Neverwinter Forest The beams of first light [Birth (M)]

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Kjalarr watched as Ondine drew the gasping, struggling, dying girls close to her, his ears slicking back his skull, his throat working furiously as he tried to stifle the swell of sorrow and grief at what he knew he had to do, at what his instincts were telling him to do. Letting them live was not a kindness and he knew it. They would suffer with each breath they drew and there was a chance their sickly dispositions could attract unwanted attention to the den and put their son, despite his health, at risk. Her whispered words was like the crack of a whip against the Viking’s heart but his resolve was strong and when Ondine shoved them — with gentleness he noted — towards them Kjalarr scooped one up, gently between his jaws feeling her fragility and lain her gently against the snow outside before he returned for the second. Once outside he took them one at a time a bit away, secluded. He stared down at the shivering bodies rasping their final, painful breaths before him. His salmon pink tongue drew across his lips.

“You fight bravely for your lives little ones,” Kjalarr spoke to them, knowing that they were deaf and could not hear him but his words were fore Freyja, Frigga and Odin just as they were for his dying daughters. “but it is not a fight you can win and I cannot allow you to suffer. It is an honorable death and Odin’s Valkyries will take you to Valhalla where you will grow strong and fierce under the guidance of the great Allfather and your grandfather, Ragnar.” He choked a bit on the words. He ended their lives quickly, as he promised Ondine. It hadn’t taken much. A bit of pressure and he felt the snap of their fragile bones. The sound was a familiar one but somehow knowing it was his own daughters made it sickening to him.

With a ragged breath he began to dig, heaving up chunks of frozen earth. It was unyielding beneath his claws but still he dug a sizable hole that he thought might be deep enough to keep predators from sniffing them out before he placed them in their grave and covered the hole, pressing the weight of his paws against the mound to press it down an pack the earth tight. He grabbed the nearest rock of a decent size he could find and place it over the grave. With shoulders sagged with the weight of the lives he had ended (despite that he knew it was the right thing to do) he returned to the den, settling against the mouth, using his bulk to block the chill and keep out unwanted guests, deigning to give the mother and newborn space.

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