I can't forgive, you can't forget.

“Fuck this shit,” she muttered under her breath just as she delivered a swift kick to a thick chunk of a withered old tree branch. Days had passed since her spat with Célnes and still the fire hadn't died down, still her temper simmered.

Her time among the wolves of Elkshire had been short, and it was bothersome to realise that it would likely be made briefer by recent discoveries.

No matter what the Queen might say, Tavra couldn't shake the knowledge of what the Déorwine thought of her. To bear white furs made her a sinner, apparently, yet foolishly she'd let herself believe that she might've found a place to belong. It incensed her that she'd spent her whole life being picked apart and judged by her own mother, never being able to live up to impossible expectations, only to feel that her new leader acted in much the same manner.

As night crept in, the young Mayfair trailed her way through the woods with no real destination in mind, just knowing that she had to get the hell away from these deer-worshippers long enough to figure out her own plan of action.


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 The soldier moved slowly through the Royal Wisterian Woodland, her beau beside her. She had explained the boy to him and was letting him mull over it for a bit. After all, the child wasn't theirs but she had agreed to care for him, make sure he was doing well. A child so young could not survive on their own and Celnes had seemed fairly insistent that the child have a specific caretaker and that she, being the one to bring him in, was to be responsible for his feeding, care, and the like.

 Right now, the child was with Rosemary.

 After all, they all had a lot to think about.

 Up ahead, a noise caught her ear and she twisted her head, noticing the small Bearbuck, Tavra, moving through the woodland. “Ho, Tavra!” she called, waving her tails in a slow greeting. She wondered what the girl was doing out here and why she looked so pissed. Though, she guessed, that wasn't all too surprising. When she'd met the girl before, she'd been pissy as they came. Time would tell if she'd calm down, Meissa supposed. In the meantime, she figured there was nothing wrong with being cordial.

 Even if her jealousy still might blossom.

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---

His steps were gentle, his head was weak—hanging close to the comfort of his lover and longing for the release of sleep. A suggestion had flocked from his posied maw as the two rested side-by-side in their dimly lit home, the idea that mayhaps an evening stroll would ease the pinging of confusion that flooded him. Meissa, as generous as she was, happily agreed with his gruff rambles, and it wasn't long before their bodies emerged into the inky blackness of night.

They'd discussed bits and scraps of what was to come; all thoughts and possibilities, nothing set in stone. Though there was a familiar cry that rested between his bosom, a longing for something better. Not simply for him, but for his beloved, their friends, their future children. What were they to do if... If their offspring bore white? Would they be exiled? Killed?

A distant rumble left him, mind pondering on this and that all as his darling opened her muzzle in that sing-song way she always did. it was Tavra, the pretty little lass. Looking angry as usual. It brought a soft smile to his lips.

“Tavra... What might have gotten you in such a mood? Are you alright?”

—

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Her name sounded on the tongue of another, and Tavra abruptly stopped her stomping to shoot the loud-mouth a sharp stare. Copper eyes narrowed dangerously beneath a furrowed brow - what'd you just call me!? - at Meissa and Flynn, the former of whom had so callously... called her a hoe!?

She fumed, an automatic response, and was on the verge of yelling some awful obscenities in return when Flynn parted his jaws to ask after her. Tavra's features contorted between expressions of rage, of confusion, of hurt, before at last she defensively spat, “this place, and these deer-worshippers, can kiss my ass!”


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 Meissa looked back, confused and alarmed. Did she say something wrong? She almost repeated it, almost extended the shortened greeting, but instead Flynn was talking and she peered at him, nodding agreement towards his question.

 And then Tavra responded and Meissa considered it, looking back to Flynn.

 “...Agreed,” she said with a shrug, looking back at the attack chihuahua. “Not the best group of bigots, hm?” Chaos had fallen lately. While Meissa herself had been rather content to do her job and pay close attention to the children, so darling as they were before they could speak or hear their mother's lies, she knew Flynn had become quite unhappy with everything here.

