Her nose twitched as they maintained a pace that quickly closed the distance between they and the three figures ahead. Flicking over each man in turn, her gaze lingered on the one with the white-blonde hair… The one who addressed Warin by name, but not in the warmest of ways. Inhaling again, now in closer proximity, that was when she picked it up. His scent was familiar. While the men had their somewhat short exchange, she was trying to pinpoint that familiarity. It was when her attention was focused on Warin, in the moment when he asked about a ‘Ygraine’ that she seemed to realize exactly what it was. The blonde man, too, carried a distinctly bird-y scent about him; no doubt, he too was a were-swan.

Which was a reason she became all the more curious about the nature of Warin’s question, and the man’s dismissal. Her head tilted, watching Warin seem to raise his hands, then drop them at a loss. Where she wanted to be? Studying the face of the blonde man, then flitting between his companions, and back to Warin – her attention was drawn back when the man jerked his thumb. Her head bowed in a small nod of response. “Alvina.” Her words came as a quiet correction, not quite restrained, for how she disdained being called ma’am.

She glanced over to Warin then, seeking confirmation in some way that he was ready to go for himself, before she set them back on their way. The she-wolf allowed several minutes of silence, and ample distance to spread between them and those they’d bumped into, before reaching a hand to touch his arm, seeking his attention. “Are you alright? Is it… fair if I ask?”

Her eyes were drawn as she thoroughly scrutinized him, clearly not convinced right away. He was the quietest she’d since him since his arrival among the Pack; it would’ve been quite dull of her to not correlate that silence to the appearances of the familiar faces. That silence, and his quickness to try to plaster a smile over his face to mask it, prompted both her curiosity, and her concern. “Don’t apologize for your past.” She responded offhandedly, casting him a sidelong glance. No further comment came from her, as he offered a one sentence explanation.

Her lips pressed together in thought, though she slowly nodded. Recalling his sentiment about flowers, and how he wouldn’t make them right away. Her eyes lingering on the ground ahead of their feet, she didn’t object when his hand lingered on her arm. In fact, she lifted her own so her fingers might loosely twine with his – briefly offering a squeeze before she broke the contact. “And how did Bran know of Galen and Ygraine? Who were they?” It was difficult to speculate at exactly what things had gone unsaid in their interaction. She didn’t have the context of his past to make accurate inferences. And, she was less patient and far more direct than he when it came to matters of trying to figure it out.

The information he presented, she quickly sought to incorporate into the rest of the fragments he’d offered her before. Almost as though she were a student, her brows at first furrowed. After some thought, however, she looked up from the roadway ahead of them. Snowmont. Perhaps that had been the pack which he had left because of, how had he phrased it? Ideological conflict? Something like that. She could vaguely recall having heard something of the region, though she’d never cared to visit, particularly recently. She’d known weres from the region of course, but given her age, pressing cold was just beginning to make her bones ache. There’d been no reason to go prior, and that certainly hadn’t constituted any interest then.

But Warin’s story… The tightness in his voice. There was more. In that moment, though, she felt satiated enough. Her eyes fell to his arms, which tucked his hands behind his back in his characteristic posture, before they wandered back to the roadway. “I see. I’m sorry.” She didn’t quite know why she said it, but it seemed right. And hearing of the woman, and the fact that her mate had died… It brought on a tightness in her chest. She inhaled and exhaled a slow, heavy breath, looking off at the farthest point ahead of them in silence.

She stayed like that for a long time thereafter, walking in silence, and only commenting when was absolutely necessary. She didn’t make movements to touch him, too wrapped up in her own thoughts. The breaking of a bond was something she wished on no one. In truth, prior to the mate bond having been established between her and her mate, she’d felt the sweetness of relationships. Tasted the passion and joy, felt the tingle of excitement in her blood. But upon his return to the mountains of their childhood, and really seeing him, upon having felt the bond envelope them both, the bond had made anything else pale in comparison. The world was vibrant. The potential to build something, anything, everything together seemed limitless. His touch had brought comfort and heat and fire in a way no one else’s had; his presence a deep and pervasive comfort. In those days, regardless of if they were working alongside one another in the throes of war and conflict, or in building the Pack, or in mourning… she’d felt as though she’d reached the top of something insurmountable. And then, in a single night… All of it had fallen apart. In that way, it felt as if she’d be stricken down from her peak, as if she were locked away in a personal purgatory.

And it was her fault. Regardless of if she couldn’t have done a thing directly, regardless of if she hadn’t ordered him to go… She couldn’t shake the pervasive thought that it should’ve been her instead.

On their journey to their stopping point for the evening, she ruminated on this. On their meeting, on the three human lifetimes they’d spent together, their losses, what could have been, and finally, how it had come to a close. Alvina was not one to believe that things had to last a long time to have significance, but that did not mean she was invulnerable to the pain of such a conclusion. Her wolf… the thoughts were toxic, painful, and poisonous to her. Such thoughts, those were what ultimately drove mated werebeasts to their destruction after the loss of a mate. What drove them mad.

