Fern lingered in the court dens, a stone's throw away from the alcove that was Elder Creeping Bramble's personal den. He shifted his weight on his paws, adjusting the heavy cloak that wrapped his shoulders. The white fur that made its collar was warm and comforting around his shoulders, and he glanced down to the pale blue forget-me-nots that he had decoratively tucked in to both the cloak and the bronze circlet around his head.

He still wasn't quite sure how he had managed to convince Bramble to accompany him to the feast. Perhaps the celebratory mood had warmed her a little. Still, he wasn't going to let his guard down.

A wry smile crept onto his features. It was a feast. A time for festivities. Sure, there were rogues about and... he wasn't quite sure how Bramble would feel about it, but hey. This was a happy time, right?

Felyn
It was growing harder to traipse the fine line between panic and pride. Today was a day of celebrating, of joy and relief, and yet as she stood just inside her den, plucking nervously at the length of gleaming teal fabric fashioned around her neck into a cowl, she didn't feel the same elation that normally preceded these events. The scent of lavender drifted down from the wildflower circlet settled against her forehead and she drew a deep, slow breath down into her lungs.

"It's a celebration," she whispered to herself, "there's no danger, no trolls, no-"

No Glen.

Bramble was practiced at pushing down her feelings and, somewhat calmed if also carrying her burdens heavily with her, she stepped out of her den and greeted the world with a - well, not a smile but it wasn't a scowl at least. Then she turned and for just a moment, the briefest glimmer of misplaced hope, she saw Glen standing there, waiting, wearing the cloak that he had always claimed made him looked like he belonged at her side. Her heart faltered.
It wasn't Glen, though. It couldn't ever be Glen.

Her mind caught up to her heart and she almost choked on the breath that she had failed to exhale. Every carefully composed inch of her face crumbled in a breath and for a moment she very much thought she was going to lose her composure right there, in front of Fern. All of her emotions teamed beneath the surface and it took longer than she wanted to admit for her to pull herself back together and place all the little pieces where they belonged.
"You, you look good."

Again, that not-quite-smile pulled her jaw into place and she took the brave steps it required to bring her up next to Fern's side. Even if he wasn't the one wolf that she missed more than any in the world at least he was the one wolf that made her still feel like she was herself.

"I didn't know that you had that."


'I didn't know you had that.'

Oh. Oh. This was a bad idea.

Fern shifted his weight again, adjusting the cloak as if it had gained a sudden and considerable amount of weight. It was a mistake. He had thought wearing Moss's cloak might mean he wasn't forgotten. Might have kept a bit of him around. Might have lent him perhaps an ounce of strength. Fern had put a fair bit of thought into the getup. He had thought long and hard about how to accessorize, deciding finally to string a number of the pale blue forget-me-nots into his outfit for good measure.

Clearly, he hadn't thought enough. Why couldn't he ever get this right? Try as he might, there was always something that he overlooked. Some spot that he mis-stepped.

Her reaction felt like fangs in his chest and Fern did his best to give a wry, albeit pained, smile.

"Thanks," he replied after swallowing the anguish. After burying it deep in his stomach. "So do you. Presentable, even. Just need a finishing touch…" his voice trailed off as he looked around, then picked up a woven string of small blue flowers that matched his own. The wolf held the circlet delicately in his teeth before reaching over and placing it on her head. It landed a bit lopsided, but he thought it looked dashing regardless.

"There," he said, his voice low so only she could hear. "Now you look…" These words Fern spoke quietly in the soft and secret Elven language. His voice trailed off as he looked her over pointedly. Then, in the common tongue, he finished with "Sufficient!"

Fern concluded with a teasing laugh and a bump of the hip. He didn’t acknowledge her pointing out Moss's cloak. This wasn't the time for sad moping, after all. There was a party to get to!

Felyn
The awkward moment roared its ugly head and in the space between her words and his, she felt her heart thudding like a trapped bird against her rib cage. These moments were few and far between, these strange points of time when Glen hung over them both like a ghost, and all Bramble could do was hold her breath and hope that Fern was stronger than she was.

He always was.

The teasing compliments broke her control and drew her up quickly from the pit of despair nipping at her heels. It was enough that her forced smile split into an amused scoff and finally petered into a laugh.

“You’re one to talk,” she snipped, even as she saw him grabbing the crown in his teeth. She dipped her head to help him, despite feigning irritation, and couldn’t hide the true, relieved smile on her face once the scent of forget me nots mingled with the lavender circlet she had tucked above her ears.

For the first time in a very long time she actually felt calm, whether it was the flowers or Fern himself. Maybe both.

Her bright eyes met his as he spoke gently in their native tongue. She found herself hanging on the words, expectant, until he ruined it with a flat compliment and a bump of her hip. She wavered gently on her paws before turning her nose up at him and stepping ahead of him. Her tail batted none-to-gently against his mug as she passed.

“Sufficient? Tch,” her common tongue melted into their shared, Elven one, “I will be the talk of the festival.”

And just like that, her pride was firmly in place and her despair was forgotten.


As Bramble seemed to brighten, Fern's did the same. There was a sudden feeling of weight lifting off of Fern's chest and, as the elder she-wolf spoke, he found himself just... just watching her for a moment. In the moment things felt warm and hopeful.

"Oh I imagine so." It should just be this easy though, right? All the complicated stuff, it was all in the past. They should be able to just move on.

He should just be able to say it. Just say how he felt. How she made him feel.

Fern opened his mouth to speak. They should just be able to ride this little wave of happiness and live their lives.

And then he thought of Moss. He thought of the night when he died. Of they way they cried into each other's fur until daybreak. Then he thought of the time before. Of Moss and Bramble together, for as long as he could remember.

His smile became wry. "We'd better get going, hm? Can't let the 'talk of the festival' arrive late."

If only it were that easy.