When Oliver crept into Eridanus, it wasn't with anything particular in mind. It was a sort of vague nostalgia, a lingering sadness to him: his father had died, and he had not seen Mercurius in some time. Cycles, even, had it been--two or three, at least?

He was lonely, that was the long and short of it; but there was no plan in mind. He wanted to find Crown, Sword, to get to know them better, but where had they gone, after the Trial's end-? When they had all trailed away, miserable and lost in themselves? He didn't want to see Rift, not in another dozen years--not after what he'd done. There were few Gembound Oliver could be genuinely angry at, and Rift was one of them--angry, or maybe just hurt. No--betrayed. Had he explained his actions, asked their opinions, that would've been one thing, maybe. But to just release the one who'd hurt them all so badly, of his own accord, without asking them?

Oliver hadn't forgiven him that.

These thoughts, too, lay heavy on his mind as he crept past one of the trees the old Kingdom had grown--Rift's tree, the one he'd planted plants around in a rather haphazard, seldom-visited ritual of "joining." (Yes, there was faint bitterness in even these thoughts in the dog-bird's mind.)

As he drew closer, however, he saw that something was... different. The tree was damaged-? He squinted, and quickened his pace. Yes; it was shattered, fallen, half-leaning against the other foliage. Had lightning struck it? Another fire, perhaps? Puzzled, the dog-bird drew closer--and then called out, voice tremulous.

"Hello-? Sebastian? Huckle?" (and that name was choked down; he still hadn't come to terms with that one, either, though he'd tried--fear was a powerful force); "Mercurius-?"

The dog-bird circled the tree, its tumbled branches and leaves too much for him to really peer through, or clamber over. For a moment it occurred to him to use the old magic that they'd shared--to peer through the trees and plants themselves, to search for his old allies--but, strangely, nothing came.

@Mercurius

In some ways, Mercy could be likened to a ghost—he haunted the vestiges of Eridanus, milling between water sources and his grove. He approached whatever passerby glanced his way, but they did not often linger. Some Gembound had claimed a section of this cave as their own and started constructing homes, but they seemed to be gone now, too.

And what of the Kingdom... ?

The shattered tree was answer enough.

He'd been gone when it'd happened, he thought; wandering the caves that had been separated for so long, and collecting stories. The wreckage was long cooled, and moss had had the chance to take to it. A pang of sympathy had thundered through him at first sight—as much as he'd come to... disapprove of the self-proclaimed King of the Forest, this tree had been magnificent. The product of strong magic, and of care, reduced to nothing.

The old lion found himself gravitating toward it, often pondering: would it be his place to grow it once again... ?

Today, though, he was drawn by something else.

Moonlit eyes regarded the crow-dog as he broke from the undergrowth. His eyes were hooded with having-just-woke-up, but they were bright and warm. Mercy padded forward, tail hanging loosely behind him. Ears pricked forward, he shifted so that he slowly, gently approached Oliver from the front.

Giving him an appraising look (poor kid, where did he get those new scars?) the storyteller called softly, "Oliver." He shook his mane out and eased his weight side to side, murmuring casually, "how've you been?"

The elephant that was the trashed tree made itself quite at home in the corner of his periphery.

@Oliver

At the voice, the bird-dog turned--and did clamber over some fallen branches, scrambling to Mercy's side.

He was normally a shy thing, cautious, gentle and empathetic--but just then he was scared and lonely and upset, and the sudden sight of Mercy alive and well brought a surge of relief to him that was almost overwhelming. He rushed to the white lion, almost hitting him full-speed, cowering down and pressing up against him head-first.

"Mercy-? What happened--where is everyone?" He felt the large drape of a reassuring paw, and exhaled shakily, looking up at him with wide blue eyes. It occurred to him, then, that maybe... Sebastian had destroyed it? But why? He twisted past the big white paw (and it was BIG, he realized abruptly) to peer back at the tree. "Did they destroy the tree..?" he asked, softly. Maybe it explained why Rift hadn't come to them--or maybe Huckle had split the thing with his electricity..? "And the--the magic. It isn't working," he said, very softly, and looked back up to Mercy as if the lion could somehow make it all better.

