Neverwinter Forest and — it was winter

Northwestern edge of Neverwinter Forest. For family, please. ♥

“And when she woke up, it was winter.”

The voice that spoke was light and low, hesitant but not precisely shy, and curiously robotic. Eirlys Dagny Fearghal sat at the forest’s edge and looked broodingly over the pastureland to the northwest without moving, one mitted paw lifted in absent indecision. For weeks now, she had recognized within herself the one thing she’d grown to detest above all else: wanderlust.

Wandering, a colossally reckless pastime, had cost the thickset eight month old her mother, her father, her older sister, and two littermates. Impatiently, she squelched the itch in her paws for what felt like the umpteenth time, very deliberately placing her raised paw beside its mate.

“And when she opened her eyes, it was winter.”

Did that sound better or worse? Eirlys’ rounded features — etched, unbeknownst to her, in her deceased mother’s likeness — pinched in an expression that could have been indigestion but was more likely to be thoughtfulness. Down two siblings meant more food for her and Ceallach — whose sharper, more streamlined [read: prettier] bone structure mocked her on the daily — and digestion had become one of Eirlys’ greatest skills. Arturo’s whisper of coyote blood and Lotte’s natural athleticism had saved their daughter from being truly fat, but a veterinarian would have to press a little harder to locate the scalloped gradient of her ribs. Add the Ansbjørn fluff to this unfortunate equation, and, well, let’s just say Eirlys had been ready for winter since summer.

It wasn’t that she minded. If you asked her, Eirlys’d tell you: she didn’t mind anything. The snowdrop had coped with the heavy handfuls of trauma she’d been dealt by becoming increasingly stoic; it was tidier that way. Though she lacked her mother’s penchant for manipulating her own thoughts and feelings to suit her situation, she found a certain comfort in the drab mire she’d immersed herself in. She was gentle and even maternal with @Droman and @Reed, and she still managed to be affectionate and sweet when it came to @Ceallach and @Hemlock — but there was a haze over Eirlys’ world as fine and insulated as her vanilla blossom fur.

Whatever their little family was, it had become the new normal, and now that their little troop of six had managed to set up a temporary shelter in the forest Hemlock was determined to try and keep them safe. It was a lot to handle; once one of three and now the only surviving adult. Each younger wolf was in a sense her child from the eldest Tapat down to the youngest Reed and then the two particular souls that hovered in between. She did not worry so much for Ceallach, who watched over them with a near hawkish manner, but in Eirlys sometimes she saw so much of Lotte it near drown her in her own despair. Hemlock had caught herself watching the young woman yet again and this time she did not swallow down the words as she came closer to the young girl. 

She reached up (oh, how tiny Hemlock felt even next to them!) to press a little kiss to the girl's cheek before she took a seat near her, vibrant gaze shifting outwards like the forest might betray it's secrets and tell her what she longed to know. "It was much worse last year." Hemlock admitted, and for some reason she decided it was time enough to open up to the older children about the bitterness of the previous year. "I was not here to see it through but the winter was cold and it was brutal - I had ranged very far from home to hunt a cougar down, the very same that gave me my scars. I heard there were even some wolves that perished the season was so bad." They were fortunate that this year was not so rough and that they were not facing the same terrible hunger that had claimed other's lives. 

Of course Hemlock worried. So far she placed herself last on the list, making sure each of the flock ate before she did. In another time or setting it might have rankled her to her core as her place as leader meant she earned those first precious bites - but she would rather each of the younger wolves fill out and know no hunger. She owed it to both husband and wife to ensure that their children were saved from as much of the world's pains as possible. 

it seems the world sees fit to throw countless hindrances at the child, and despite, she grows. she grows and grows, in that boundless way children her age do, as if racing time itself. reed knows words know, most of 'em, and while she had been such a loudmouthed baby, she's settling into a quieter version of herself, one that watches with sharp eyes. one that will learn to wheedle and beguile and bicker with the best of them. 

she is sharp enough to understand that whatever situation has been inherited, it is unfair to her. maybe all children are given unfair hands, but she is beginning to suspect hers has been especially cruel. for one, she is not, as she had assumed she would be, royalty of any kind. what's up with that, world? the father figure - the witch doctor - has vanished from her life, and though she will forget him by the time she is fully grown, right now the disappearance rankles her. he was interesting. he made funny noises with his mouth that she enjoyed imitating. (she will dream of shadowy, sneaky figures and their baubles for the rest of her life, though she won't be able to explain why).

it isn't all bad, though. mama can do no wrong as far as she is concerned, even though she made reed cross the bad wet stuff. there is, at least, a lot of company in the form of her brother who she mostly ignores, and all of her various older siblings, who she is still forming opinions on. they seem fine, except when mama decides to pay attention to them instead of her. like right now? hello. with an exaggerated tiny huff the child sticks herself to mama's legs, pleased as always the way the still downy-soft fur on her back neatly blends with the fur on her mother's ankles. she fixes eirlys with the snootiest look she can manage, little nose tipped up and eyes squinty, and says, "is cold." because even if she's fine right now, it is cold, and it is important that they all know and respect her opinion. this is the way reed's world must be.

