skill:

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.

SKILL: HEALER (1/5)

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Svajonė lay still, exhaustion draped over her like a heavy pelt. The world was quieter now, just the soft rush of the river, Vidarr’s steady warmth beside her, and the faint suckling sounds of the tiny life pressed to her belly.

Her eyes lifted when he spoke, his words reaching through the haze. A weak smile tugged at her muzzle. You always know what to say, she murmured, voice low and hoarse. The little one squirmed, and her heart clenched with something fragile and fierce. He’s strong, she said softly. Stronger than I thought anything left in me could be.

When Vidarr teased her, a breath of laughter slipped past her tired throat. Careful, she whispered, keep talking like that and I’ll have you fetching reeds for my nest before dawn.

Her gaze followed his when he mentioned herbs, then drifted back to the pup. Willow bark, she said quietly. If you find it. It helps dull the ache.

He leaned in, touched her brow, and for a moment she let her eyes close. The world shrank to the sound of his voice — beautiful — and the steady heartbeat between them. When he pulled back, she looked down at her son again, tracing her muzzle along his tiny spine.

His name… she murmured after a long, shaky pause. Her voice was rough, like she’d forgotten how to use it. Reid. She breathed the word out slowly, like it already meant something sacred. For the reeds… where he was born.

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skill:

With her coiled around her cub and Vidarr around her, it would be easy for her to feel the deep chuckle that rose from his chest. He reached out to nuzzle gently against her, tongue making another few passes to clear her face. So you both get to look presentable for one another. You're just meeting, after all. His tease was weak - and while she was exhausted for the physical stress she had been under between the birthing and the hurt of her leg too. Vidarr was tired, but that was in watching her and worrying over her. It did not matter much how he felt or any sort of strain he was under, and the rollercoaster of his own emotions would be a problem for future Vidarr. Present Vidarr was still in that haze of warmth and the soft rainbow glow of a fresh life.

Later, once they had found a better, more defendable place - paranoia kept tugging at the tip of his tail. The smell of blood and birth saturated all of them. Someone might be so foolish as to think they were getting an easy meal. Aldrnari (Nourisher of life), I have only seen strength from you. And you give that same fire to him. Vidarr's voice had a low gravel to it, caught as he was in how he felt. It left an impression on him every time they were near one another. And it seemed as if their orbit kept them finding the other when it was needed the most. Look, he has your same brand - a fire so strong it can be seen on your pelts. Both had the rich ochre swatches in their fur.

Her tender touches to her precious babe only made him think of his own mother and how he missed her. He missed being small, tucked between his parents and nestled in the cocoon of their love and safety. And this little soul - he would hopefully know the same safety as he grew. Don't you know already? You merely say it, and I will go to fetch it for you. He wasn't lying - he truly didn't mind taking her orders or listening to her. She had never been cruel in his presence, she had always seemed genuine, and Vidarr had always appreciated that about her.

Willow bark. It was good they were not in the Alpines where it would be more unlikely to find any. I should be able to find some. He would at least do his best. I wish....Eira and Ormr vanished. She would have set you to rights fast. Faster than Vidarr ever could, and surely with such less pain. Vidarr was torn between going off to find the Willow Bark and ease her pain, or stay just a bit longer, to let her settled. His internal war was ceased, though, as Svajone settled upon Reid for the boy, and he let out a little warm rumble. Reid was not of her language - at least that he'd ever heard her say, and it was certainly far from the names he would have considered normal from his homelands. Reid. He repeated the name. Welcome to your life, Reid. Softly - at least as much as the large male could manage. I will go soon, and check the river's edge. Just a few more moments, a few more seconds to bear witness.

Rune Discovery : 「 Failure 」 

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Silence crept like growing vines along the autumn-kissed region, a breeze so still that one could mistake its existence were it not for the breath that passed between wolves.

The world seemed to watch in careful interest as the Guardian of Courage took to the river, its polluted streams yearning for another body—another tongue, another life—for it to take. The plague’s urge was a steady reminder in the air, a weight held between shoulders, as it called, whispered, begged for the man to drink from its source.

But Mythris had seemed to pause, the plagued air shuddering to a quiet hum as another entered its scene. Broken, bloodied, but returned.

The plague watched with careful interest, not yet materialized, but curious and hungry as it fed on the fear, on the hurt, on the pain that oozed from the wolves by the river.

There was no rune to be found here.

Nothing but suffering and sorrow.

And were it not for the life lost, or the blood that marred the soil and sunk into the roots of Mythris, perhaps these wolves would have faced a different fate.

Alas, the essence of the plague merely chuckled—a sound that was nothing more than an eerie howl of the wind—as he returned his energy into the soil, into the water, and into the bloodied and rotting roots of Mythris.

Until next time.