Sawtooth Spire wrong side of the tracks

Family, unless somebody wants to try and piss off Tonravik by barging in. ;)

One week had passed since Malrok and his brothers had come into the world. Another several days would pass before he would be able to see them, of course, but he was beginning to differentiate them. They each had their own, distinct smell, and Malrok could tell one from the other from the other. The largest entity was the one who fed him, of course, and the three others were competition. Malrok fought them for the prime feeding spot, crawling over his brothers and attempting to latch and feed.

The bait was planted. Once nice, fat raccoon lingered a fair distance from the mouth of the den. He'd started with it closer to the entrance, allowing the scent of it to waft within Tonravik's cave a bit before he planted it some distance from the den's entrance. @Tonravik would have to leave that den unattended for a few precious moments if she wished to dine upon her next meal which would hopefully leave enough time for him to dive in, steal a glimpse of his children, and get the hell out of there before she turned snarly teeth on him. Just a glimpse. Surely they were strong enough by now to award the father that much. He had played a part in making their existence possible after all.

The trap was set. Iqniq tested the wind and lingered where he could not be scented. His eyes were keen, watching and waiting to test his luck once more.

The mother slept easily. The scent of blood woke her, and she shifted to rise and retrieve it. Only, the meat was not in its typical location. It was further out. The alpha female could not deny her hunger; she could not recall the last time she had eaten big game since the cubs were born. Fortunately her mate and others were consistent about delivering her a great amount of small game to make up for it... but, never this far. The mother bristled and sniffed... only the scent of the dead raccoon she could note.

She had left the den before for water and all had been well. But the tactician in her was thrown off by this, and although vastly unintelligent in other fields, the woman knew traps when she saw them. But who would the saboteur be? It had to be one of the pack—surely her mate and Nanuk would not allow any others within, nor would Echelon. The alpha female had heard the howls for Arverk; he was missing, so it could not be him. The mother was quick to return to her children.

Tonravik stood over her cubs now, and now was crouched above them, and let loose a blood-curdling snarl that foretold of an untimely end of any who enter here. The sound was fierce and full of promise, and utterly ceaseless, even as saliva slathered and pooled over her jowl—preparing for a meal—and she kept her babes beneath her, observant to their movements beneath her while heeding the mouth of the den for her victim. Her ears were well over her brows, tail lashing behind her. Even an argonaut would not tempt fate; the reward would be too shortlived to be deemed worthy by any that breathed. She would rend this opponent into obsolescence, whoever it was.

Yay, parent thread!

He had only just gotten his mouth around a teat when mother stood and Malrok began to cry out in disdain. Although he had eaten just before he had slept, he found it positively unpleasant that he was not allowed to eat again. Through muffled ears, Malrok was vaguely aware of his mother's roar, though the sound was still far too dull to comprehend in any meaningful way. He could sense, though, the tension, and it quieted him for a time. Well, roughly three seconds, anyway. A giant paw wooshed over him, and he winced, then she was gone. That was when the fussing and crying really began. Malrok used his lungs to their full capacity, taking in deep breaths and pushing them out with the loudest, longest, high-pitched sounds he could muster.

He'd thought he'd baited the trap appropriately. Meal after meal, he'd inched his offerings just a little bit further each time, adding subtle amounts of distance to help compensate the eventual position he'd dropped his raccoon off now. It was definitely further than where'd he dropped her portions in the hours after those pups had been born, but days had passed now and the shifts had been slight. The change in location should have been thoughtless, but based on the growls that were coming from the den... he supposed he'd been caught in the act.

A frown graced his features as he contemplated his next move. Certainly, his efforts in this had failed, but if she wanted to eat, she'd have to come out of there sooner or later. His tail flicked behind him, thoughtful as he crouched in the bushes and settled in to wait.

I'm assuming he's hidden?!?!?! LMK IF IM WRONG

As her son loosed his cries, the mother wrinkled her muzzle, all the more angry at the other for disturbing the peace. Whoever it was. The meals had always been within reach, and never so far that she had to fully step out for them and leave her children to any number of dangers. The only time the woman would depart from the cubs was to drink from a nearby stream that was slow and quiet, rolling near enough to the rocky den that should there be danger, she could meet it.