Then--abruptly--he blinked. "Are you okay?" he asked--just in case he was being insensitive, here.

godemoting minor touch/return touch with permission!

@Mercy

Light as Oliver was, the impact was enough to stagger him. The crow-dog burrowed himself into his mane, and it was all Mercy could do not to spring to tears. What'd I miss? he asked himself, straining a forelimb to wrap around the poor thing. His arm tightened for just a moment—a hopefully reassuring squeeze that said I'm here.

Moonlit eyes met baby blues, and the old lion practically melted with a sigh; what had happened? Woefully, he did not know—and he now wished desperately that he did. "I... don't know." (To all of the above.) The words burned on his tongue, more than they should have. Mercy shuffled, rocking onto his haunches; he kept Oliver hugged close, if he still wanted the contact.

... the magic? He reached. Oh.

Mercy placed a gentle lick on the hybrid's forehead, before carefully pulling away, "let me see." He waited a moment, as if asking permission, before continuing, "I'm okay, but... I'll see. I do not believe that any of them would have done this." Rift had adored this tree, tended to it day-in and day-out. Sebastian, explosive as he had been at times, would never have dared to touch this. Huckle... Mercy hoped that Huckle knew better than this—I hope that he is alright.

(He couldn't help but laugh internally; when had he wound up worrying after so many?)

The old lion disentangled himself from Oliver to rest a paw against the branches. What have you seen? he urged the long-dead wood, tail flicking.

A sharp recoil rocked up from his paw, shooting behind his eyes with a migraine. His chest seized, and he grit his teeth. The visible reaction was far milder than the internal; Mercy pasted on a strained smile, moonlit gaze wavering into glassiness. "Ah," he shuddered, "it... doesn't show me anything."

Their magic truly was gone, then—but, he had to assure Oliver: "I do not think that any of them did this." It was a repeat statement, but... perhaps they could both believe it. "Eridanus has been quiet; they may just be asleep." I hope.

@Oliver

Oliver moved back only when Mercy offered his reassuring lick, his movement away. He was going to see. He'd fix everything. -Right?

Oliver had rarely felt so weirdly helpless, before. He'd gone only from idly curious to frightened in a matter of seconds; the shattered tree brought him fear. But--Mercy was probably right.

"Asleep," he echoed, his voice a murmur, and his ear-tufts flicked back. He looked to the lion. "Sorry--yeah, that... makes sense," he said quietly. Yet some distant part of him was still remembering the fights in Eridanus: the ambush, the screaming. Stupid, he thought, and pushed the thought away; something like that surely hadn't happened again. But Rift let her go. He let her go, and he never told us where, and that old anger boiled up unexpectedly. It was a feeling the hybrid rarely harbored, and he had to choke it down; he looked to Mercy after a beat. Again, he tried to call on the old magic--but again, it didn't come.

"Thanks for--trying, anyway. Magic sucks sometimes. Speaking of which, uh. I can't... feel the trees, anymore," he said softly, and there was a faintly mournful tone to his words. "-Can you?"

@Mercurius

"Asleep," Mercy echoed back, and let the subject drop. It fell to the floor much harsher than intended. Moonlit eyes softened, still glassy with the headache pounding through his skull. I hope, he urged again. The denial sat heavy in his stomach. What else was there to do, but keep one's head down?

He'd always been pacifistic to a fault; and, he did not want to trouble Pride with it.

The old lion exhaled, bereft. Before, the forest had sang to either one of them, beckoning with their leaves and roots. It'd welcomed them into their fold, allowed them the view they had. With this tree's death, it seemed, they had... lost that. "I haven't been able to for a... time." Magic pushed outward; but latched onto nothing. "I can will it to move, but... it's no longer sharing."

Mercy hung his head, blinking away the throbbing of his skull; "and... I wonder why that is." It wasn't as if they had forgotten how. It was as if it'd been locked away, or... faded... ?

