Nova Peak And I know you're worried at night

open! mama @Elowen Aeloria

the world came in slow.

light first—blurry, soft like belly fur, too bright at the edges. kaldros blinked, a twitch of his small face, his brows furrowing like it offended him. the den, once only sound and warmth, cracked open into shapes. movement. shadows.

his nose wiggled. mama. he knew her scent, thick like milk and something strong beneath it, like stone in the rain. her breath was close. her fur brushed his face. he breathed her in again, anchoring himself to the only thing he’d ever known.

he blinked again. the shape next to him shifted—a sibling, maybe. they were always warm, always there. the sound of a heartbeat nearby, steady like the sea. he didn’t know words for any of it. but his paws kneaded gently at the earth, his tail twitching once.

kaldros, son of bloodline and burden, opened his eyes to a world that had been waiting for him. and though he was small, frail, with ears still folded and steps not yet learned—

he stared. and the world stared back.

---

he had left @Avoyi on the ridge, kissing her with a lingering reluctance before he set off back across the taiga for the lone mountain. its peak proclaimed winsook; spoke of home, and skorpa crossed its borders with gratitude.

caribou pelt was torn into eight ragged strips. he thought of it and added more, some with hair and some without. "mos," came the man's grunt to himself, and then he stopped. the mother on the mount should first be visited. then he would return for the rest and go back to avoyi.

"kamille," skorpa muttered, hunting among the rainwater's herb-supply until he found the tiny dried flowers of pale hue. he put these onto a large piece of the same pelt which had been torn, then stopped again to add some chunks of cached fish.

the tattered bundle was carefully carried by the bearsword to the den of lorcan's woman. he did not know that a monumental event had occurred in its depths, for he felt quite out of his own. throat cleared. "elowen? ayovi send me. have — chamomile. for you."

---

small. so small. he shifts beside her, a tiny weight against her belly, and elowen cannot help but watch him, awed and aching in equal measure. her son. her kaldros. 

he blinks at the world for the first time, eyes wide, unguarded, drinking in the shapes and shadows. his face scrunches in the soft, searching way of newborns, and she breathes a quiet laugh, pressing her nose gently to his tiny brow. 

"hello, my love," she murmurs, featherlight. her warmth wraps around him, the steady thrum of her heartbeat anchoring them both. she noses at him tenderly, watching the way his paws knead at the earth, how his ears twitch at the shift of her breath.

his siblings did not stir when they came. they never would, so she cupped her body with her tail to emulate some sense of it. family. she tries not to let grief steal this moment. she has him. she will love him enough for all of them.

a throat clears outside, and elowen blinks, turning her head toward the entrance. skorpa. she does not know him well, but he is here, bearing gifts. her ears tip forward, gratitude threading through her exhaustion.

"come in," she calls softly, careful not to startle kaldros. she has spent the past two weeks speaking only in murmurs, only to her son. "thank you—you and your wife." her gaze lingers on the bundle in his grasp, the chamomile, the fish, the careful thought behind them. elowen blinks, slow, but she does not rise. kaldros is nestled close, a little thing made of warmth and breath, and she cannot bear to move from him.

"you are kind," she says as skorpa enters, her gaze flickering to the bundle he carries. chamomile, fish, caribou pelt—thoughtful things, each one. she shifts, curling herself just a little more protectively around her son. "he opened his eyes today. would you like to meet him?"

i'm actually laughing like a hyena at little kal rn...SKORPA TAKE A BATH!!!

the light was too much.

kaldros blinked slow and heavy, his tiny body pressed into the crook of warmth that smelled like milk and heartbeat and her. everything was big now. bigger than it was before. the world didn’t hum behind his eyelids anymore—now it stretched and creaked with color and shape and strange movement.

he squinted at the blur that darkened the den’s mouth. something bad.

his nose scrunched, wrinkled like a crumpled leaf, and he gave a soft, squeaky sound of protest. the smell that followed the man was wrong. heavy and sharp. not like mom. not like here. it made his stomach twist.

with a little grunt, he burrowed deeper into elowen’s fur, burying his face in her belly to hide from the stink. tiny paws shuffled blindly, squishing against her ribs, curling up tight again.

he did not like this visitor. whoever he was.

another little sneeze escaped him—then a hiccup.
kaldros disapproved.

---

"mm," skorpa grunted, "ayovi, she think much of you. want keep safe." he wanted to only set down these things and be gone, but elowen was graceful in her hospitality — and swift.

the result was a jerky step which skorpa did not mask well. he set his broad foot back down from where he had been about to politely flee this domain of mothers and glanced toward the fluff nosing around beside his mother.

bearman rolled his shoulders beneath the bearhide. he paused and cleared his throat, then approached to stoop down. "vær hilset, lille kriger," skorpa said politely, unaware of the boy's natural reaction to such a filthy boulder of a man. "you are — born first to winsook," he added awkwardly, straightening with a nod to elowen. "fine boy. very — fat." this was a compliment to a mother, yes? they wanted fine fat children, true?

---

her son shifts, little body pressing deeper into her, searching for safety from the mountainous man who happens to smell no better than bear dung. she tries not to let it nauseate her. elowen hushes him gently, her nose tracing the fragile curve of his spine. a tiny hiccup punctuates his discontent. 

her lips twitch. so stubborn. her son. "there there, kaldros," she soothes, tongue rasping gently over his tiny head, smoothing what little fur he has. "it’s all right."

she watches skorpa as he steps closer, watches as kaldros wrinkles his nose at the scent of him—she schools her expression to not do the same. 

"fat?" she echoes, incredulous, turning her eyes back to skorpa. "i think he will take that as an insult. strong, yes."

his ears—still too big for his head—twitched at the gruff voice, his little body going still as skorpa loomed. then, like a tide pulling toward safety, he pressed deeper into his mother’s warmth, nose wrinkled, brow furrowed.

fat?

the word meant nothing. but the tone—that he understood. it made his ears flatten.

futt? kaldros squeaked, muffled beneath elowen’s fur. he lifted his head just enough to peer up, wide-eyed, at the mountain-man who smelled like something bad. there was a wrinkle between his brows now. suspicion.

he looked to his mother, blinking.

a decisive little grunt. stlawn.

and to punctuate this very important correction, he raised one unsteady paw and thumped it (with great difficulty) on the ground.

so there.

---

"hmph." skorpa was amused and even charmed by the tiny insistence of the boy. his eyes twinkled, a shade of the father he was to be. "can be both," he assured mother and son, standing back to address them both. "is good for baby — be fat. health. good."

again he glanced to the child, and again his eyes softened. "what name you have gaven?" skorpa asked next, carefully. he did not want to be perceived as offering any more slight, out of his depth as well.

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