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+--- Thread: Golden Glade brush strokes on a canvas of souls (/showthread.php?tid=35448)
brush strokes on a canvas of souls - Raven - June 30, 2019
BABBY TIME <3 Players for the kids have not been chosen as of yet, but that's coming super soon!
As the westering sun painted streaks of fire across the skyline and the first stars of the encroaching night began to peek timidly above the eastern horizon, Raven felt a sea change in her body. It was subtle at first, quiet differences in the way the pups moved inside her belly, an upshift in her body temperature, the creeping onset of a strange bellyache. She wasn't fooled by it this time, though. Last year it had caught her by surprise, but this season, she was ready when those first contractions began. She'd known it was her time for several days now, and with the exception of the occasional walks to distract her mind from the overall discomfort she'd been feeling, she hadn't left the site of her den much.
It was a nice little den, rocky and cool, nestled in amidst the stones at the foot of the plateau and sheltered beneath a dense, vibrantly-green maple canopy. She could hear water trickling somewhere nearby, probably one of the many tiny streams that ran, waterfall-esque, down the slopes of the plateau's flanks. Evening birds twittered around her, and somewhere nearby, two squirrels were having a shouting match and rending the air with their woody screeches. As she backed into her den, she tossed a call up for @Quixote as well as the rest of the pack: It's time!
Excitement made her jittery and hyperaware, but fear nibbled at the heels of her consciousness as well -- fear of history repeating itself. Would half her litter die again?
The first child came in a wave of searing pain, but she braced and she pushed and it was over almost as fast as it started. She quickly spun and began to clean the infant off, and was enormously relieved when the girl, tiny and dark as a crow, cried out and flailed her tiny limbs in the cool air of the den. She hardly had time to marvel at this precious beauty she had created when the next two came in rapid succession, one after the other in a tide of pain that gripped her abdomen like a cosmic fist. She was left shaking, sucking in ragged breaths and seeing stars swim in front of her vision, but by the grace of whatever gods there were, they were alive. Two boys, both black as pitch, healthy and very much alive. She waited to see if more contractions followed, but her body quieted and something instinctive in her knew that it was done.
All alive. All healthy. She wouldn't have to bury any babies this year.
As she pushed her three newborns to her belly so they could get warm and nurse, she noticed for the first time a splash of autumn red on her daughter's back. She smiled, then, suddenly reminded of her sister Wildfire, and curled her body protectively around them.
RE: brush strokes on a canvas of souls - Quixote - June 30, 2019
At least this time things didn't seem so dire. There were no emergency calls, but he was momentarily away from the den trying to find something to bring back for Raven to eat. He floundered a bit when the howl went up -- he'd been digging in a cache, but hadn't yet uncovered the leg of deer. Oh god really, right now?! Okay, DIG FASTER. Leaving it half dug up like that would probably be almost as bad as not bringing anything at all. Sure, it might sit around for a few hours while Raven took a nap or something first, but he wouldn't be caught dead starting this off on the wrong foot.
Anxiously, he stopped at the den entrance, putting the prize down before poking his head in,
Ray?He was both worried and excited because, well... Why wouldn't he be? His tail wagged around wildly, his nose trying to sort through the myriad of scents and dredge up the information he wanted. But since this time the pups weren't born outside practically at his feet, he wanted to make sure that Raven had the control over things this time that she'd lacked before. He wasn't going to go crashing on in -- sounded like a good way to have his face removed.
RE: brush strokes on a canvas of souls - Bateleur - July 04, 2019
Quick first post and then this girl is going NPC just until she's old enough to see/hear/do stuff!
The birth was unremarkable save only for the sudden chill of cool air against skin that had, until recently, been cradled in the warmth of the womb. She cried out and protested, but the gentle swipes of her mother's tongue quickly soothed the infant girl. Her whimpers kicked up again as she was prodded and pushed for a moment, but quickly abated as her muzzle instinctively rooted on a teat and she began to nurse. She was unaware of the other small bundles of fuzz alongside her for the moment, only aware of the warmth that filled her belly and the muzzy tendrils of sleep that began to tug at her once she was full. Sated for now, she nestled into the warmth of her mother's belly and fell quickly to sleep.