One small, cocoa-dusted ear fanned outward at Hemlock’s approach. Mama, the snowdrop’s heart cried with a painful wrench, and she cleared her throat to breathe life into the loving term that clung to her tongue tip. Dark lips pursed to form that first murmured syllable, but as Reed tucked herself against Hemlock’s slender limbs and fixed Eirlys with a patently displeased expression, she thought better of it. Her tail whisked behind her, a quick sweep of affection, and she laved the base of Hemlock’s fiery ear with her tongue. “It sounds terrible,” she said, politely and correctly, her voice betraying a flicker of shyness as she surmised, “Äiti — must have been thrilled. She hated the summer heat.” Her tongue was thick in her mouth and her head muzzy.

Almost immediately, she turned her attention to Reed, glacial eyes fixed intently upon the pinched little face and its moue of distaste. “Are you cold, then, mo stoirín?” she asked carefully, clinging to their father’s rich brogue even in his absence. “You, too, little soturi?” she asked of Droman, who made his own way to his mother and tucked himself snugly against her. “What shall we do to keep warm?” Her query, while directed to everyone present, was mainly focused on the fiery little girl. Truth be told, although Eirlys had made herself available as much as possible after the children were born, she didn’t know her half-siblings all that well.

Papa!

She was pleased to note that the old, familiar pain didn’t even turn her mouth anymore. Her expression remained neutral, a smile carefully arranged upon her chubby-cheeked features, as she turned to Hemlock. “What do you suppose?” she asked, keeping her voice light and untroubled. “Wrestling, singing, or telling stories…?”

 

Hemlock could only laugh, leaning down to kiss Reed's brow before she returned her gaze to Eirlys. She had not spent the winter with Lotte and regretted it now - the ice was beginning to melt when she had returned. "Even when complaining she sounded lovely." No doubt the children would long grow tired of Hemlock and her pining for Lotte and Arturo, but, what could she do? She'd laid two spouses in the ground and the last had not stayed. She could not let the brood see that hurt in her and she tried to hide away when the pain grew too deep. 

Soon enough Droman came close and Hemlock smiled as they bundled against one another. "I think stories would be wonderful - your brothers are gathering dinner, we can keep busy until they return." She suggested with an easy smile - she could fake her own happiness until she believed it. Or until she gave up, whichever came first. "You know we moved while your Aiti carried you - and then, we moved again while I carried you."[size=x-small] [/size] Hemlock indicated who she spoke of with a move of her muzzle, a wash with warmth to each child. There was no secrets - she called Lotte her wife when speaking of her just as she called Arturo her husband. 

" And now we travel again. Like those proud Tundarians - it was always in the stories Aiti told of how they claimed the world itself. Do you have a favorite story of hers, Eirlys?"   

Skipping Reed with permission!

There was something sad and wistful in Eirlys’ smile, but she drew a slow, deep breath and set it aside. In a way, Hemlock’s pining helped the snowdrop cope in a way that she didn’t allow herself to do — as if she grieved vicariously through the Kali woman. “I like Mallaidh’s song,” she said softly, smiling up at Hemlock without a trace of bitterness. She wasn’t feeling bitter today, though sometimes it did sneak up on her — mostly because she and Ceallach didn’t have songs of their own.

“Never and never, my girl riding far and near
in the land of the hearthstone tales, and spelled asleep…”

“You should give Reed and Droman songs, mama,” Eirlys offered quietly, shyly. “Äiti would have liked them to have songs — or stories, or second-names.” She realized then that maybe she and Ceallach did have something from their mother — he had his stories of Mathan, a great hero, and she had her stories of Dagfinn. She didn’t really remember her Uncle Dagfinn; he’d left for the Enok Tundra before the snowbears had been old enough to really have their memories set in stone. Still, Lotte had talked about him exhaustively, and Eirlys believed she’d know him if she saw him: a dark wolf with wintry blue eyes and a dusty cream star upon his chest.

Reed was at a somewhat self-centered stage in her life — whether it would be permanent or not was anybody’s guess, but Eirlys decided to cater to her pikkusisko nonetheless. “It’s not one of äiti’s stories,” she said, looking fondly at the little girl. “This story is just for you, Reed, so you can change however you want, whenever you wish.” This was something Lotte had done often enough, encouraging her children to choose settings, characters, and conflicts as she effortlessly wove them together. It wasn’t effortless for Eirlys, but she did her best to encourage Reed to choose her own adventure and make her own choices. It was, quite literally, all about her.