Wolf RPG

Something moved. It was outside the realm of his dreaming, originating in ‘reality’ and it had been enough to jostle him, stirring the eldest Loðbrók child to the precipice of consciousness. Yet it was a state — the state of awakening — he had yet to reach; slumber the Ironside’s captor unwilling to let the child go just yet. In time the shapes, large and lacking detail became darker, and the carefree atmosphere of the dream become somber and sharp. Definitive in that it did not feel good. In Eiríkr’s dreams thunder let out a mighty roar and the sharp crack of lightning startled the boy awake as it split the sky milky blue eyes bursting open wide as he gasped awake and let out a few, panicked pants glimpsing around him furiously, sucking in breath greedily as if he hadn’t breathed oxygen for centuries. As his heart rate became to climb back down to it’s normal pace he listened, not realizing that he did not have to strain so hard to hear the sounds of the world around him but all he heard was the sound of his still sleeping siblings and the sounds of the birds (not that he realized that was what they were) singing from the outside.

He blinked his eyes, pupils still blown wide in their pools of milky blue, seeking the large, still blurry but becoming clearer form of his father. “hvað er rangt sonur minn?” Eiríkr heard his father inquire though he did not know the meanings of the words, nor that his father spoke in a tongue different from the one his mother did. In a moment of trembling fear he pushed himself against his Ragnar’s shoulder, head butting the junction between the man’s shoulder and front right leg wanting the thunder to stop haunting his dreams not realizing that his father would have soothed his worries about the thunder — that it the God Thor was fearsome but was also watching over him — if Eiríkr could have spoken. He was developing quickly but he was still a baby, could not vocalize yet (couldn’t even babble yet according to the guide). So answering his father besides in the coos, cries and whines he could muster was impossible.

Eiríkr did not cry out, and his trembling had stopped quickly though he drew strength from Ragnar’s imposing and colossal presence. Eiríkr had been afraid but he didn’t want Ragnar or his littler siblings (the true babies in his mind) to know it. It was his eldest instincts kicking in already though they had always, perhaps, been there. Slowly, the Ironside detached himself from his father’s arm pit, tugging himself free with unnecessary force that had him tumbling back upon his bum (having just started to walk so he was still fairly unsteady) in a startled moment, his tail squished awkwardly under his right back leg. “Ein?” His father was looking at him with ethereal colored eyes of the iciest and most stunning blue that Eiríkr had ever seen (not that he saw much beyond the colors of his siblings, and Thistle and the dirt and dank darkness of the den). The Ironside thought that maybe that word they called him, that sound ‘Ein’ was in some way connected to him.

Thisle used it too, has used it the other day when she chided him, though her voice had been sharp to get across her point when he had squished one of his siblings by pouncing unjustly upon them and proceeding as his per usual ritual to conquering them by munching on their ears.

Unable to do much else he cocked his head at his father and let out a small, quieted yelp.

Ein was still situated awkwardly on his bum, captivated by the jewels of his father’s eyes, though it was the color that held the boy’s short attention span momentarily immobile. At least until movement, blurry though it was, was seen out the corner of the oldest sons’ eye and his head swiveled towards Tveir as the smaller boy jumped, probably in the yelp that had left his muzzle not but two seconds ago. Brow furrowed, wondering why the noise had scared his baby brother, watching — managing to stay still though his tail was cramping under his leg — as Tveir approached only to let out an indignant and harsh sound of protest when the younger boy head butted his bottom jaw, causing a sharp shot of pain to radiate through it.

The pain was short lived but Ein had not forgotten about it and when Tveir whimpered at the sound of Ragnar’s voice the oldest seized the opportunity and lunged at Thistle’s mini-me, tail lashing viciously behind him as he attempted to slam his body against Tveir’s and cause the younger boy to collide with the ground, pinned beneath Ein’s body, toothless mouth attempting to baby bite what he could in revenge for hurting him. Ein didn’t realize that he desired dominance over the other boy, that eventually this attempt at boyish revenge would manifest into true ambition of power. For now, it was mostly harmless wrestling.

The yelp the second born Nameless let out might have been loud enough to deter another but, instead, simply encouraged Ein, fueling the fire, spreading it’s warmth through his chest as he snapped eagerly, with much more ferociousness than was needed for their game of play unknowing of his own strength, at Tveir’s paws each time the Second Born tried to push him off. His own paws were constantly shifting, scuffling up dirt and dust as he growled in an almost cutesy puppy way, enjoying the thrill of the game, trying to go at Tveir from all the angles as they presented themselves to him in his blurry vision. The other boy gummed harmlessly at the eldest Nameless’ shoulder and ear, effective in covering it in sticky saliva. Probably a thinly veiled attempt at payback from the times that Ein sucked on his ears in lieu of being unable to suck on what he really wanted which was milk but for whatever reason — be it his inability to find Thistle or because Ragnar was watching them for a time he had made due with what he had been offered. …Or rather taken.