 Perhaps the soldier was a coward, perhaps she just needed the right push.

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---

Oh dear, feisty as ever, wasn't she? It was the change in emotion he needed, the very spark of animosity mixed with refusal he needed to see. Not many had spoken up about the issues surrounding their home, if... That was what he could call it. Truthfully, there wasn't much of it left other than the tiny hole in the ground where they slept at night. It seemed they hadn't been leaving it for very long, either, and both of them knew why.

Flynn especially.

But Tavra was no vicious chihuahua, okay, maybe to some. He preferred to view her as a pompous, overly-fluffed pomerianin. Oh, but no matter with that! She was upset about their situation, which was enough for him to agree regardless of her outcry.

“Now, now... Keep your voice down, you know the Queen has eyes everywhere!” Oh, but who exactly were the eyes if not them? He chuckled, shaking his head like the fool he was. “Hm... I want to apologize for everyone's suffering under this discrimination, I wish there was something that could be done.” Thoughtful eyes slowly turned affectionate, landing on his lover and then back to the little steaming teapot. “Sometimes I dream of leaving, ya know? But things are never that easy.”

—

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The words came easily, without hesitation, for she'd thought sourly of the deer-fearing ways of Déorwine since first she crossed paths with their Queen. So long had the hot-tempered Tavra longed to spit them, to yell them for all the world to hear, and she supposed it was Elkshire's impressive numbers that'd kept her mouth shut. If she were to insult them all to their faces, she knew she wouldn't stand a chance.

To say it aloud to Meissa and Flynn, however, eas easy. They bore the same "tainted" alabaster as she did, that which apparently made them of lesser value, though she continued to eye them with quiet suspicion as a beat of silence hung heavy between them.

They were Célnes' royal arse kissers, after all. They may have been willing to submit to a leader who automatically thought less of them fir something outwith their control, but Katavra Mayfair was not. She could not. Not again.

Her taut brow softened a little when Big Ugly rumbled her response. She'd begun to prepare herself to flee should the pair have taken offence to what she'd so boldly said of their pack, so she was surprised when they responded in... agreement?

“It is easy,” Tavra countered, “you just leave. You get your shit together, and you leave.”

Tavra had left her own family without word, though she'd complained often enough that they were sure to suspect that her departure was inevitable. It'd been tougher then, to leave her father and Brea behind, but she had regretted nothing.

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 She'd toyed with the idea a mere month ago when she had met with one of the Nightwalkers during one of her patrols. Her tongue had been loose, chattering and jibing about the Elkshire religion. She hadn't been sure at the time why she had done it, this heresy that could have been considered treason if the wrong wolves heard of it. Perhaps it had finally been the fact that someone else was agreeing with the words in her heart, that this land's beliefs were frankly....

 Fucking ridiculous.

 It wasn't that she didn't believe Celnes had a reason to dislike the wolves she did, for certain Meissa had similar distaste towards some that looked similar, but the fact that this contempt fell not only on those wolves who had shown some affinity for so called "sin," but also children. The queen herself had shown horror at the fact that her children bore mere smears of white while Meissa herself wore a cloak of the color openly across her spine.

 She had received the queen's previous blessing for her want for children, yet she doubted it still stood.

 Not now.

 Tavra spoke of ease and Meissa raised a brow, looking at Flynn knowingly. “I believe our ties to this land are thinning,” she mused, her voice lowered as he had suggested, though at this point what had been said was ringing far truer than any other words spoken openly in this court. It was Flynn who had the ties here, his love for his cousin keeping him muzzled even as Meissa's own fears had kept her stilled. Until, of course, they found one another - their heretical musings bolstering their growing confidences. “Would any but the devout condemn us for leaving on principle?”

 While Tavra had no ties here and Flynn's were familial, Meissa's ties were two: Flynn and the young boy she had taken in, Archon. There were friends she had begun to foster, Remus and perhaps even Rosemary, but were those true? Remus had nothing to lose by believing in a god that condemned those of white, for he had none. Rosemary, she was surprised by his acquittal - and then a thought struck her.

