Watching those precious first minutes, Vidarr wasn't sure he'd ever beheld anything more beautiful. The last time he'd witnessed a birth was Olive's, and he'd done little more than just provide a barrier between the rest of the world and the Druid. The children had been beautiful - each an interesting mixture, and the fact that they'd each seemed to claim their own unique coats, had ended in tragedy, a loss that still cut him deeply. Augustus and Thaddeus, Tiberius and Olive, Genghis and Hilde, Eira and Ormr, each new thorn cut the tender flesh of his heart, bleeding freely in their loss and the hurt that it left behind. Duskguard had been his home and his family. Dawnbreak had become the same - and perhaps something far deeper still. Watching the ones who'd only just been gangly younglings when he'd met them were now fully capable adults. They had built something far greater and stronger than what Duskguard had been. Of course, it started around the Shakti-Vaes couple, which made sense.

What their children had continued to build was different. They'd had several come along, they had seen horrible grief and sadness and stood still against the weight of the world coming down. Their mettle had been tested, and it was this streak too that he saw in Svajone. She had always proven herself to be determined. Each time they faced something horrific like a polar bear attacking, or the fires, and now the plague, they had still come through on the other side. And now, she had brought her pups earthside. She had a son - a son - who was suckling, seeming to rally a bit as its belly filled. He is, Vidarr rumbled as she whispered, feeling the joy and the bitter aftertaste of sorrow and loss mixed in with the sweet whisper of hope. His chest felt so full, every atom and mere molecule that made him up buzzed with excitement. Were his shoulder better, he might have been lost to a zoomie or two, even. Instead, he thought he might have been vibrating into the ground they had bedded down on.

Look at you both. There was reverence in his voice, his thoughts had not strayed too far from his mother and what growing up with her had been like. He thought Svajone would be a fair mother, indulgent at times but not so much that her son wouldn't be self-sufficient or unruly - no, he could conjure the vision of her curled around her little cub, lovingly retelling his favorite stories as he fell asleep. She would be a good teacher, for all that she'd encouraged Vidarr to learn, she didn't berate him for his mistakes. And now he would need to apply some of that knowledge. Once you are comfortable, I'll find something sturdy. He said with a quick little nod. He wouldn't leave her vulnerable - even if he wasn't going to be far from her, he didn't know how long until she felt secure enough for him to retrieve the supplies.

He was dutifully listening to her instructions, though the prickling anxiety of not being right there to keep danger at bay did not sit well with him. He would have to choose what to do - sit and worry over it, or, be of some help to her, as she had been to him. She had doctored his wounds for so long, managing to help steady him as he learned to walk with his tender, raw shoulder. Haven't I told you? I like how it sounds when you boss me around. He couldn't help but tease her a bit, after the rollercoaster of emotions they had both been on it had thankfully ended positively and thus Vidarr's spirits had improved enough to joke, even weakly said as it was. He looked closer at the wound, careful not to knock or nudge against her leg at all, careful not even to breathe on it. Do you recognize anything for the pain? He was hopeful there would be something that he could get her. His golden gaze swept the reeds and the trees that lined the path the river had carved.

Vidarr leaned forward and pressed his muzzle to her forehead, resting there in a familiar way. Sweet Mother, congratulations, you are beautiful, so is he. What a gift you have given the world today (Sweet Mother, congratulations, you are beautiful, so is he. What a gift you have given the world today.) Vidarr's voice had a grit to it as he swallowed down the emotions that caught him off guard. She might have caught the word beautiful, maybe more after being around him for so long and his occasional ramblings in his native tongue. He pulled back from the gentle kiss and only then did he partially sit up again, keeping the precious little cub between them. The whole world of Mythris, all the chaos of the plague, the playthings of beings with a penchant for causing chaos for the mere mortals like them of Mythris. All of that, all the worlds there were, and he was here!. He was there for her, and for her son. He will need a name. His people felt that strongly. The names bound them to each other. It was common to see one carry the name of another like a shield or a banner. It made the roots that tied all of them together and strengthened them all. Once the little one had a name - even just an endearment, sometimes - it helped the soul settle. It knew who it was, it grew content with the warmth of that knowledge wrapped around it.

It was only once she had assured him that she was stable enough that he left the little nest they had made. He secured all of the pups at Svajone's side with the most tender of touches, offering each little soul its own tender touch before he left. Vidarr felt tense as he scouted the brush, trying to find a stick that would be sufficient. It was too easy for someone to come along looking for an easy meal. Would he not have done the same, were it a doe and her fawn? But Svajone would have alerted him to anything. When he returned, he had a couple sticks in his mouth for her to inspect and choose from.