When they finally settled into a small Inn several hours later, her years shown in how heavily she lowered herself to sit on the bed, in the distance in her eyes. Placing her pack at her feet, she rifled until she found rations they’d procured on their way to this place at the edge of the small town in which they were staying. Taking the loaf of bread in her hands, and some preserved meat, the she-wolf hesitated. Staring blankly at them. No… She was far from hungry. Glancing up to Warin, she cleared her throat. “I don’t want this. Are you still hungry?”

Nodding, she gently wrapped the rations back into a bundle before replacing them into the pack. The very action of doing so felt like a draining force on her energy. Her stomach had been long empty for hours, though it was not hunger, nor the burden of movement that left her feeling drained. It was the deep pit which had settled into her thoughts; a cold, drowning, oppressive place.

Hearing his question, she glanced up as if started by it. The shake of her head came quickly, despite his attempt at a cheerful tone. The day weighted on him, too, she’d seen. And he was more injured than she had been. Such a tone was simply unneeded. She wet her lips as he settled on the bed beside her, internally deciding the best way to respond. A burden that is mine to carry. That was the way the Elders which had previously assisted in advising the pack would’ve addressed it, though they’d have followed such a thought with instruction that it was best to be isolated. To feel the pain, and to acknowledge its presence with the same vigor in which they embraced the gift of the bond in the first place. Saying such a thing would likely not distance the man from her side however. And so, she shook her head again, a lie falling from her lips. “My throat is sore.” Making a half-hearted attempt to dust her feet off, she drew one of her legs up such that she was sitting with it propped against his leg. Her fingers absently kneaded the flesh of her ankle. “You?”

“You took a licking, getting me out as you did.” She agreed, though she didn’t meet his eyes. Still grappling, still fighting her internal battle. My burden to bear. The thought echoed, repeatedly, as she slowly continued kneading the skin and muscle of her limb.

She’d been going at it for less than a minute when his hands entered her field of vision. Finally looking to his face, her brows arched a moment in surprise. Slowly, reluctantly at first, she allowed him to take the ankle into his palms. Almost as soon as she felt the pressure of his fingers begin to do their work, her eyes hooded. For that brief moment, she was drawn into the pleasure of that touch. The warmth of it, the relief it brought to the muscle. A small sigh, more peaceful than the she-wolf had sounded in hours, escaped her. “That feels good. Thank you.”

A small knock sounded at their door, disturbing the quiet air. Perking up, slipping from his side, she moved to crack it before he was granted an opportunity. A soft muttering from the Innkeep sounded, Alvina murmuring something back in a more surprised tone, before she opened the door further to take something that was being offered. When she closed it, she turned to face him with a large pint of ale clasped between her hands. Peering down at it, sniffing a little, she made her way slowly back to the bed. “He said that this was for the trouble caused by not having the coin to break our payment earlier.” Tilting the pint, watching the liquid roll against the walls of the container, she continued, tone a little lighter with the presented distraction. “Apparently the town is famous for this.” Then again, it was also quite likely that he'd seen the weary pair of them, and considered it a nice opportunity to bait them into drinking their sorrows away.

A small smile, half-amused, crossed her features as she watched him stow the blade away as she crossed the short distance to the bed. It was almost comical in a way. Not that his attention, nor the degree of seriousness to which he sought to make sure they were safe, wasn’t admirable. It was that small gesture that did remind her of her appreciation that he had been her escort for the night before. Slowly but surely she was being drawn out of the dark little shell she’d hidden away in for the last hours.

Inhaling the scent of the beverage, giving that one last attempt to discern anything off about it, Alvina seemed at peace with it. When he outstretched a hand for it, she allowed him to take it. The only smell she’d detected was the heavy weight of ale. And regardless of whether or not it would actually taste like piss, as he commented, it certainly smelled strong. That was the burden of having a nose like a wolf; scents and tastes were amplified, sometimes to an unpleasant degree.

Lowering herself to sit before him, her legs at her side, her brow arched curiously. “I’ll try it then.” There was a note of decision in Alvina’s voice, as she took the pint back. Raising it to her lips, taking a long drink, any sensitivity to taste was forgotten. Two solid gulps went down, before she lowered the thing and swiped the corner of her lip with a thumb. At once, a smirk. “I can’t say that I tend to drink it, nor drink at all, but you should sample what that Santos and Armin make, back home. It doesn’t taste as good as this, but it is…” She shook her head, seemingly a little lighter as she reminisced. Amused. “It is some potent stuff. Some of the pups have gotten in trouble with it before.” Daring another sip, this time a little more restrained, she moved to rest the pint on her knee. Close enough that it was within his reach, even as she leaned to the side to prop herself on one elbow.