 The man was blind. Did he know? Surely someone had told him, but she had heard no such lies drip from his lips in the times she had spoken with him.

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---

“Oh, me,” There was a tiny little speck of him that believed at a later date, a different realm, even, that his heart would have swooned for Tavra. She echoed an old memory of his with every note that left her maw; one that reminded him of the younger days when all he had to worry about was whether or not the golden glow would illuminate the sky.

But that wasn't now, was it? Nac oes, no. He liked to think he'd taken a slightly less chaotic route when he ended up with Meissa, while also being certain she had a tad bit of spitfire buried in her soul. “I do not stand oblivious to our receding tides here. The waves have sunken in and any day now I'm expecting a hurricane.” Albeit, no amount of cracking flames would stand strong here. When would it swallow them up, was the question? Or would bright eyes all but swallow them in their rejection? His crown weighed heavy in his chest, mossy hues latching to his feet. “While I understand, I... Once thought I could take it back, for myself.”

A swallow caught itself in his throat, the heavy bob of his shoulders showing he was more than nervous about his choice of words. “As a royal... Of sorts.” He spoke not of the finer details, leaving them to ponder exactly what he meant. They wouldn't be getting it out of him, not today. “But I see that's all but wash-water, now... What would we do? Where would we begin? I have not the slightest idea where we would go or what to say to those we'd leave behind.” Speaking for the people that felt similarly, that was.

—

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She was lucky to be without any real connection to the others in Elkshire. It was one of her defense mechanisms, she supposed: to put up her guard, stop anyone from breaching. Even her relationship with Meissa and Flynn had started off awkwardly, but at least with them she had some common ground.

The wildfire raged in Tavra's eyes, for in the days since she'd challenged Célnes' attitude toward those who carried pale furs she'd been half expecting the guard to track her down and throw her bodily into the wilds. She could've slipped away into the night as she'd done before, vanish into the unknown and leave them wondering, but there was no satisfaction in that. No, Tavra fancied she'd have gone out kicking and screaming, telling them exactly what she thought of them, spitting in a few faces - give them something to remember that they'd pissed off the wrong she-wolf.

This, however, this came as a surprise, and her confidence was bolstered in knowing she was not alone in her feelings. There the three of them stood, stricken by the judgement of the leader they'd pledged to, together knowing they'd be doomed should they stay. Never in a million years would Tavra have thought to find herself in such a position where she plotted exodus with anyone beyond herself.

“Sometimes,” she announced when Meissa and Flynn fell silent in their discussion, and her sharp gaze flitted between each if them, “you need to jump before you're pushed.” Her attention lingered on the blonde-furred... Prince? Whatever he was to Célnes, whatever he claimed to be, it didn't matter. It was obvious that his association with these deer-fearing morons was approaching an end, “let these idiots think whatever they like. They'll miss us before we miss them. We can just go, figure it out along the way.”

She'd done it before and managed just fine on her own, at least until Elkshire, and she could do it again- stronger this time, with the support of others.

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 The soldier inhaled a sigh, nodding in agreement to his assessment of the situation. With everything she'd heard from Flynn about what was going on, plus the fact that both Elkshire and Nightwalkers wanted to claim the Temperate as a whole - words out of the ally warlord's son's mouth, it wasn't safe here.

 Not for them.

 She recalled hearing Flynn's nickname, the Prince of Deer. How piteous that the queen call him that while besmirching his name. She was caught up in it by coincidence - had Flynn and she not shared a romantic connection, would she be here alongside him for this? Would she take the side of the queen? She regretted leaving the children for Remus to guard as the sole Royal Guard remaining, if there even was to be a Royal Guard again.

 She agreed with a rumble to what was said by both accursed wolves.

 “It can't be here in this forest,” she said, referring to the question of where. “There is no chance that your cousin would allow us to stay so close - not to mention the ambition of both herself and her brood's sire. I met a son of his at the border and he said that Vengeance wants the Temperate as a whole.” She shook out her pelt. “It's not wise to stay anywhere either pack might extend their reach.”

