Wolf RPG

Kristjan scampered back to the Loðbrók densite, a discovery clutched tightly in his jaws.

Perhaps too tightly.

He made a lot of muffled sounds around the thing, which seemed to have a lot of feathers, and tried to get @Gunnar’s attention. Ffff-fir! The boy released his feathery bundle, revealing a broken-winged songbird to his resting father. It splayed limply on the ground. Faðir, look! he crowed, excited. I finded this bird! It was hurt, and- and- it could not fly, but I saved it. We can keep him here, já? He can sleep with us! I’ll feed him, and watch him, and take good care of- Kristjan babbled on until he realized that the bird was not standing up or moving.

He nudged it gently with his nose. Hey… it’s okay. You can get up now.

Gunnar saw him coming and thought perhaps it was food the boy had. Until he dropped it limply at his feet and it bounced. A sift frown around his eyes, but he gazed at his son softly.


Gentle touch to top of child's head. He will not get up my love. He is no more for this world.

Gunnar lifted the boys chin to look at him knowing there were going to be so many questions. And he hoped he was adequate enough to teach.

Oh, no!

Kristjan’s face crumpled as he looked up at his father. It is dead? He knew what dead was, superficially. He’d never been on a hunt before or been able to catch more than an insect yet, but he knew that their food had to die in order to be eaten, that prey must be killed during hunts for the survival of the pack.

He would know, too, not long from now, what it meant when a wolf died as well.

I didn’t mean to… The boy trailed off, flopping down into a sit and sighing deeply. This was sad, but Kristjan was no whiner. Is there… can we make it not dead?

Instead, he was hopeful.

Gunnar sought ro pull hia half grown son to him. To offer what comfort he could despite their sizes were similar, only a few breadths of shoulder difference.

Kristjan he was going to die anyway. Usually when a bird cannot fly they will die. And no my darling we can't bring him back. I'm sorry.

But... Kristjan wanted to protest! Surely, the bird had not been sentenced to death by simply being relegated to the earth. Plenty of things lived on the ground: bugs, rodents, deer, wolves. Yet, he could not formulate an argument to refute what had been said. A small whine of frustration sounded through his closed mouth and sadness crept upon his features as he leaned into his father's embrace.

Reality settled uncomfortably on his shoulders.

He pulled back to look up at Gunnar once more; he had not noticed, even now, how much closer his father's muzzle was to him these days. Do I... have to eat him? Kristjan queried hesitantly.

Gunnar understood. Death was a hard lesson to learn, especially when you weren't yet ready to learn it. But it was also one that must be done.

Gunnar smiled softly, sadly. A gentle brush of muzzle again, against his child's ear. It is okay to mourn him.

A soft wry smile. Of course you need not eat him. We can bury him if you want too.

Kristjan tucked his muzzle under Gunnar's chin for a brief moment, drawing comfort from his wise and steady presence. Bury? He pulled away and looked down at the poor bird he had unintentionally given a swifter death. In the dirt? He looked up at his father again, confusion on his cherubic face. Why do that? His experience with burying things was only to keep his best chewing bones safe from his siblings for a time until digging them back up later. What would burying this bird accomplish?

Will I have to dig him up again?

Ginnar knew thia would takectime. But he wasn't quite sure what to say. But he would do his best.

You don't have to do that. Some packs will build a cover for their dead with branches and leaves. Some will send them to sea. And no he will never need unburied.

Oh, a ritual then. Kristjan would learn the concept soon enough. He sighed, a great tension falling from his boyish shoulders. That is good, he said softly. It was a relief to know that he wouldn't have to dig up this bird again. I will make for him the bestest hole, Faðir. He seemed a little more upbeat after that, though in the back of his head he idly wondered what happened to someone after they died.

We should get stones, too. They will protec' him, like the circle protec's us, right? Will you help me?