[Zach]

It felt different, this forest.

He didn't know what he was doing out here, wandering its broad depths, the air chilled and the sunlight waning. Something unknown had gripped hold of him, he remembered. It had held him tight one morning without letting go, nearly stealing his breath from him, urging him on, urging him forward. Urging him away before he'd even realized it. And now that same thing had led him here.

Here, in the middle of nowhere.

The cold wind buffeted against his golden coat, blowing his long hair back as he walked with silent footfalls through the vast expanse of green, the black scarf around his neck fluttering with each rhythmic movement. It carried the scent of ash and salt and something else on it, something valued, something good.

Something that he could tell, with each longing, savouring breath, was on the brink of fading into a place he could never hope to reach.

He continued to walk for some time, his path wide, directionless, until his wandering eventually brought him to a clearing, where he found something. Surrounded by a bed of white flowers, his nose led him to the body of a massive elk, the flame of its lifeline long since extinguished. The area where it slept in eternal rest was silent, almost eerily so, as if it were honouring the ancient titan that had drawn its last breath there.

Zach stopped before it and stared.

It lie prone in the bed of flowers, its cold body almost completely intact, save for its head. There, only a gleaming white skull remained, stripped completely of fur and flesh, with antlers that towered high above him. Its inert gaze only seemed to shift into something darker the longer Zach continued to stare at it, the vacant list of its large jaw stretching on, grinning unnervingly at him.

After awhile, he finally had to look away, his hunger forcing him to turn to its side and eat because he wasn't one to ignore an opportunity. Sharp teeth buried into the stiff body, pulling and wrenching, and for a time the only noise in the clearing was the sound of flesh tearing and teeth grinding against bone.

All the while, the elk's blood spilled, slowing staining the white flowers red.

The golden wolf was eventually pulled out of his feeding by an unfamiliar scent that somehow managed to stand out against the strong stench of decay. Quickly raising his head, he looked to his right and paused, standing rigid, motionless, the mismatched light of his white and turquoise eyes glimmering sharply in the dimming daylight. Waiting.

Waiting for the wandering soul, who perhaps had been lured by the scent of death, to appear.

When they finally did, he took a long, quiet look at them. He studied their figure. Their coat. Their hair. Their face. Their scars. His sharp gaze boldly lingered on each, drinking in every detail, before it lastly settled on the space where a limb should have been.

His mind went blank for a moment, the sight of it triggering something, something that made his chest tighten uncomfortably and made the right side of his face ache. Carefully, he pulled his eyes away, meeting the other's gaze.

"I'm done eating," he said coolly, in lieu of a greeting, gesturing pointlessly towards the kill (not even half eaten) with his bloodstained muzzle.

A rare offering.

He backed up a couple paces, but didn't turn around. And with good reason. Despite his seemingly passive attitude, there was no mistaking the guardedness in the golden male's posture. At heart, Zach was still an Alteronian. And just like any Alteron wolf, he knew—

Not every stranger approached with good intentions.

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[Anglachel]

ANGLACHEL

He had left Oriana days ago, empty promises still hanging from his lips. The guilt clung, but it was just another weight upon his shoulders, he would be relieved of it soon. Purple flowers lay ahead, just beyond the horizon. A few more days until he arrived at that lilac altar. Until then he would carry the weight as he always had.

Hunger pangs churning nausea gnawed as his belly at the scent of raw flesh and death. Anglachel knew he needed to eat — he had neglected the simple task throughout most of his wandering. But his winding path was coming to its destination soon, he needed to eat in order to get there. Sighing, he slowly limped toward the source, and there in the clearing surrounded by pine trees was a great beast surrounded by red stained flowers.

(For a moment he thought of home. Of the red poppy field. Of his parents. Of his siblings. Of Red and Kiefer. Of Kroni. Of Thresher and Nero and North and his little stars. You left, Anglachel, remember that.)

But there was also gold.