 Her claws scratched against the ground thoughtfully, then she looked at Flynn. “We need to bring the boy, Archon. I'm not leaving him here to be fed lies, he's too young.” Not to mention, she wondered if the queen would even let him stay, having been taken in by Meissa with the expectation that the woman would raise him, feed him, and all the rest.

 “If we shall go, let's make it quick. Grab what we need and go.” She knew he would mourn the gems and trinkets in his den but they could always find more. An exhale from her nostrils reminded her that she had something that could serve as his first trinket, wherever they ended up.

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---

As soon as words left her troubled lips, a smile glittered with determination emerged upon his own. She was right. Entirely and utterly correct. Why stay and mingle with the hand that beats you? Why sit and play the ignorant little prince he had been for what was it? Two? Three years now? He'd already made his bed with the vile words that were spat in the direction of his, no, no, the Queen. No longer his, no longer worthy of such a calling!

In his moment of inspiration, a thought sprung to his forefront. Of a land, one abandoned by most and loved by little. An area vast and wide, abundant with rolling hills, soft grasses, and flocks of prey for miles around. Nobody had wanted the land, as they couldn't see the value it held. “I know where we can go.” But he had. “I know exactly how to get there, too.” And soon it would be theirs.

“We'll leave by daybreak, to the plains.”Yes, yes, that's exactly what they'd do. He'd give everyone time to gather their things and say their goodbyes if there were any to be had. “I... I hope we can do this.” Standing, he would nod his farewell to Tavra, a small glint of appreciation in his eyes. “No, we will do this.”

As soon as they'd gathered, his show-horse ass was trotting off towards home.

“And uh... You're welcome to stay with us for the night... If you want.”

(exit!)

—

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Ah, so he was her cousin. Tavra would never have guessed. There was no resemblance that she could see, even as she stood there and scrutinised the contours of his face. Even his eyes were different! No, the young Mayfair concluded, lifting her chin defiantly as Meissa spoke of a son of some guy called Vengeance, and at once she was reminded of the big asshole she'd intercepted in the range.

Almight. That'd been his name. She'd managed to weed his pack's location out of him and he'd mentioned how his father stood at its helm - was that who Meissa talked of? The wolves of the reach were allied to Elkshire, apparently, but after crossing paths with Almight she had been swift to conclude that they were all awful.

The alabaster tip of Tavra's fox tail curled as a triumphant smile tugged the corner of her mouth upward. It pleased her greatly that they were both on board with the idea of getting the hell out of dodge before shit could hit the fan, but there were some final matters needing dealt with. “No thanks,” the little firecracker answered when Flynn offered their company for the night, “I've been to the plains and I know the way, so I'll go on ahead.”

Flynn made haste from the scene and with Meissa sure to follow him, Tavra swung in the opposite direction. She barked her farewell and loped away through the wisteria, her tail flagging and an undeniable confidence in her stride.


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 Meissa felt slightly guilty about speaking so brashly in front of Flynn. She knew he was still in pain, still worried. After all, this was his family they were talking about leaving. While she and Tavra had no true connections here, for Flynn she knew it had to be like peeling the skin from his very bones. A part of him was being sent away - but what more was there to do? Celnes had all but said the pair together weren't to be trusted and Meissa was not about to abandon Flynn simply to try to claim back a rank withdrawn.

 She was not that kind of woman.

 “The plains...” she whispered thoughtfully. She recalled his mentions of deserts before and she wondered if this was in the same direction - opposite the sea. Perhaps south or north? She had never left the Temperate and wondered what was beyond.

 An offer given - along with a glance from Meissa towards the man - but rejected in lieu of heading out. “I'll go get Archon from Rosemary,” she called after Flynn, then turned to Tavra before she left. “Safe travels - we'll see you soon!”

 And thus, the three musketeers separated, each going different directions though the future led them the same.

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