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puppy den-site move - also when all other members can come say hi. AW, and i'm thinking no post order bc i'm chaotic like that. @Nyx @Mahler @Lycaon & kierkegaard if you wanna come by and poke babies with me

how quickly the puppys had outgrown the grotto's hold. these days, it was all the tired matriarch could do to keep the small tyrants in line. if it wasn't @Ephraim trying to break free, it was @Illidan -- more than once she had curttailed an early demise from @Raleska's best attempts at suicide in the pool, and several times now, had intervened on her children's behalf when @Rhakios turned a slew of angry fits upon them.

they were restless, and quite frankly, caiaphas was exhausted -- it was time for them to move.

one by one, she nudged them awake with a quick jab of a cold nose -- ever the loving mother, she pushed them roughly towards the entrance and then, without even making sure they could make the climb, stole outside.

the sun that met her was blinding -- overwhelming -- but it was good to be above ground. with a content sigh, the she-wolf collapsed in the sand and waited for her tiny terrors to join her.
wylla had not come back.
mahler had sought within himself to excise every emotion regarding the little she-wolf's departure, but had failed, becoming despondent and retreating to some half-built shelter far removed from his packmates. he did not think it was some unrequited affection that had sundered his being, though mahler remembered very little of its feel. the musiker was no lover of such harsh shifts in any form, let alone the structure and leadership of his pack. he had grown dour, suspicious, his great frame absent from the shoreline as he fretted in the darkness. 
yet it was a heavy tread that now carried mahler with an angered confidence toward the grotto where the witch and his own countryman made their nest. from her he would demand leave to seek who he felt to be the rightful leader of grimnismal. there was hesitance within him at alienating kierkegaard with such brashness; mahler had only just found his voice with the ghost.
so perturbed, his pelt somewhat bedraggled with disregard, the dappled wolf drew near enough to spot the gorgon. but he sensed she was not alone. settling himself in open view of her, near but not so that the witch would rout him, mahler hunched like some miserable fiend, head lowered between his shoulders as wordlessly he allowed caiaphas' very presence to become a desperately needed distraction.
Ephraim was, as usual, right on Caiaphas' heels as she traipsed across the grotto, but when she hoisted herself up the small ledge that led into the entry, the boy paused. His ears cut sharp shadows across his neck as they peaked and his tail's instinctive whirring stilled. Though driven only by his own selfishness, the child was unused to being abandoned so summarily. A keening whine rose in his throat as he paced anxiously at the ledge, lifting his torso every so often to paw at the upper surface.

It took longer than it ought to have for him to figure out how to haul himself up over the lip, but he was the first to go; his back paws left the cold floor of the dim grotto, touched the sun-warmed stone of the entryway, and then he was stumbling out into the harsh sunlight. A cold wind raked over the sound but it was no colder than the grotto itself and Ephraim noticed not the temperature, but the feel of it tugging his short fur. He turned to snap idly at a shoulder and then froze in place as he noticed the hunched wolf nearby.

Gargoyle.

With a stressed growl and grumble, Ephraim skittered clumsily closer to his mother with his tiny hackles alertly raised and uttered the only word he knew in a voice that was unsure and cautious: "ma?"
she stirred in the sand, one angular ear tilted behind her as she listened to the squalling objections of her youth. a smile crept across her lips - they would find their way, eventually... and if they didn't -- well, there were bigger challenges in life than the slope that marked the mouth of the grotto's entrance. if they failed to triumph over that slight ascension, perhaps life was not in their cards at all.

a sound of a wolf approaching caused her to fix her attention forward -- sand clung to half of the she-wolf's wizened muzzle as she lifted up her head and assessed the approaching individual. mahler.

he looked every bit as irritable as she, and she stirred onto her thin elbows to regard him with a taciturn expression. something about the unkept manner of his fur, the hard glint in his eye, seemed to suggest he was not so pleased as of late -- but if she cared at all to extract from his surly expression the reasons for his troubles, she hardly showed it.
She'd royally fuked up, and he loathed her life on the coast. Unable to hide her pregnancy any longer, Nyx had taken to avoiding her few remaining pack-mates and lingering among the sound's sequoias. Although eternally miserable, the agouti Ostrega preferred to keep herself to herself.

At times, she considered venturing beyond Grimnismal's land and never looking back. Her thoughts would often turn to Dirge and Saor, of her family back in Winterheart, and she'd consider going home to them. Her mother would happily rear whatever pups she whelped but Nyx doubted that Lycaon, the father of her unborn brood, would ever entertain the idea.

For the first time in weeks, she sought her pale-furred companion with the intention of seeking his opinion on the matter. Caiaphas' grotto was a local haunt of Lycaon, she knew, and figured he might be found in the company of their new Alphess and her own litter. Her approach was achingly slow, her head and tail low to accompany her shame, though her raven-tipped ears pricked forward and her dull gaze was drawn to movement at the cave's entrance. Quietly, Nyx observed the sea witch encourage her brood above ground - presumably for the first time.

She maintained the distance, having never shared a love for pups. Her yellow stare lingered on the tiny figures that followed their dam and the agouti's stomach lurched uncomfortably at the sore reminder of what she herself would need to experience in the coming weeks. With an anxious flick of her salmon tongue over a rugged lip, her gaze remained locked to the scene before her as she watch in strained silence.
the matted hackles along mahler's dappled back rose as he caught sight of caiaphas' direct stare. from the distance, her eyes bored into him like gold-coin venom. recalling his fear of her, the musiker blinked rapidly, unable to keep his eyes trained on the witch's sharp features any longer.
the scent of another rose. mahler pulled his stare from the sand and regarded the she-wolf who had often been seen in the beta's company. chagrin weighed at her; the loveliness of her form was marred by the roundness of her sides. more brats for grimnismal. unsure of where within him the sudden vitriol had sprung, mahler remained as he was all the same, feeling it slowly rise to choke him with an aggrieved bitterness.
any uncomfortable inspection she would have exacted on mahler's disgruntled form was interrupted  -- by the burdened presence of nyx. caiaphas' gaze seemed to narrow astronomically as she observed the fullness of the woman's figure -- a new fullness that she was unfortunately all-together too well acquainted with.

still resting on her elbows, the siren queen drew a long pause -- the sweep of her gaze sharp and almost accusatory. "who did that to you?" she asked suddenly, though somehow she suspected she might know the answer.

in truth, nothing in the world delighted the wizened old shrew more than puppies -- and somehow, the concept of more seemed outrageously delightful.
Nobody was paying any attention to him; Caiaphas hadn't reacted to his soft question and the others were hunched about like demons on the strand, fixated on the old coywolf who led them. Like a churlish old cat denied its breakfast and morning worship, Ephraim huffed loudly and settled into the cold sand at his mother's haunch and glared out at the most visible wolf (Nyx).