He froze, wine reds locking in upon gold and browns, anticipating the clap of righteous thunder to reach his ears — but none came. Vision cleared and Anglachel realized that what stood before him was not a golden queen but a lone boy. Dark hair framed his features, accentuated vivid blue eyes (not gold), and scars. Oh the scars across his face, barely hidden by those dark locks.

Anglachel recognized the war kissed when he saw it. His own brand burning painfully across his own cheeks. There was no sympathy or pity within his red gaze. But perhaps the golden wolf would see an expression of understanding there. I see you. We're the same, you and I, aren't we?

"I'm done eating,"

He saw the offer for what it was, and with only a nod, Anglachel moved toward the carcass and its bed of red flowers. Not poppies, he had to tell himself.

A single white flower remained yet untouched by the scarlet. He pushed it aside — sparing it.

Anglachel ate for only a short time — swallowing mouthfuls of liver for much needed nutrients before pulling away. The weary traveller did not eat much, before nausea took hold. With a sigh, he pulled away. The small meal would sustain him for the remainder of his journey.

Briefly closing his eyes with another sigh, the former prince turned and regarded Zach with tired eyes that peered through thick lashes and locks of silver hair. The golden male was clearly alone. A traveller. A runaway? It would explain the scavenging from the cold carcass. Dusk light bathed over the darkening clearing, the rising moon painting both travelers in shades of silver and shadows of ebony. And for a moment, Anglachel feels the full force of loneliness chilling his bones. He longs for Oriana, for Kroni, for the husbands and children he left behind, for Thresher. Perhaps it's why he chooses to speak, to face the golden stranger completely (back to the scarlet stained flowers. Don't look at them.) with his chin raised, allowing silvery locks to frame ruined features unobscured.

"My name is Anglachel." Perhaps he wants someone to remember his name. To know him without the weight of Saboro bearing down on them. Perhaps he's just lonely. Perhaps there's something in Zach's face that urges the silver haired runaway to linger in the quiet clearing. "Where are you heading?" He wonders if the golden wolf will say Inaria. He wonders if perhaps he is related to their golden queen. He wonders if he'll eventually recognize the remnants of scarlet tattoos beneath the scars. He wonders if the golden stranger knows that he is rather striking even (sharp, intelligent gaze, he is briefly reminded of Akki) — you're still beautiful Coven had murmured to his ruined son after the war. He wonders if anyone told the golden wolf something similar. He wonders if it was just empty consolation for him too. He wonders. He wonders and wonders —

He wonders what his name is.

[Zach]

He looked defeated, Zach thought, watching the stranger tuck into the kill.

A lull had crept into the clearing, casting a temporary spell of silence between the two wolves. When it became clear the other male wasn't going to cause trouble, Zach settled down carefully into the bed of flowers, relaxing minutely as the colours of dusk deepened around them, crowning the small clearing in scattered fragments of shadows and light. With a full stomach, the golden wolf almost felt content in that moment. Almost.

He rarely found a reprieve from his own thoughts these days.

(Or the anger that always seemed to simmer underneath.)

By the time the stranger had eaten his fill, the clearing had become visibly darker. There was a shift in the air as wine red eyes lifted from the kill, shutting briefly before opening again, glowing like flickering candleflames beneath waves and waves of long, silver hair.

Anglachel looked at him and wondered.

(The Alteronian could not have known the significance behind his golden coat. He could not have known the righteous weight that a paladin queen of his bloodline had wrought when a desperate prince had tried to save a dying friend.)

Zach looked back and wondered, too.

(There was a story behind the fatigue that weighed heavily on the other male's shoulders. There was a story behind the scars that marked his alluring face. There was a story behind his missing limb. There was a story behind the wine red eyes that studied him with a sliver of something that somehow seemed knowing. Maybe that's why Zach hadn't left yet. Maybe he too had seen something similar in that sundered soul.)