@Oliver

Oliver settled back, face curled into what could only be described as a canine frown.

"I don't know," he admitted, quietly. He looked around--looked up at the shattered trunk--and then to Mercy. "We need to be careful," he said suddenly, softly. "In case... it isn't sleep. In case someone wants to hurt us. Just-... watch out, okay?" he urged, his expression worried and earnest as he gazed up at the lion. He didn't want to see Mercy hurt--he was big, and gentle, and seeing him harmed or killed would be devastating. Mercurius didn't deserve that.

Oliver looked down abruptly, as if embarrassed to be thinking that way; then he turned, pressing his face into the leaves, burying it there like a dog playing in snow. But he wasn't playing, he was sniffing, feeling, struggling to reconnect with the plant life here that seemed to have locked itself away.

@Mercy

Oliver's woebegone demeanor was too contagious for its own good; curse both of their empathies. The pale beast felt his face fall just so, though he tried to quirk his lips in at least a sad smile.

"Of course," he promised softly, and he urged—truly urged—the woods to do the same. It was without the amount of feeling as the crow-dog, but still; overgrown claws curled into the earth, roughly calloused pads feeling into the soil. "We'll be alright; I promise."

If worse came to worse, perhaps the old lion could find it in himself to call upon the forest to protect the both of them. Perhaps, he could find it in himself to break down that wall named denial through pacifism.

@Oliver

Oliver reached up, an abrupt, impulsive gesture, an attempt to touch his nose to Mercy's. It was gratitude, mainly--a thanks, unspoken, for his reassurances. And it was a brief gesture, the sort a dog might make when praised; a touch and then a retreat, sniffing around the grass at his feet.

"Where should we go, do you think?" he asked, his voice a near-murmur. It was as though he had decided, abruptly, that his fate was linked with the lion's once again. "I've been spending all my time, like, moving seeds to other caves, planting them... making gardens, you know? It's, um--this is..." he looked around.

"I didn't ever want to see Rift again but I don't know what's happened, here." And then, abruptly: "Oh-"... Eyes widened.


"Oh! Mercy, I can see! I mean-... Kind of. Not see. Feel? Through the plants, again! Look!" he added, turning in a circle and staring around, as if somehow Mercy would see it, too.

He looked back to the lion, blinking. "It does still work," he breathed, his tone one of deep relief. "I thought we were... cut off. That was scary," he confided.

@Mercy

The pale beast graciously accepted the tapped nose, tilting his snout downwards so it was easier to reach. He instinctively stuck his tongue out to rasp at Oliver, but he’d already withdrawn back to sniffling around. Mercy wasn’t offended in the slightest; he licked at his jowls instead, and lurched up to his feet.

Where should we go, do you think?" Moonstone eyes blinked slowly. Dim thoughts parroted that exact sentence—Where should we go?—but, he attentively waited for the crow-dog to finish. The reward was the subtlest clarification and rephrasing: where should we go next?

Although… a change of scenery might be nice.

He filed that away for later.

Instead of pursuing what he’d assumed, Mercy shuffled so that he’d be able to plop down at Oliver’s right side, tail curling out towards his left. Heavy head swinging and tilting, he murmured, "hm? Where else have you made gardens?" They could tend to them together—like they had, before, without that unhealthy overdose of paranoia and glancing over one's shoulders.

Paws kneaded idly at the soil, shoving it and packing it in his prints; he could not say that he blamed Oliver for disliking Rift. "I understand—," he'd started, by way of validation, when—

Oh.

Magic flared into full-on sensory overload: all that Eridanus witnessed was briefly placed into Mercy's conscience, and it nearly capsized in the moment. Sharp, hitching breaths shrugged it off, though he kept a close hold on that feeling.

They had lost their touch, but they had also found it again. Inky lips broke into a beaming smile, and he dipped his head, "perhaps, they were just waiting for us to reach out, together." Every little insect crawling on a leaf nearby, he felt as if it were simpering through his own fur. It was fleeting, but so vibrant.

A welcome home, if you will.

@Oliver