[ ✸ ] A fynno glod, bid farw.

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Flynn had never been dismayed by heights. No. Verily, burgeoning eyes fondled the possibility of scaling summits once, twice, then boundlessly. He craved the emotion of hysteria—to feel without being felt. Yes, he quite enjoyed the view from his sky-light castle. It was the dread of watching it crumble down that shook him the most.

A negligent heart tapped wildly in his restless slumber, misty-lashed optics splayed open at the darkness that hung its head atop their door. He spoke of "their" as if alluding to his woman, to his soon-to-be bride. But she wasn't there. Or, alternatively, he hadn't been.

He ventured out, leaving the envelopment of his beloved cold and dank from foreign moister, backside slacked with sweat and urine. He hadn't been a cad about it, as atop his pale back rested the sodden pelt he'd soiled, tossing it outside—burying it—returning home.

Though, not entirely.

Troubled limbs lead him elsewhere, seeking comfort away from the blaspheme Bilby had smeared throughout his home. Her very presence sent him into fits of panic, frantic terrors that kept his mind both dull and yet so wide awake. Despite the mounting anxiety that tugged at his lungs he wouldn't have it any other way. Couldn't have it any other way.

The young King was ambushed in his own self-made paradise. Lacking the intrepidity to end his suffering by ending hers. While a banishment was another call, he knew now her plans to ruin his home life, the lives of his people, Meissa, of their unborn children. A vile woman, a woman he once loved. So bold of her to threaten him, yet she knew she could.

In his stress had he wandered out, seeking the comfort of sleep elsewhere as to not disturb his pregnant fiancée. Flynnigan curled up, hind legs clasped tightly near his muzzle. He shut his eyes in the shadow of a craning rock, sheltered by the blackness of the moonless sky.

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 For Meissa, who had grown used to the warmth of a body beside her after so long without, it did not take long to wake in its absence. She lifted her head, turned it, listened. Smelled for him, for the bitch who she knew was probably stalking their den. Rose atop groggy legs, shook out the sleep from her head as she stumbled towards the exit. Stood there for a moment, trying to make sense of her senses.

 His scent did not move inwards, towards the captive.

 Instead, it led outwards, onto the fields. She hesitated, unsure whether she should follow, but a nagging instinct told her that she must. So, onwards she marched, following his odor and spraying her own every so often. As her pregnancy continued, she was growing even more clingy than she had been before. He was her husband, or he would be soon enough, and so she felt the need to ensure his safety and protection at all times. To ensure that nobody else wiggled in and tore apart their family, as the captive was trying to do.

 She did not wish to think her name, nor utter it from her mouth. The thought to do such a thing left bile sapping her tongue, nausea growing and compounded by her condition. She hissed out hot air as she walked, pausing once to spit some saliva onto the ground that could not help but grow within her mouth.

 Then, finally, she saw him. Nestled alone with the rocks. She observed him quietly for a moment before approaching - and stopping.

 She stood a wolf-length from where the man lay, uncertain of approach. Did he wish to be alone? To clear his head, perhaps? She sat, offered a gentle boof, and turned her gaze skywards. It was up to him whether he would send her away or would call for her to come to him. What she had to let him know was that she was here - she was his comfort, if he desired any.

 She would be, so long as they both drew breath.

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 She remained silent, leaving the reins in his hands - er, paws - to speak what he wished to. She did not probe, did not demand answers, simply listened. Waited, as the silence stretched on, until finally he filled it. Her breathing shuddered, anger curling her ears back at the thought of that woman doing this to her man. Still, she did not speak, only pressed her nose into his fur and breathed.

 Let him know she was there for him.

 He went on and she blinked. “It?” she asked softly, already knowing the answer before the words left her lips but needing to know anyways. She... needed to know it all, so she did not assume incorrectly. He peeled back, apologizing, and she pressed her nose into his cheek. “There's nothing to apologize for,” she said, kissing his tears before he pulled away again. She sighed, lowered her face, did not press into him but allowed him to feel her exhales on his fur, an invitation.

 “You did nothing wrong.” She fell silent again, letting him speak more if he so wished - or letting him fall silent if he just needed to think.

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