He was startled out of his observations when the silver haired stranger spoke.

"My name is Anglachel."

Zach blinked, befuddled, some last vestiges of caution still firmly clinging to him as he considered how to respond. He didn't know how he felt about giving out his own name, didn't know if it was safe now. But he made sure to listen. Listen with undivided attention as the stranger — Anglachel, now — told him his name. As the seconds dragged by in silence, the golden male tried to look impassive while he stared. Tried not to let the indecision show on his face.

"Where are you heading?"

At this, his ears folded back, and he briefly looked away, still not saying a word. It was out of place, but for a fleeting moment, the question made him think of Eira. The antlered girl had known where she was going when she'd run from Alteron. Zach had judged her harshly for her decision, had felt so cold, so angry, so betrayed, even though he'd done nothing to stop her from leaving in the end. More than anything, he hated the thought that someone he'd grown to love had willingly left him and his family. Some distant part of him still did.

And yet here he was.

(Would she call him a hypocrite, if she saw him now?)

"I don't know," he finally answered, slowly, his voice uncertain but nevertheless true. The future he'd thought had been set in stone for him had been altered the day he'd crossed Alteron's borders. His story was changing inevitably now, with every steady breath and footfall. He'd turned the page to face a new chapter of his life. The only thing he didn't know was where it would lead him now.

"I haven't decided yet," he added, looking down, his gaze briefly falling on the lone white flower that had been spared. After a moment of thought, he looked up again, finding Anglachel's gaze, his expression still as sharp as cooling steel.

Fuck it, he thought. This time, when he spoke, there was no hesitation in his voice.

"I'm Zach."

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[Anglachel]

ANGLACHEL

The quiet of the clearing was not uncomfortable — eerie and stagnant, but far from unsettling in this hushed moment between strangers. Almost dreamlike in its nature. And how long has it been since he's dreamed a kinder dream? Unplagued by yellow-green eyes and tearing jaws? He reveled in it, feeling more rested than he had in months. Would it be selfish, to savor such a reprieve? 

One last moment of tranquility, he was an icarus after all — one last glimpse of the sun before his inevitable plummet into lilac fields. 

But for some reason Anglachel didn't think this final flight would burn. The golden stranger was not Thresher — not a setting sun in shades of dying light. He was not a golden queen — not the midday sun of harsh blazing light. No, he was a soft sunrise — promise and life written within dawn rays. And the silver prince found himself hoping that the stranger found what he was looking for. One day, if not today or tomorrow then the next, or the next after that, or however long it took. The silver prince hoped, and smiled wistfully at such a thing. 

If Anglachel saw the hints of indecision written across the golden stranger's face, he said nothing of it. Instead he turned his own scarlet gaze away (in respect or understanding, even the runaway prince did not know which). Head tilted back — throat bared with silver locks sliding from his face for pale moonlight to lay soft kisses upon the scars across his ruined face and heart — to observe the stars as they peered out from the darkening sky.

"I don't know. I haven't decided yet."

The stranger's voice a hushed murmur into the quiet dusk. Anglachel may never know just how similar they were — legs drawing them across the borders of everything they held dear on a whim. An urge. Some inexplicable pull that tugged them away until finally — here.

"That's okay." The Saboran runaway hummed in acknowledgement after a moment. He thought of Oriana, of his mother. Golden, wandering souls. He thought of the paladin queen and wondered if she too had once been lost before donning her crown of gold and lilac. "There's a lot to see, out here." Like sandy hills and mountains and cold white fields. In another life, Anglachel would have been awed by it all.

"Do you like it?" The world, what you've seen? He hoped — and there it was again, in the face of someone kissed by shades of gold — Anglachel hoped the stranger could be awed by it all. Slowly, the silver haired prince pulled his wistful gaze from the stars, turned away from the moon and settled them back upon the soft dawn sun before him. Scarlet met blue, the rays shining just a little brighter and Anglachel wondered and hoped.

