[ P ] your wishbone

Fire under her feet, Rhoswen leapt and ducked over fallen logs, dove and dug underneath dens until she’d come out covered in dirt on the other side. She ran until her lungs burned and then some, pushing herself harder each round she went. The sun had yet to rise, and the crisp morning air kept catching in her throat. She was cold, sweaty, and tired, but she continued down the course. She’d have to be awake soon anyway, and couldn’t sleep even if she wanted to. She’d returned from home just yesterday, the conversation with her father still fresh on her mind.

Engaged. Bull crap.

Rhoswen had never once been the type to feel sorry for herself. If she had time to bitch and whine, there was still time to change whatever it was that made her upset. If she was too slow, too weak, she gave her all to get better. If she made a mistake, she refused to lose a nights rest over it, because she knew she could try again come tomorrow. She dealt with the cards given to her with grace and courage. But how could she change this? The word was out, a match had been made. If she backed out on the arrangement, she’d bring scandal to both parties, but none more so than her own. This…she couldn’t fix this.

It was ridiculous. She was in the middle of a war and all she could think of was herself, but she couldn’t shake it.

She didn’t even know the man!

Maybe she would have felt differently it was a man she knew, and had some respect for. At least then she’d know she’d be marrying a decent man, but there were too many unknowns. What did he look like? What was he like? How old was he? God, if he was some old man like her father! If he was anything like her father, truthfully. And what of…him?

Cheeks reddening underneath her coat, Rhoswen allowed herself to think of Timolean for the first time since that night. Though it’d been impossible to avoid him, she’d done her very best at keeping professional, and not letting herself dwell. What about him? She challenged herself, annoyed. That time had come and gone. It didn’t matter what either of them thought, or felt.

She needed to find Sylvain. She needed to tell someone of all that happened while she’d been away. Maybe some clarity would come from it. Sylvain would already be up, but she could be busy already. Maybe during their patrol she could-

Lost in thought, Rhoswen missed her jump and stumbled, the back of her legs catching on the tree. Though the impact stung, she found herself more embarrassed than hurt. Quickly jumping to her feet, the auburn woman glanced around her casually, praying none had seen her.

Lounging around was a treat for the Lieutenant Major. Timolean spent a considerable chunk of his afternoons and bleak mornings training those beneath him, priming them for the upcoming battle at Fae's Forest. The Royalist side had been successful in taking siege of Maiden's Braid, but now they had to prove themselves once more.
There was a pit of doubt that was settling inside of the black wolf's stomach. If one was to turn this pit upside down, they'd see that the long and spindly branches stemmed from a place of concern. Not for himself, and not for the majority of his peers, but for one individual wolf.

Rhoswen.

Through the snarls and clashing of teeth at the previous battle, Timolean's ears were subconsciously aimed to listen for her familiar yelp. In an instant, Timolean feared that he'd redirect himself and fight for her instead of the crown.

This very notion-- the fear of his emotions, drove him to drive a wedge between their sparkling flame. It's not until the stench of cinnamon and apples floods his nose that he's reminded of her presence.
He just so happens to find her stumbling against a tree, colliding with the ground in some cartoonish manner. Timolean tucks his chin slightly, emerging from the forked path that drew him to the woman.

He can't avoid her forever. In fact, he doesn't really want to.

"How graceful." Timolean dryly teases, avoiding her eyes like they'd freeze him whole, "Don't tell me you've lost your grace in the time we've been apart."
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@Rhoswen

As though brought to life by her thoughts, he appeared. Timolean. Dark as night with emerald green eyes, she’d once thought she could love him. He was a brute, but he’d had a rare tenderness about him, too. He’d been a friend and comrade for longer than they’d liked each other; their romance came fast, desperate, almost. It was war and who could say what tomorrow would bring? But it fell just as quickly. They had responsibilities, and the relationship was a distraction. It made sense when they’d broken it off. And yet it hurt.

Of course it had to be him who saw.

Quickly busying herself with stretching out her sore legs, she looked everywhere and elsewhere. Cowardice didn’t run in her blood, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to face him. “Ha! As if I ever had any grace to begin with.” She chuckled, rolling a paw. How strange it was to speak with him - on the one hand, it was completely natural. They’d known each other for a while. Conversation was easy. But on the other, he was a newly appointed stranger to her. She couldn’t help but feel unsure. “How have you been?” The question felt silly on her tongue, but it was all she could think to say. She always lost her senses when it came to him, even now. Some things never changed.

Timolean isn't one to hide his emotions around Rhoswen. They'd be vulnerable enough around each other some moons ago. Thus, he lets his gaze fall into a look of pure disappointment, noting how she couldn't even seem to look at him anymore.

What? Was his face not as handsome to her as Baptista's now?

"I beg to differ." Timolean responds after some beats of silence, choosing to draw his large paws closer to the Lieutenant.

If Rhoswen wasn't going to look at him, he'd place himself in a position where she must at least acknowledge his presence. The black wolf sits himself down at a comfortable and respectable distance, ears flinging up at the sound of such a daft question.

He responds mutely at first, opting for a shrug, before finding his voice once more, "Fine."

Timolean especially hated beating around the bush, getting straight to the point after a quick sigh, "How have you been is the better question... considering you're set to be whisked off to some... brute."

As if he wasn't a brute himself. The Lieutenant Major considers his choice of words but stands firm, nose crinkling. It still seemed a bit surreal, but he wasn't going to sit and grovel over the situation...
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@Rhoswen