding he'd made for himself in a patch of thick clovers. “Goodnight, Yvette.”

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Everything is not okay.

Shit. Now was she supposed to ask more? Yvette wasn't equipped or ready to handle the burdens that plagued him. It wasn't her responsibility to do so, either. They were just partners out in these woods. A simple give and take. Yvette had no desire to change that— didn't she?

But he turned her down. Off the sake of worrying of his emotional state. Alright then. She wouldn't fight against his wishes. His eyes were made of ice, cold and unforgiving as he spoke. A familiar chill ran down her spine as she looked at him. She was getting frostbitten so she looked away.

When he, too, turned away she swallowed the tension in her throat. There was only one word she could grant him in admission that this conversation was over with. That she wouldn't bother ever asking him again. Because why would she? Yvette didn't actually have a care in the world for him. He brought her food and that was that. There wasn't anything else to them.

"Goodnight." But it wasn't a goodnight at all. Yvette couldn't sleep— tossing and turning, writhing on her bed of moss and clovers makeshift from the soft pads of her feet. When sleep found her, the only nightmare she had was of a cold blizzard and a bloodthirsty crow.

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