(Will you ever spare what precious hope remains for yourself, Anglachel?)

Grief choked him, bitter and sweet and crumbling like sawdust in his mouth.

"I'm Zach."

And the former prince smiled a gentle smile. Brittle and sad and edged with grief, but unmistakably warm. For a moment, just a moment, he settled his burdens beside him. Pushed them aside in favor of that lonely white flower.

"It's nice to meet you, Zach." 

[Zach]

The wings of night had finally fallen, and something close to tranquility eventually settled over the quiet thrum of the forest. Zach could hear the whispers of the trees as their leaves danced gently with the wind. He could feel the bed of flowers and grass sway around him like a tempered ocean current longing to carry him away.

(Where would it have taken him, if it could?)

Anglachel — no longer just the stranger — hummed softly, and Zach watched him quietly from where he rested. Watched him as he looked up and studied the clear night sky, watched as waves of long, silver hair shifted, shimmering beneath the pale moonlight.

(Moon-kissed. That's what Anglachel was. Just like his mother. Just like Umbra. Zach's golden coat was a fierce contrast in comparison, burning brightly next to the other wolf.)

"That's okay. There's a lot to see, out here."

A small smirk briefly curled Zach's lips before it vanished. "Too much, I think," he said, staring past the other male for a moment, at the shadows that appeared to shift and stretch far beyond the treeline. He wondered, distantly, if that was the same path he would take when he eventually resumed his journey again. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

He'd barely made any headway in his wanderings so far. Not like his mother, who'd once journeyed through dipping valleys and jutting mountains that towered high enough to reach the heavens. When they were very young, she'd told her children tales of an ocean that stretched far and wide with no ending. She'd shared stories of her childhood home, a quiet paradise, hidden deep within the heart of a scorching desert.

Zach knew he would never love the wilds as much as his mother did. He had only travelled to kingdoms, to lands all claimed and ruled. No place truly free. But he would never forget Inaria. Never forget the memories he'd made there as a child beneath its lilac flowers.

(He would also never know that Anglachel, too, had once stepped foot beneath those same lilac trees. Never know that war had left behind memories that the former prince would always carry.)

"Do you like it?"

Zach shifted a little, curling his tail around his haunches, taking a moment to mull over the question. "It's...different," he eventually answered, and despite the neutral tone, there was something decidedly wondering in his gaze. He looked up and studied the night sky, blanketed in a scattered sea of twinkling lights. "You can actually see the stars out here." He was quiet for a moment, simply drinking in the image. Then—

"I never knew there could be so many," he breathed, his warm breath carrying like smoke through the cooling air.

You couldn't see the stars in Alteron. Not really. Not like this. The trees loomed too high there, twisted and ancient and so thick with leaves that it made the kingdom always seemed dark. He'd been born in that darkness, had been raised in its gloom and shadows. Alteron had buried its teeth in him deeply enough (too young, he'd been far too young) that he was sure its venom would never leave him. It had made him, and it would stay with him, until it burned his bones to ash.

(He wondered if Anglachel felt something similar out here. If he, too, had come from a place filled with shadows and fangs.)

"What about you? Are you heading somewhere?" he asked, tearing his gaze away from the stars, mismatched eyes once again settling on red. There were lights and shadows swimming in Anglachel's watchful gaze, and there was something in his gentle smile that made the ice in the golden wolf's demeanour thaw, just a little.

"It's nice to meet you, Zach."

If Zach was a soft sunrise, then Anglachel was the quiet twilight, the silver bridge between day and night, when dimming skies let stars appear. The golden wolf swallowed thickly, shifting unsurely, his long hair falling slightly over the blackened scar that marred his face. In Alteron, he'd always had to be on guard. Always had to wonder whether the next wolf he came across would be another one to toss him into the fire.

