Ψ · Drive right off of the world

 How odd, this place.

 Moss spread out, grass and stones rolling as the hills grew taller, reminding the woman of mountains.

 Had she ever seen mountains up close? Well, besides those in the temperate. What she meant by mountains was the type that consumed. It filled, covered, swallowed one up. Had she seen those... or had she just dreamed them? She could see them now, in the distance, and she wondered what might lie beyond. Home was to the south and she could not stray far, but paws itched to move and draw her from her shelter.

 So those very paws carried her along, shadows dragging long across the hills. She watched them, these shadows. Saw them shift and grow, even as they slowly faded as the sun collected itself behind those very mountains she wondered about.

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His silhouette fractured upon cold stones, quiet shadow mirrored on the sullen wind that blew soft grasses. Meissa was awake, thus so was he. Try as he might to give her the space she needed to grow, it was simply the growing itself that kept him closer. Mayhaps a fool, but not a dimwit. Not a lowly man that let his to-be roam northbound under faded light.

He'd climbed these mounts before, traveled the lands in which her weighted feet pressed on. Now, with an injury, he staggered slowly behind, hidden (at least the best he could) behind tall obelisks.

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 His smell drifted to her and she sighed deeply, inhaling it and taking it into her very core before slowly letting it out. It wasn't her normal sigh, the one of disappointment or trying-to-calm-herself-down. No, not at all. She turned, followed her nose, and after some time, found him alone and staggering.

 She came to him wordlessly, pressing her nose into his neck.

 Breathed him in.

 Sometimes she just needed to de-stress. He did too, she knew. It was all-consuming sometimes and she hated it, hated its presence and how it could twist and shake those she loved and herself also. Did he worry, as she did, for their future? The woman, always wracked with anxiety, always fearsome. Perhaps that fear was what had caused her to grow, to exercise herself and build herself into something that could defend itself. Even now, as vulnerable as she was, she could not let herself rest.

 If he would allow, she would dip her head and lap at his shoulders, washing his back and the nape of his neck. “I found a stone I wanted to bring to you,” she said softly. “A crow stole it.” Another soft sigh, this one of disappointment, as she turned to peer at his stoic face and then onwards to the shadows that surrounded them. “Have you been this far north before?”

 Further still?

 Did his wanderings take him into those mountains, into the chill she could feel whispering from further north?

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He found himself seated in his own disgruntled agony, keen currents holding gentle authority upon swaying curls. There had been no want or need to express his low comfort, though blood trickled onward the pain was numbed by a curiosity that rivaled his possessiveness. The man was bitter with his lover, at her ability to be so careless as to roam without her safety in mind. The oaf did ponder exactly where she'd gotten it from, and who in her life did similar matters... Hm... Whoever could it be?

“Meissa,” She approached, damp nose touching warm-blooded skin. He sat in wonder if she could sense his alarm, the discontentment she'd poured on him. He knew of her excitement that translated from boredom, she longed to stretch her bones across lands and to breath in air not tainted by those around her... Perhaps she merely wanted out of his sights. Albeit, she brought a soft smile to his quickly fading expression, mentioning rocks and gems and birds. If it hadn't been sundown and she had not been miles from home, his tone would have been different. For now, he pushed such things to the back of his mind to educate her on his findings.

“Hm... Yes,  I have. There are mountain lions here.”

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 She did.

 She smelled the anxiety on him, a sharp tang that dug into her like thorns. Her tail hung low and her ears also, guilty. Her eyes fluttered to the rocks in the distance, those that rose far beyond what she could reach before night fell. Would she have turned to them, had Flynn not been here? Would she had explored and returned the next morning, ignorant of the damage she had done? Would she have made a den here, hidden away, to rest the night in her own silence?

 What was it? Ignorance, naivety, foolishness?

 She knew better than any other that she was a fool.

 He spoke of mountain lions and she shuddered, remembering the end that Solomon had spoken of. Her eyes flashed across the Rest, wondering how far one might be. She hadn't heard their cries, the noises of horror they made at night, but it did not mean they were not near. “I didn't mean to wander so far nor so late,” she admitted after a long moment. “Are you alright?” she said, indicating to his leg but already knowing the answer to that as well as how he was doing otherwise.

 She had done him a disservice and she was unsure of how to make amends.

 Would he be able to make the trek back or would they need to find a safe spot to wait out the night? She scratched at the ground as she finished surveying their surroundings and returned her gaze to his.

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“I'm fine, slight limp, nothing more.” A just retort, providing only the information he thought suited his emotions. The young king wasn't here because he wanted to be, nor had he gotten injured because he wanted to. Both answers revolved around the woman who now stood before him, a visage of embarrassment and guilt plastered on her face as thick as she was wide. Despite his unwavering disposition, he found no desire to stay out in the open any longer, pulling himself up on shaky limbs to stumble leftward for a split second.

He'd done enough with his honest manner, blinking slowly softening optics at her with a short, deep sigh. She spoke of not knowing, but even his less-than-capable mindset could he tell when the scents of home faded, along with the sun. However, he said nothing of it, giving a low wag of his tail before turning to leave her to it. Flynn, after all, had learned his lesson the last time he'd attempted to control her, he wished not to get yelled at again.

“Please, the next time yew go out, wake me if yew must... I just want tew know where ya going.” Speaking over his shoulder, shuffling off into the distance.

(exit.)

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 When he rose, she shifted after him to try to assist with his stumble, then shied away. He was upset, it was as clear as day, and she knew she had been the one and only cause - even if he did not state it directly. Her eyes searched his and found them at first unyielding - until they began to soften ever so slightly. Desperate, clawing hope grew in her heart at this though she knew with every word she spoke she was probably doing more harm than good.

 So... what could she do?

 Should she say nothing and hope to the Heavens above that he forgive her? Should she speak, beg forgiveness, trail after him like the lovesick pup she was? “I'm sorry,” she said, the only words that grasped from her throat. Not nearly enough... but what would be? What could be?

 Meissa followed, silent in her despair.

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