RE: brush strokes on a canvas of souls - Raven - July 04, 2019
She was suddenly so very tired, but she refused to give in to the urge to sleep. She was too paranoid to take her attention off her puppies just yet, fearing that she might wake up and find them all dead, or disappeared, or some other horrific turn of events that she didn't even want to think about. She moved in turn from one small back to the next, licking, sniffling, and just touching them. They were here! They were all safe and healthy! They were beautiful! She couldn't stop smiling. She was tired and sore, but those were but candles to the blazing conflagration that was her joy.
She heard a small commotion outside, followed in short order by the voice of her mate. She beamed at him from where she lay, her tail flipping on the floor of the den behind her. "They're here!" she answered in a voice so full of excitement she could barely get the words out. "Three! Two boys and a girl, all healthy. Come see them!"
RE: brush strokes on a canvas of souls - Orr - July 07, 2019
as far as births go, well -- orr's is not a particularly climactic one. his still develping brain dimly notes the shift from warm and wet to cold and conscious, sort of, and forces his mouth open into a shrill protest that lasts only as long as it takes for him to find a teat. once sated, he droops in place, succumbing easily to sleep, oblivious still to the prescence of the world around him.
RE: brush strokes on a canvas of souls - Quixote - July 10, 2019
Good news was welcome. Like seriously, after last year and some of the other recent nonsense, good news was amazing. He crawled into the den, keeping low and slow with his movements as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Raven was easy to spot, but it took a little bit longer to distinguish the three dark forms of their newest pups. Despite everyone in the den being dark in color, the future seemed very bright right about then. Even if right now they were barely more than wiggly grub-wolves, he was, needless to say, excited for tomorrow and the day after.
Step number one was to lick Raven's face with that sort of frantic excitement that he was trying to keep from boiling over, whining happily. Then looking to the trio, then back to her,
This is how it's supposed to be, huh?It certainly felt a lot better on his end of things. There was no dread or panic, and whether it was from moving away from the metaphorically cursed plateau to somewhere with new memories to feel like it lifted whatever hex was on them or just plain luck... eh. He was ok with whatever reason as long as things kept continuing this way.
And I've got some food for you outside for whenever you want it. -- Or if you need anything else? Do you want the older kids to see them yet? Or wait? Or anything else?It was a little bit jumbled like he wanted to talk over himself if it were possible.
His tail didn't stop wagging.
RE: brush strokes on a canvas of souls - Yossarian - July 12, 2019
It happened so fast, everything.
One moment, he had been comfortable in suspension yet nestled tightly with growing siblings in perpetual warmth. All was well in the world as he knew it, however narrow the scope of such was. And then it had come, the great upheaval. An expulsion that he could have lived without had he known any better, had the world carried other plans for him. But alas the world said to exist—and exist he did swift and violent in an otherwise peaceful universe.
Perhaps of his siblings, he squalled the loudest when his turn came.
But he too was hush promptly and coddled, nestled once more against familiar warm bodies sans suspension; only the dark earth he could not do more than sense lay beneath him. Last to latch and gain his fill, Yossarian grew to know another kind of contentment, and slumbered.
cameoesque so y'all can yeet his ass until he ain't a bean any more
RE: brush strokes on a canvas of souls - Raven - July 17, 2019
She returned her mate's frantic kisses with a barrage of her own, excitement and glee boiling over so that she had to work to not totally slobber all over his face. How attractive would that be, ew. Her tail was brushing the earth clean behind her, though, mirroring the wild fanning of his own. This was one of those moments that she wished she could capture and somehow frame, in perfect detail, to look at in future years when things were bleak and sorrowful -- this perfect, beautiful moment of purest joy and absolute love, shared intimately with the people she loved the most in this world. It was literally the happiest day of her life.
Speaking of the folks she loved most, they were missing a few. Qui asked if she wanted the older kids to see them, and she nodded emphatically. "Yes, call the kids! Let them meet their new brothers and sister." She wasn't sure how they would react. This would, after all, be her first time introducing older kids to a batch of newborn siblings. Of the three of them, she was most worried about how Phoebe might respond. She had the sense that their youngest daughter, already so sensitive and uncertain, was struggling with all of the changes that had taken place in recent weeks. She hoped this wouldn't prove to be too much for the quiet, introverted girl. Whatever the case, though, there was no denying that they deserved to be the first members of the pack to meet the new pups.