But this wasn't Alteron, and this wasn't the Phoenix standing across from him. The eyes that currently watched him weren't hateful and green. He was far away from all that. Zach let the weight of that thought settle, let it comfort him as he looked at the wolf standing near him, sitting a little taller, letting the tension bleed slowly out of his shoulders.

"It's nice to meet you, too—"

He breathed.

"Anglachel."

High above them, the moon and stars continued to gleam dimly, watching.

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[Anglachel]

ANGLACHEL

Too much, I think, I wouldn't even know where to start.

The silver haired doctor breathes an airy laugh, the leadened weight leaving his lungs in that single exhale. Perhaps its empathy. Perhaps its loneliness. Perhaps it's that hope of his that gives away without a second chance. But Anglachel wished he had known where to start when he had been lost in the memories of war and pain. When his life had ended on that battlefield — when something haunted and afraid returned in his place. And that was the question, wasn't it — how do you move on? Where do you start? Wine red gaze rests upon Zach, watches him gaze upon the stars with dark hair framing burnt flesh and shining gold. "Here isn't a terrible place... to start." This quiet place with beds of swaying grass and little white flowers and a blanket of stars above.

It was a small thing, a fragile gift passed from a weary soul into the hands of someone who he prayed had more hope than he — here, you can start here. And Anglachel prayed it could be a good start for the golden wanderer.

It's...different, You can actually see the stars out here. I never knew there could be so many,

Anglachel watched him admire the night sky, watched the hints of wonder swirl within that turquoise gaze. Saboro had been covered in a veil of darkness, the canopy too thick for the gentle light of the night sky. The poppy field had been one of the few places where the stars could be seen — and oh how Ang had loved it there, lying upon beds up scarlet flowers pointing at stars with silvery paws, Kroni's fur warm against his own.

He misses her. He misses the way the stars glimmered in her gold gold eyes — and there it was again, the color gold followed his footsteps, his dreams and nightmares alike.

(in the back of his mind, the runaway notes that Zach was not from Inaria. He remembered laying broken and bleeding, the darkening sun casting shades of twilight across the lilac and scarlet field. The stars had been so easily visible there, and so beautiful, some of them streaking across the sky like tears)

"They are lovely out here. I've.... always loved the stars." A useless bit of information, some urge compelling him to tell the golden Alteronian about him — My name is Anglachel. I love the stars. I love healing. I love gardening. I was here, once — To be remembered? To simply have something to say? To etch something upon a gravestone he'd never have.

And he finds himself wondering about Zach. Who he is and what he loves — there is so much written in that turquoise gaze.

What about you? Are you heading somewhere?

He blinks, a wistful expression crossing his ruined features. Phantom pains grip the scars across his cheeks and remnants of intricate scarlet burn. "Home, I think." Not where he was born, not that scarlet jungle, but a field where pastel flowers bloomed and bones settled silently into the soil. "I hope." He dared feel it, just once. It tasted bitter, like grief, like loss, like betrayal. But not like a lie.

(and perhaps that was the worst part)

The expressions that flit across Zach's features tell a story — and Anglachel sees the uncertainty. Recognizes the weariness of one who life dealt a heavy hand. He sees it and something pulls him a step closer. It shadowed him, eclipsed across vivid rays of sunshine gold. But just as quickly the hesitation, the darkness, shrank away, making way for the sun once more. And runaway Saboran prince merely contents himself to watch, a soft expression of awe crossing his scarred features, not unlike the look of wonder he wore when staring up at the stars. "There's a creek near by, if you want to clean off." He murmurs after a moment, gesturing his muzzle still bloodied from their meal. Just beyond the trees he had walked past slow moving creek that expanded into a pool of crystal clear water. "I don't know about you, but I'm not a fan of blood." He hummed, tone light.

(and tinged with that melancholy of loneliness. Icarus wishing to admire the sun for just a little longer. The silver moon basking in its golden light.)

