l. last night.

                                    

                                          
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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐒𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀'𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐑. Ever since Morrow left the sanctum, he's been distant. He vanished from every hall and room in the palace. Even when her creature swims down their bond to his wolf, she's found his aura caged off to her. It's clear he wants to be alone, unbothered by the weight of what horrors await for them.
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn leans against the doorframe to Morrow's room, humming a tune as he kicks the dirt from his boots. When he hears Elowen approaching, he lifts his hazel eyes.
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Why did he call us here if he's just going to lock the door?" Ronyn jeers.
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Maybe he's gone somewhere else." He could be far from the palace, flying away in the jetstreams to sort out his thoughts. If only she knew, but the alpha's closeted his mind with superb strength.
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Oh, he's in there," Ronyn cocks his head to the door. "You can hear his violin if you listen closely."
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She nears the door and presses her pointed ear against the wood, hearing the faint shrill of violin strings being skillfully strung by Morrow's bow. Elowen recognizes the tune immediately, as she recalls it in Morrow's memories of his past: Reovell's Requiem, a melody written by his mother on behalf of the wyng.
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen releases a sigh. "He'll open the door when he's ready."
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"That could be never," the beta shrugs and begins to pace the corridor. "Has he talked to you since this afternoon in the sanctum?"
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No. In fact, I can hardly reach him down our bond."
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He shouldn't be doing this," he mumbles, continuing his wandering. "We're about to go on the most insane trip, and he chooses now to become silent. I know Morrow, and I know he's cold, but we might not have another goddamn night after this one."
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A pang of guilt grows in the back of her throat, causing her to swallow and lose her words. The blight infections have surged so greatly in the last week that her journey to Pailon must be done now. She fears that if they wait much longer, there won't be were to return to in Tabrien, or fae in Yestrea. Hell knows what's happening beyond in Brecia, Scaerus, and Eshon. Her only wish is that she wouldn't have to take Morrow and his betas with her.
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎When she meets Ronyn's hazel irises once more, she's sorry that he's spiralling for a life that suddenly seems so limited.
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen reaches out, cupping the line of stubble on Ronyn's jaw. "This fight isn't over until it is." He presses his cheek to her palm in a nuzzle. "Until that time comes, if it ever does, we have to do what's right for the pack."
‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's not about the pack anymore, half-breed," he mumbles. "If we get rid of Rhimme, we've just saved all of Aelethia."