A breathless of a coo burst Ein’s parted lips at his brother’s grunts of effort, his infant attempt at a laugh though he had yet to master the sound of mirth. For a moment he took a breather, allowing his brother to tug at the downy fur of his night dusted shoulder pausing to glimpse up at Ragnar who was contented with watching them. Like a flash (well it was super fast to him anyway) he lunged down and gummed at his brother’s squirming cheek before he plopped his haunches down in an attempt to sit on the squirming Tveir, one paw pressed down on the curve of the Second Born’s chest, the other stabilizing Ein on the ground. Having seen something he didn’t like Ragnar suddenly scooped Ein up and off of Tveir by the scruff. Instinctively, Ein curled into a ball as he was man handled lifted into the air letting out a protesting cry in a But I was winning, Father!, indignant manner.

“You fought like men,” Ragnar chuckled after he set Ein down with his leg as a barrier between the two boys. “But your mother might kill me if I don’t encourage you to play nicer with one another.” As soon as Ein was free of his father’s jaws he lunged at the man’s leg attempting to catapult himself over it only to unceremoniously get stuck little legs kicking in a swimming fashion as he attempted to squirm over Ragnar’s leg, seeking his brother for assistance.

Ein would come to learn, in time, that Tveir was just as unrelenting as the eldest Nameless himself, as it was fighting back with everything Ein dished out to him. It would have been impressive to the First Born if he was capable of finding things impressive at his current age. As it was their inability to back down from one another would serve purposes of equal opportunity as they aged and trained and sparred with one another; and perhaps instead of warring with one another they could turn into a whirl-wind of destructive force of nature to be reckoned with as a team. Or maybe they would end up as Ragnar and his siblings had: distant and always at war with one another. The future wasn’t concrete and Ragnar considered that as he watched the boys wrestle.

Tveir answered Ein’s own coo in some unspoken moment of joy, and a small reprieve from otherwise tiresome butt kicking, but before Ein had the ability to catch his breath and prepare for another assault upon his younger brother Ragnar had intervened and rudely interrupted their fun. Still wiggling on Ragnar’s leg, trying and utterly failing at propelling himself over it he had attempted to reach out to Tveir only to watch as his brother ungracefully tumbled nearer in a clumsy manner of assisting. Not that Ein would have had any room to remark upon his brother’s clumsiness if he had been able too. He was just as clumsy if falling on his bum hadn’t been an obvious indication.

An indignant cry of confusion left Ein’s muzzle as Tveir attacked Ragnar’s other leg …which was proving to be the most unhelpful thing ever to Ein who was still stuck on Ragnar’s leg, lacking the strength push himself over it entirely. He wiggled violently, yelping demanding at Tveir to help him off of Ragnar’s leg since Ragnar, amused by the show, offered no inclination to assist his eldest infant son in any manner.

Though neither boy understood morals or anything of the sort it had been the fact that Ragnar had not wanted to suffer through a lecture via Thistle for letting them blatantly rough house. Ein and Tveir were children and neither understood their own strengths even though the pain they could cause for the other was minimal at best. Ein scooched some more, wiggling his butt as he attempted his useless scramble to launch himself over Ragnar’s leg. Tveir finally seemed to get the message that Ein was in dire need of assistance except the other boy was batting uselessly at Ein’s bum. The eldest son let out a loud, indignant cry glimpsing over his shoulder at his younger brother when he gummed at his tail, attempting to push Tveir away with his back paws not really enjoying having his butt space invaded. As it was, Ein had not meant his bum.

The chuckle that rocked Ragnar was loud, like an abrupt bark of laughter that was uncontained and, perhaps, unexpected. Watching Tveir pummeled head over butt in a failed attempt to assist Ein in the escaping of his prison Ragnar supposed he had tortured the boys enough and with a gentle nudge of his muzzle to Ein’s bum he let the boy topple free to the other side so he was no longer caged it and lifted Tveir and placed him beside Ein recoiling in the nick of time for the eldest boy rolled onto his stomach, pushed himself back to his paws and let out a giant sneeze that would have sent puppy snot all over Ragnar if he hadn’t retreated so quickly.

Ein winced, bum colliding with the dirt as he let out another snot rocket, eyes squeezing shut as he let the sneeze free, blinking a few times at Tveir and then up at Ragnar and then back to Tveir again letting out a meaningless coo.

Ein’s tail was covered in baby drool and not his own which made him scootch again, belly fur mussing against the shortened fur of Ragnar’s leg in a ‘stop it’ manner. Of course sneezing in Tveir’s face was an unexpected but pleasant form of revenge for Ein’s wet bum — which was not some place anyone really wanted to be sticking their mouth, admittedly. He winced, eyes closing as he felt a third sneeze burn his black, leathery nostrils which twitched in response but as he drew in the sharp breath the need to sneeze vanished suddenly leaving Ein standing there in what could be akin to disappointment. There were some droplets of baby saliva — or was it’s not — on Tveir’s muzzle and curiously Ein poked at the small, glimmering things before letting out a nonsense noise and pounced around his younger sibling, batting at his butt, skirting back to press his own bum against Ragnar’s leg, ignoring their father’s verbal protest in Old Norse before he kicked off of Ragnar, effectively attempting to use the man as a spring board and pounced on Tveir, throwing his weight against his younger sibling; despite that Tveir probably outweighed him.