[Zach]

Anglachel's laughter was like a soft breeze, like a quiet chime, like twinkling silver bells—

It was like a song Zach had never heard before.

"Here isn't a terrible place... to start."

He glanced away from that soft face for a moment, observing the scenery around them, turquoise gaze following the comfortable expanse of space. For some reason, fate had led both wanderers here, to this quiet forest, to this flower filled clearing that danced on starlight threads and beams of moonlight. "No," Zach decided, quietly, looking back to gaze with poorly disguised wonder at the silver haired male standing across from him. "I guess it's not."

They had both been forged in shadows, and they had both fled from them. They were both familiar with its possessive touch. They both knew its taste as intimately as the elk blood lingering on their tongues. Those shadows never left you. Not completely. Not when it had already claimed so many pieces of you.

(But maybe you didn't have to stand in those shadows alone. Maybe the burden could be shared, even if it was only temporary.)

"They are lovely out here. I've... always loved the stars."

There was more behind that small confession, the golden wolf couldn't help but think, still studying the other male. Perhaps it was something in Anglachel's voice that gave it away. Perhaps it was something in the look on his scarred, lovely face, in the small flickers behind his wine red eyes, something catching and something faltering. But Zach realized, while the ice within him continued to splinter and thaw, that he genuinely wanted to hear the rest of those unspoken moonlight confessions.

"I never really paid them much attention, to be honest," he admitted, almost guiltily, flicking a tattered ear, feeling the cool wind tousle his dark hair. His turquoise gaze briefly found the night sky again, taking in the vast view. "But I think I understand what you mean." He suddenly realized, with a quiet start, that he'd never discussed something so... normal with another person before. Anglachel was the first. It was hard to fathom, and he couldn't help but deliberate in silence for a moment. "I like to wake up early every morning and watch the sunrise," he finally shared.

(There was a fleeting thought, as he wondered what the other male would look like under the glow of a warmer light.)

"Home, I think. I hope."

The golden wolf didn't know what home meant to Anglachel, or if it was a good place that his heart called out to. But he had hope; he'd said it, even if he carried it on brittle wings. Zach didn't understand, and perhaps there was something broken in him that wasn't meant to. But he still tried. "You'll get there, I'm sure," he said, and although the reassuring words felt foreign and lame on his tongue, he meant it.

"There's a creek near by, if you want to clean off."

He did want to, he suddenly realized, only now registering the blood crusting on his muzzle. There was even some on his paws from where he'd been standing among the red stained flowers, which a diligent grooming would have normally taken care of. But the golden wolf hesitated. He hesitated and considered. Anglachel's offer felt an awful lot like a hand reaching out to him in that moment — open, gentle, and waiting.

"I don't know about you, but I'm not a fan of blood."

He remembered a battlefield bathed in fire. He remembered a pitch black sky raining ember and ashes. He remembered all the bodies. Zach had gone to war a young and naïve boy, painting death in a glorified picture. He remembered wanting to return home an honoured man. He remembered his first kill. He remembered her eyes. He remembered the light in them. He remembered the moment they'd gone dark.

(He'd done that. He'd smothered that light. Her blood and his rage and the scars now etched permanently onto his skin had told him how honourable he really was in the end.)

"No," he said, slowly, and the tone of it was hollow. "I can't say I'm that fond of it, either." Suddenly eager to wash the stains off his coat, the golden wolf stood up smoothly and moved, wading through the bed of flowers that parted for him like gentle waves, closing the distance slowly, carefully, until the two males finally stood side to side, face to face, a lone white flower swaying gently between them.

When he looked at him fully, this close under the pale moonlight, the smoke of their warm breaths intermingling, Zach thought he could see new details, new unconcluded tales behind those wine coloured eyes that, beneath the moonlight, appeared to gleam like dark rubies. Their minds met in the middle and they met with strings weathered and frayed. They met with loneliness and familiarity and something unfathomably unknown.

