Wolf RPG

Caracal didn’t know the first thing about REM cycles. His sleep was often brief and/or disrupted and he couldn’t be sure if he was actually dreaming more often or if he was only remembering them more these days. Some of them were redundant—like the ones about losing his teeth—but he hadn’t dreamed of her since shortly after his stay in The Lion’s Den.

“I’ve been reading about people who think we live in a simulation,” his writer told him. “Did you know you live in a simulation, Cackle?”

The fuck is a sim— Caracal started to ask, only to jerk awake suddenly when one of the den’s residents whimpered. —ulation? he finished groggily, sitting up and blinking around the dark den.

He felt a small kick and looked down, squinting in the gloom as he tried to discern which youngster was evidently having a nightmare.

of course it was abel.

he'd changed since coming here. memories of the birth mother had fully washed away shortly after abel's naming day. the effects of his early childhood would remain, of course, but no longer would he recall them and shy away in their shadow.

but then the nightmares started. or daymares? either way, he must have been sleep deprived, since preferred to sleep while the sun was at its peak.

caracal's outburst wakes him, and as the man looks down at his youngest boy the child returns his gaze, silent and expectant.

It took his eyes a moment to make sense of the pale silhouette shifting at his feet. Then he realized it was little Abel, his distinct markings making him partly blend into the darkness. And then the boy’s eyes opened, glimmering like cornflowers in the dusk.

Hey, he whispered, bending down to nose the boy’s forehead and then slowly, carefully sliding back into a prone position beside Abel. Weird dreams? Me too.

After a small hesitation, Caracal stretched out a foreleg in invitation, in case Abel wouldn’t mind some comforting.

Caracal was an interesting figure in Abel's life.

He did not provide milk as the seraph Heda did. He had not plucked the child from the water, nor bestowed him with a name of his very own.

But he was a constant. He was there, and that was all Abel really needed. Occasionally, there was an undercurrent of uncertainty about them, but it was far away now, nearly forgotten as Caracal reached for the boy.

Abel took his comfort eagerly, desperately, the way he did with any other crumb of attention. Ava was the only one he was truly comfortable with — for some reason, one he didn't understand, he felt as if everyone he ever loved might disappear. Maybe one day he'd be cast into the lion's den.

But not today. Abel leaned into the crook of Caracal's arm and reached back for him with his own tiny limbs.

Abel reached back and some paternal instinct compelled Caracal to close his foreleg around the boy’s small body and tug it close to his chest. He nuzzled at the top of his head, drawing in that distinctive puppy smell. Abel wasn’t his the same way Simeon, Malakai, Judah and Dina were his, though he felt a great measure of affection wash through him as he cradled the little harlequin.

I’ll tell you a story to help you fall back to sleep, hmmm? Maybe something extremely boring, Caracal mused, his voice a whisper against the cup of the child’s ear.

He lapsed into thoughtful silence for a while—long enough, perhaps, that Abel fell asleep in the interim—trying to come up with a tale to tell. Caracal thought of some of the ones Heda had shared with him over their time together. His eyes drifted over each snoozing inhabitant of the den as he deliberated, settling thoughtfully on the slumbering Judah and triggering the perfect recollection.

Ah, what about David and Goliath? It’s actually not boring at all, he said. Let’s see if I can remember it… ah… right, there was this pack and it had an Alpha called Saul. A giant warrior named Goliath threatened to kill him and all his followers, then take over their territory.

Saul was afraid, so he sent one of his subordinates, David, to deal with Goliath. David was a kind and gentle wolf, kind of small—some might even say he was weak—but he was devout and knew God would lend him strength and protect him.

He marched out to the edge of Saul’s claim and tried to reason with Goliath. When that didn’t work, he threw a stone at Goliath’s head, nailing him right between the eyes and killing him, he declared sotto voce.

Okay, so maybe bible stories weren’t the best way to soothe a child after a nightmare…

the harlequin child had been rocked to sleep by the silence they shared, though once caracal spoke again he roused, fervent for the attention. abel wasn't caracal's, and he wasn't heda's and he wasn't everett's — and though he could no longer remember anything that came before them, somehow he still felt that he might never belong here.

that didn't stop him from wanting it with everything he was capable of and everything he would ever be.

caracal might have though of judah when he spoke of david, but abel could only think of himself. after all, judah was a fearsome hunter and abel was a little too familiar with what it felt like to be prey. abel. elam. david. small. weak. he loved his name, the one that had been bestowed upon him by none other than everett the savior, who he idolized.

but he wanted this name for himself, too.

the story wasn't over. rapt, the boy listened, until abruptly it ended and abel was left alone with a question. what is "killing him"?

but somehow, he thought he might already know the answer. he shivered, unsettled, and pushed that thought away. maybe he didn't want to be david after all.

or maybe he did, and wasn't that the more frightening of his thoughts?

He felt the small boy shiver in his grasp. Caracal breathed in sharply, tightening his hold on Abel. Whether he was cold or his papa’s tale had frightened him, he hoped a little snugger of a snuggle might help.

Okay, he said somewhat inanely, touching his mouth to Abel’s forehead, no more stories. How about I sing a song instead? Or hum, rather…

And so he began, murmuring a melody under his breath and gently rocking the little boy. Caracal felt a yawn coming on and let it steal over him, his ears popping so that he could suddenly hear the crash of the surf in the distance.