5/21/2025, 10:52 PM
![[Image: Viv_FablePost.gif]](https://sig.grumpybumpers.com/host/Viv_FablePost.gif)
SKILL : - - - ( 1 / 5 )
It had not been an easy decision, nor one she wanted to make.
If Fable had her way, the world would have remained sound and free of rumple - smooth as a calm lake's surface without a single ringlet in sight.
But that was not what was happening.
Ignoring it would have been easy if its margins of influence did not crowd closer to the Meadows with every passing day. She would look upon the northern river and wonder, was this the day its life-giving water would burn whomever sought its breadth? What more would happen as the days droned on, if they cowed with inaction rather than proactivity?
Fable wasn't certain she could stomach the regret that would take root in her very soul if she blithely cast a blind eye to what was so clearly laid before her - especially if she could have done something to prevent it. Her decision to visit the Rise was not even made out of self-importance - it was devised from examining the members of their small group and determining who was easiest to cut loose for a handful of days.
Her mother was still new to her lupine form and, if she left, Lugh was sure to follow. Fable would not place a child at risk or welcome misfortune to her aging mother who did not even know of the Rise's location. Fleta, too, was unaccustomed to Mythris.
Kaphiri and Amrei were needed within the Meadows to bolster the pack in ways Fable was not so good at. Where they could hunt and provide, she was always fumbling and coming up much shorter than the rest. She trusted them implicitly to ensure no one bedded down for the night on an empty stomach and the borders were tended.
And then there was Foxglove.
Of them all, he was the only other who had been there since the start. He was her dearest friend and a constant presence, her confidant amid all that had transpired. During her earlier audience, she had avoided meeting his eye for fear of what she might find there. Would he try to talk her out of her decision or would he insist upon coming along? Neither were options she could allow to take place - there was no one at all who she would trust more than Fox, outside of her own flesh and blood.
If she was going to leave her children for a week's time, she needed to know they were in good hands and she would gladly shed her own protections to afford them as many guardians as she could. Her trip would not even matter if she returned to nothing and no one.
The rest were newer faces she did not know so closely yet, and she could not ask them to risk their health or lives to pursue what might be nothing at all.
It left her.
The realization brought her no pride nor stirring purpose - she was not her brother, who would have taken the mission with great authority. He would never admit it so plainly, but he liked to be the hero and it troubled him when he couldn't be.
She just wanted to be her - mother, friend, healer, sister, daughter, sunshine- and flower-enjoyer. Lately, she had become the matriarch - a title that undercut all the others.
But in being all those things, she was the easiest cleaved to preserve the other members of Avon. It was also her responsibility now to shoulder whatever was needed - even if she did not like it.
Her preparations were well underway when Fox's call rose to the air. It was not the typical one she would expect from him - instead, it was a song of a different tune and that alone tugged her attention from the herbs she organized. This new melody carried a sort of intent about it, deliberate and personal.
Fable lifted her head, ears pressed forward, as she looked in the direction Fox's summons had come from. She wondered, for only a moment, if it had been meant just for her.
She picked a path toward Fox and took a quiet, deep breath when his form came within view. Fable had noticed his quick departure after the meeting, and now she pondered if the two events - then and now, beckoning her - were at all related. All the same, she offered a friendly chuff before she was within range to speak without yelling.
Surely there would not be more bad news to add to the heap.
If Fable had her way, the world would have remained sound and free of rumple - smooth as a calm lake's surface without a single ringlet in sight.
But that was not what was happening.
Ignoring it would have been easy if its margins of influence did not crowd closer to the Meadows with every passing day. She would look upon the northern river and wonder, was this the day its life-giving water would burn whomever sought its breadth? What more would happen as the days droned on, if they cowed with inaction rather than proactivity?
Fable wasn't certain she could stomach the regret that would take root in her very soul if she blithely cast a blind eye to what was so clearly laid before her - especially if she could have done something to prevent it. Her decision to visit the Rise was not even made out of self-importance - it was devised from examining the members of their small group and determining who was easiest to cut loose for a handful of days.
Her mother was still new to her lupine form and, if she left, Lugh was sure to follow. Fable would not place a child at risk or welcome misfortune to her aging mother who did not even know of the Rise's location. Fleta, too, was unaccustomed to Mythris.
Kaphiri and Amrei were needed within the Meadows to bolster the pack in ways Fable was not so good at. Where they could hunt and provide, she was always fumbling and coming up much shorter than the rest. She trusted them implicitly to ensure no one bedded down for the night on an empty stomach and the borders were tended.
And then there was Foxglove.
Of them all, he was the only other who had been there since the start. He was her dearest friend and a constant presence, her confidant amid all that had transpired. During her earlier audience, she had avoided meeting his eye for fear of what she might find there. Would he try to talk her out of her decision or would he insist upon coming along? Neither were options she could allow to take place - there was no one at all who she would trust more than Fox, outside of her own flesh and blood.
If she was going to leave her children for a week's time, she needed to know they were in good hands and she would gladly shed her own protections to afford them as many guardians as she could. Her trip would not even matter if she returned to nothing and no one.
The rest were newer faces she did not know so closely yet, and she could not ask them to risk their health or lives to pursue what might be nothing at all.
It left her.
The realization brought her no pride nor stirring purpose - she was not her brother, who would have taken the mission with great authority. He would never admit it so plainly, but he liked to be the hero and it troubled him when he couldn't be.
She just wanted to be her - mother, friend, healer, sister, daughter, sunshine- and flower-enjoyer. Lately, she had become the matriarch - a title that undercut all the others.
But in being all those things, she was the easiest cleaved to preserve the other members of Avon. It was also her responsibility now to shoulder whatever was needed - even if she did not like it.
Her preparations were well underway when Fox's call rose to the air. It was not the typical one she would expect from him - instead, it was a song of a different tune and that alone tugged her attention from the herbs she organized. This new melody carried a sort of intent about it, deliberate and personal.
Fable lifted her head, ears pressed forward, as she looked in the direction Fox's summons had come from. She wondered, for only a moment, if it had been meant just for her.
She picked a path toward Fox and took a quiet, deep breath when his form came within view. Fable had noticed his quick departure after the meeting, and now she pondered if the two events - then and now, beckoning her - were at all related. All the same, she offered a friendly chuff before she was within range to speak without yelling.
Mister Fox,she greeted him warmly once she could converse at a normal volume. She could not help but think of the dance when she saw him, but she pushed the thoughts away for the moment, her brows dimpled lightly in concern.
Is all well?
Surely there would not be more bad news to add to the heap.
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