A small smile slowly found its way on Zach's face.

"Lead the way."

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[Anglachel]

ANGLACHEL

No. I suppose it's not

There's an expression across the golden male's face that Anglachel doesn't quite understand -- or never expected to see directed at him. The thinly veiled wonder is strange and jarring, and the silvery doctor can't help but duck his head slightly for silvery locks to ever so slightly hide away his scarred features in a shy gesture so achingly childish and reminiscent of simpler days. But Anglachel notices how the expression is not teasing or unkind or hungry -- there's a gentleness there. It's a soft wonder he had seen once before reflected in gold gold eyes and in a voice that murmured Angel. The runaway prince raises his gaze with his own curiosity and wonder reflected in wine red eyes.

How is it that shades of gold follow his every step? How can it be both so haunting and amazing? Perhaps Anglachel was simply always drawn to the sun, and even with the shadows that clung to Zach's shoulders and behind piercing turquoise gaze, the golden wolf was undoubtedly a fragment of the sun breathed into life.  

I never really paid them much attention, to be honest, But I think I understand what you mean.

Anglachel watches once more as turquoise finds the night sky, and a soft smile crosses over the former prince's scarred features. It's a look so unmistakably fond -- a quiet relief evident in the looseness of his shoulders and freely given half-grin. An appreciation and love for the stars that embroidered the night sky was such a small, useless thing to pass on, but Anglachel couldn't help but wonder, couldn't help but hope that days or weeks or months in the future, Zach would continue to gaze upward and appreciate the twinkling lights. It was a small, simple thing to live on.

He hoped that a newfound love for the stars could heal the aches and pains of shadows that herbs could never begin to touch. He hoped that Zach could look at the stars and heal and breathe, even if it was just a little bit. (And what a small, fantasy riddled hope it was, filled with silly poetic and romantic notion, and he found himself smiling at its absurdity -- yet sill he felt that lightness of hope bubbling like windchime laughter within his chest).  "I'm glad," He settles for, smile a touch softer, a bit lighter.

I like to wake up early every morning and watch the sunrise,

He was right -- Zach was truly a soft sunrise, and Anglachel was struck by a sudden awe he did not attempt to conceal. There was something undeniably strong about the golden male, a representation of the future -- of a new day, of what was to come. It was beautiful and bittersweet. Oh, how Anglachel had always been cursed to watch the sun set, to come crashing to the ground with burning wings beneath bleeding rays.

"I... I don't think I've ever watched the sunrise," He murmurs after a moment, expression thoughtful with wisps of melancholy. Was it silly to want to?

(A part of his was afraid to -- would it fill him with finality? Or worse, would it give him hope of more sunrises to come?)

You'll get there, I'm sure,

Anglachel took the reassurance as it was and held it carefully, close to his heart. Perhaps those words -- more so than the meal or rest or any of his own fragile hope would carry his tired body the rest of the way. He offers a soft smile in gratitude, it's a wistful thing, brittle and lonely and aching, and doesn't quite reach his eyes. He wants to say something grateful or kind, but instead his soft voice hums a thoughtful  "One day," And he wonders. as his wine red eyes meet Zach's and considered the soft genuine expression of the male's soft face, if it would be wrong to want that day to be... a little further away.

No, I can't say I'm that fond of it, either.

He recognizes the face of one haunted by memories of war -- he sees it in the golden male's gaze and written in the burn half hidden by pretty dark locks. Once more, Anglachel's heart aches for him -- wishes with all he had that he could be a better doctor, if only to mend the wounds left behind by the horrors of a battlefield. But how could one even begin to mend what could not be seen? Frustration burrows into his heart, chasing melancholy away with bitter jaws. How peculiar, the sudden spark of motivation, the vow to heal, to help with all that he could suddenly reignited. And suddenly, Anglachel was hit with the urge to comfort -- to touch. How long had it been since he had last reached out to another for their comfort or even his own? For Oriana, weeks or months ago (time was so hazy these days), but that had been more obligation and habit rather than a sudden desire to. He wanted to reach out, but -- Zach may be a soft sunrise, but he was still a piece of the sun -- would he risk being burned?

