And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you.

Again, sleep did not cone easily for Quicksilver. Once more he allowed thoughts of Reiko and his never-ending heartache to overwhelm his mind and, despite exhaustion, he felt driven to roam. From his private, temporary resting spot the plateau where Ira and Hiero had wed only short weeks ago, the druid began to pick his way quietly and carefully down the mountainside.

He crossed the treeline and a watchful tawny owl followed his movements with wide yellow stare. From her perch among the conifers she shifted her weight, intrigued as she studied the dejected way in which the wolf hung his head. It was easy to see that he was troubled, tormented, for her sudden hoot roused not even a flick of a sterling ear in her direction.

Quicksilver carried on, down into Vanderfell's hunting grounds, and chose a fresh deer trail toward the flatlands. There were new cloven prints in the damp earth but he did not even notice them, too lost in woe to care much for whatever herd might've recently passed through.

He had to stop letting the hurt rule his life. He knew it, knew that the snowflower would never come for him with the taste of regret on her tongue. No, he doubted Reiko even thought much about him and how difficult it'd been to confess his feelings, or how it had tormented him long before he found the courage to say the words.

She was wicked, the silverwhite tried to tell himself, to make him feel this way, but he could not believe her to be so. Reiko was as pure as they came, of that he felt certain, and she did not deserve his frustration - something more appropriately channelled toward himself.

The rains came softly, a drizzle, and Quicksilver didn't give a damn. He carried on, silent through the darkness, and willed himself to think of something else. The first thing that came to mind was Izumi, lovely Izumi who'd been so kind to him, and he thought fondly of her recent effort to reach out to him. It was a favour he wished to return in the near future, but it hardly seemed appropriate to go rockibg up to Shiroshika's birders given the awkward circumstances. Quicksilver would need to find a way to make it up to her.

There was not much time to consider, however, as the silverwhite paused at the sound of rustling up ahead he pressed his velvet ears forward and listened, powder blue eyes searching until a spectacular beast stepped gracefully into view. A great white stag bowed his proud head to rub impressive antlers against the bark of a tree, and Quicksilver was instantly reminded of the creature who'd led him to safety through the blizzard.

“Are... are you...?” His voice, barely above a whisper, but heard. The deer turned an eye on the wolf, unafraid, before abandoning his scrape to fully regard him. Silence hung between them, nervously on Quicksilver's part, and he took an anxious step back.

...you must be pretty special for one to appear for you like that when you needed guidance...

The dove's voice in his head, clear as day, the memory vivid. Quicksilver swallowed the lump that swelled in his throat, and simply looked back as the grand white buck lifted his chin and huffed a breath. The druid said nothing more, but a sense of calm began to loosen the tension in his muscles. He did not believe himself to be special, not at all, but he did need guidance, so he bravely stepped forward.

There was no fury in the stag, not like the beast Hiero had chosen to present on the day of his wedding. No, this magnificent creature seemed almost inviting, encouraging, but Quicksilver didn't want to tempt fate. He kept some distance between himself and the pallid elk, and blinked up with eyes that were almost pleading.

And something unbelievable happened.

Confident, the Prince of forests strode toward him. Quicksilver averted his gaze at once, his heart in his mouth as he respectfully dipped his body closer to the ground, but the deer's stride was collected. It lowered its impressive crown and examined the platinum wolf, curious, before it withdrew and carried on its way.

Filavandrel, he thought he heard, a ghostly voice on the breeze. He exhaled heavily. That is your name.

The druid did not lift his eyes until the sound of the stag's footfall trailed in another direction, and with a flurry of emotion flooding his system he sank pitifully to his elbows and slumped onto his belly.

Filavandrel might mot have been who he was before - but it was who he would come to be.


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