RE: brush strokes on a canvas of souls - Quixote - July 23, 2019
I'mma wait until at least one other posts I think before dragging Vasa in. :P
Your wish is my command,he said with another lick to her cheek. A final quick look over the young trio for the moment before he turned away. And so he headed to the entry of the den, howling to call @Owen, @Phoebe and Vasa. Okay, sure, their tiny new siblings might be pretty unexciting at this point, but they should meet.
Unlike Raven, he was more wondering what kind of reaction Vasa would have, more because of how unpredictable she could be at times. She was stubborn and seemed -- though not totally against change or anything like that -- more miffed over the fact that Qui had asked her to not wander quite as far for now than anything. Like how dare he stifle her growing independent streak or something. Hopefully he was being just a bit too wary. Heck, the three older kids were probably unpredictable in several ways. Owen had seemed to have grown out of at least some of his more ridiculous paranoia (or at least Qui seemed to think so) but who knows.
Quixote's tail still wagged behind him as he waited for them to show up (or at the very least answer, but he hoped for the former).
RE: brush strokes on a canvas of souls - Phoebe - July 24, 2019
To say that Phoebe hadn't grown curious with the absence of her mother would have been a lie. She was very curious but not bold enough to draw herself into investigation. It was an unspoken sense that told her to stay away, lest she wanted to be snarled at or snapped after, even if that wasn't necessarily what would happen. But she wasn't too young to not understand that her mother's time was close, and that soon their family would expand to let new souls join.
She knew that time had come when her father beckoned them, and like every good little child, she was sure to obey. There was no particular urgency that drove her, in fact she had hoped by taking her time she would not be the first there. The walk would give her time to sort her thoughts, or at the very least try and scratch off the mixed emotions that arose within her again. Everything seemed to happen much too fast, from the initial surprise that their family was growing, to the move and the unfamiliar faces that led alongside her parents, and now this.
But alas, when she did come up on the whelping den she found only her father waiting. Not Owen already there making a clamor, or Vasa curiously prying for information. Just her, much to the dread that sank in her belly, sacrificed to an unseen pit. Uncertainty built to cover that dread as she left the greenery behind to greet her father; she didn't know what to do here, or whether things were good or bad. Quixote's expression seemed to suggest he was pleased, but...
A tiny squeak from within was very telling, and distracting.
She glanced back to him questioningly, but found words would not come.
RE: brush strokes on a canvas of souls - Owen - July 25, 2019
The amused half-smile fell off Owen's face as his observation of two quarreling squirrels chasing each other up and down and around first one trunk and then another was suddenly interrupted by his mother's howl. He clammed up, glancing about uncertainly, his tail tucking itself against his rump as his muscles all stiffened at once and his face assumed the more-usual pensive mask of apprehension that it so particularly liked to wear. His brow was furrowed and his mouth held a hint of a pout as after a long few minutes of hesitation he began to slowly move toward the den where he knew his mother had set up camp.
His paws stuttered and stammered along the way, several times starting to turn aside. His flickering ears began to pick up the plaintive noises of his newest and youngest siblings as he crept a bit closer and then stopped. Just as he had just about almost made up his mind to turn aside and visit another day—Mom needed time to rest, after all, right? And the little ones too, most likely, heck he'd probably be doing them all a favor—his father's voice rang out, and Owen squinted up ahead to see Qui's dark form just barely discernable against the dark mouth of the birthing den. Owen sighed heavily, and then continued to pick his way forward. He was a little disturbed to see how wildly Quixote's tail was wagging: he didn't remember ever seeing this much excitement in his father over anything before. Or his mother, for that matter, as he folded his ears back and peeked deeper inside after a quick, silent, - Hello. ...I'm here. -
And—
Oh, um, hi Phoebe,he added, a little surprised to find her already here as well.
...Whaddaya think?If he'd been thinking a little more clearly, perhaps he would have realized that there was no earthly reason his sister should have any more of a clue what to think or do here than he himself did. Cautiously Owen stretched out his nose and sniffed—okay, so these siblings were almost certainly going to have difficulty pulling an Elfie on his poor battered snout, but as always he figured it was better to be safe than sorry, right?—and then his eyes involuntarily widened, as he caught his first glimpse of the tiniest and newest Redhawk-Voulges. The first to be born here, as Frosthawks. ...That thought really didn't settle well into the pit of Owen's suddenly churning stomach.