He watches with a hint of hesitation as Zach moves closer, leaving the pool of scarlet stained petals to stand beside that lone white flower. Ruby reds look to where shades of gold blends to dark ebony, scans over waves of dark hair and the shape of sharp, striking eyes. The silver Icarus stares and sees a lightening sky in Zach's eyes, the sun not yet peaking over the horizon -- and he can not help but wish to witness it. How many times must he crash and burn before learning his lesson?

Lead the way.

Anglachel hesitates for only a moment longer, until that smile soften's Zach's features, the first hint of the sun's rays peeking above the mountaintops. He returns it in kind, a shared moment between the two before turning to lead the golden dire mix from the clearing along a starlit path. It's dappled by shadows and moonlight as it winds down a gentle slope toward the sound of calmly flowing water.

There -- at the bottom of the hill lays a small pool fed by a gentle creek. Along one side was a small cliff, the trickle of a tiny stream falling over layers of rock into the crystal clear water. Anglachel pauses, only for a moment for them to take in the sight of stars reflected upon that clear surface before moving to the water's edge. Wine red gaze careful to avoid his reflection as they approach the water's edge.

(And if his coat occasionally brushed against Zach's as they walked, then surely it was a mere accident).

[Zach]

It's in the night air that they breathe their idle secrets, their small confessions of soft simplicity. They're harmless little things in the end, words armed without shields or armour, words not intended to hurt, words that shouldn't mean so much in the grand scheme of things. But it feels different, somehow, and perhaps that's something Zach will marvel later.

"I... I don't think I've ever watched the sunrise," Anglachel said, and Zach wondered if the silver haired male would resolve to change that now that the idea had been planted, wondered if he would watch the light slowly crest the sky tomorrow and find it just as lovely as the sea of stars glittering above them.

"You should," he suggested, very simply, watching him, "they're beautiful." No sunrise ever truly felt the same. That's why he liked them. It felt like he was seeing one for the first time every day. 

Time drifted, the two still contemplatively studying each other, lingering, something hanging in the air, until the chiming hum of "one day" came. It didn't garner a response from the golden wolf, but Zach hoped the look he gave him was enough, hoped the other male would be able to see and understand the (unfamiliar, unknown, unhesitant) reassurance his steady gaze was trying to convey.

In the end, he let the other male lead them away from that white meadow, walking beside him, close enough that their contrasting pelts occasionally touched, almost a whisper. It was a big step for the former Alteronian, a massive step over the edge of something unknown. His guard wasn't necessarily lowered — he didn't think it would ever be, not completely, not after everything he'd done and endured — but for now, it was a start.

For now, it was enough.

A pool painted in starlight eventually greeted the pair when they finally reached their destination. After briefly taking in the pretty image, Zach brushed past his silver haired companion, eager to cleanse the blood (but not his sins, water could never wash away that) from his coat. "C'mon," he urged, quietly, slowly stepping into the starlit pond, the unexpected chill making him freeze for a moment. "It's a little cold," he warned, willing away a shudder.

Wading in a little further, stopping once the water reached his chest, Zach watched the water ripple below him, briefly mourning its starry image as it shattered into rings around him. "It's a shame this isn't a hot spring," he mused after a moment, before continuing, a little more hesitantly, "my home had a few. My sister and I used to soak in them for hours. The warmth made me never want to leave."

The golden wolf's eyes glimmered faintly in amusement and some other emotion that was a little harder to place. He looked over his shoulder, watching, and there, deep within the well of his turquoise gaze, past the glacier and beyond the storm, the sunrise that Anglachel had privately glimpsed made an effort to shine again.

"This... isn't so bad though."

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