Hi Mom,he managed to blurt with a rather squeaky voice of his own, at a loss for what else to say even as it belatedly occurred to him that perhaps she hadn't seen his bit of ptero, here in the dim recesses of the cave and preoccupied with her fresh brood.
RE: brush strokes on a canvas of souls - Vasa - July 28, 2019
Vasa had been about to go off wandering (she was bored, duh), when the first howl came up. Ugh. Bad timing, of course. Sulkily, she started back, so by the time Quixote howled, she wasn't too crazy far away.
So eventually she showed up on the scene. Deedley doo. Exciting stuff. Fashionably late was her thing sometimes. She also wasn't particularly keen on the whole other siblings thing, but that was mostly because she was imagining that it would end up being a restriction on her as well. Which she was not happy about. She didn't want to have to help out, she wanted to go explore now that she was big enough. Sitting around taking care of kids was totally not her jam. And if they needed intense care, she was gonna nope right outta there.
RE: brush strokes on a canvas of souls - Quixote - July 28, 2019
Posting out of turn with permission!
He was still immensely relieved that things had gone the way they had this time. Like sheesh. Last year was kind of a disaster, let's be real. It took them a little bit of time to arrive (unsurprisingly) but hey. They did eventually, there they were. From Qui's perspective this was everything maybe finally falling into place the way things should be. Or at least, that's how he hoped. Those that were here wanted to be, the pack hadn't been founded after a spat with some other family, the bad memories were left up the hill... It should be great, shouldn't it? Ideally it'd bring the family closer together and stuff.
But uh. What to say? He wasn't exactly good at the whole talking thing, so it was a little mental flailing just the same.
Your new siblings are here -- everything went well.Thank freaking lord, has it been mentioned how much of a weight that was off his shoulders, especially since he wouldn't be able to do anything about it?
You've got two new baby brothers and a sister. So go on, you guys get to be the first to meet them.He kept out of the way of the entry, but did sort of look into the den,
Ray?Just to confirm of course. They'd already been invited in even if they'd been halfway across the territory at the time.
RE: brush strokes on a canvas of souls - Raven - August 04, 2019
Sorry this is super short, I’m literally falling asleep as I write this but wanted to get something up!
Raven’s attention was so focused on her newborns she only became aware of everything else going on around her when Qui’s voice came through the dimness of the den. She perked up her ears and suddenly realized her older kids were outside. They had come after all! She wasn’t sure how they would respond to a new batch of pups, and truthfully she still wasn’t certain how things would go. For that reason, she was a little uncomfortable allowing them into the den, but she knew she owed it to them.
”Sure! Come on in!” she replied softly, ”But one at a time — it’s kinda tight in here!”
RE: brush strokes on a canvas of souls - Phoebe - August 09, 2019
Quixote confirmed it and abruptly, Phoebe felt uncertainty arise deep in her. It was a vice grip constricting, a nauseating sensation that she couldn't quite describe, let alone know how to quell. Was it residual excitement with nowhere to go? Existential dread that none of them were officially the babies? She tensed, unable to hide the discomfort that broiled beneath her skin.
There was a run down of who had what, but Phoebe did not hear it.
It did not dissipate when her mother invited them either and hastily, her gaze settled on Vasa.
"You go first," she said lowly, whisper-like akin to a hissing snake. Vasa was the bravest of them, at least by her assessments, and maybe it was what she got for being the last one there. She could be the first to step into that gaping maw of a whelping den, to be smothered by... whatever was within. Their siblings. Whatever they did. Her own memory of such a time was rather absent, and disturbingly so.
"Go," she said then, moving to nudge her sister forward.
She'd do the same to Owen, if she got the chance.
RE: brush strokes on a canvas of souls - Quixote - September 15, 2019
Wrapping!
With the way this trio was acting, Qui was pretty sure he wasn't going to expect grandkids any time soon. Still, there was time for them to change their minds. He approached the whole thing with humor,
Oh come on, you goofs. Go on. -- Go see the little guys while they're all nice and peaceful and enjoy it while it lasts.
If he had to herd them in, he'd make sure they'd see their new siblings. Everything was gonna be good, so he hoped. He'd do anything for his family, and at least to Qui this was a time that they should all enjoy.