The mother ignored her wailing babe. Instead of waiting for the danger, she would meet it. The alpha female did not think it could be Iqniq or Nanuk—rather, if she ever would think it to be a pack mate, she believed it to be the mischievous Echelon. And even with that thought, she was prepared to beat the offender into not making the same error.

Her growls quieted for but a moment as she pushed her cubs into the back-corner of the den, far from the entrance and in the shadows. The alpha female then turned to the mouth of the den, moving out only so far as her shoulders but keeping the rest of her body inside. Her mate blended in well with the thick shrubbery, and so he was not spotted even as she stared. It was then the mother howled for him, moving backward so that the entirety of her was shrouded in the mouth of the den. Tonravik peered over her shoulder to note the position of her babes, lest she needed to adjust them again in the hidden depths of their whelping den.

Malrok was pushed back to the back of the den, and his cries became quiet whimpers. He expected her to bed down and let him feed, but she did nothing of the sort. Instead, he was left screaming his lungs out (again) and managed to push himself away from his siblings and toward the mouth of the den once more. He could smell her here, and yet she was nowhere to be found. His little brain couldn't comprehend the fact that her scent could be here while she was physically away. Malrok continued to scoot along the floor of the den, following her trail.

Tonravik appeared in the mouth of the den. He watched through the thick shrubbery, concealed within  their bushiness as he held his breath and waited for her to grow disinterested. Stillness settled over him as she lifted her voice, calling for him before she turned to face the interior of the den. Well shit. Now he had a choice to make. Did he play it off as knowing nothing of the sort, or did he fess up to his ploy..?

He eased himself very slowly out of the bushes, careful not to rustle more branches than absolutely necessary as he inched his way free of their clutches. Staying low to the ground, he belly crawled down a quick hill towards the stream where Tonravik had been quenching her thirst and covered his mouth with the freshness of water. He barked then, replying to her call as he gave up his guise of quietness and made his way back towards the den.

Iqniq approached, water dripping from his maw as his ears lifted; a question in his expression. What is it?

Her agitation was high. Still, as she noted the second-born following her trail, the mother picked him up and again deposited him with his brothers who were still. It was then she heard the approach of her mate and turned to meet him, keeping inside. She lay on her belly and kept the crawlspace out and in blocked, lobes swiveling and perking forward. She could not see him so well, but could hear him perfectly. Tonravik rumbled.

"Someone has brought me food, dropped it too far," she supplied, blaming none presently, nor telling of her intuitive thought because it mattered not—the culprit would reveal themselves, one way or another, and food was food. And on that, food could come close, but as for company... no. Not until they were a month old. Fathers, whether they intended to or not, were unpredictable around young. The mother was thoughtful. Perhaps it was an honest mistake of measuring distance.

So she explained, thinking it prudent. "The wild watches. There may be coyotes, wolverines, and other threats that wait for these brief opportunities," she looked at him, licking her chops: "I do not intend to give them a chance." It was this inherent instinct that kept her rooted and so protective over them. Her pack mates, too, might desire to see them... but to see them would mean they were too close, and if one got too close they were as good as dead. She could only imagine they would come too close for ill-intent, even if everything else said otherwise. Tonravik trusted no one around these babes yet; her instinct told her not to. The mother was feral.

And they were new to this wild. She did not want those animals to test them with lives that could not fend for their own. Too late was a prospect she did not desire to meet.

He was once again deposited back with his siblings, and the boy began to have hope that she would feed him. She did no such thing, instead moving away from him. He followed, tiny limbs pushing him against the floor. Malrok would not be deterred. His tiny round head bumped against her back leg, and he began to wail loudly. He would have his milk, and he would have it now. He knew not of the dangers outside, nor of the ones that could infiltrate the den, should his mother be gone long enough.

She spoke. The food was too far. He turned then, lifting his nose as if to scent the offending object before he moved and made his way towards the raccoon. He sniffed it before picking up her meal within his jaws and moving it closer to her. He dropped it at her feet and backed up, giving her the distance she needed. She was a new mother. Her caution was warranted despite his personal feelings in that she was being a little too over protective.

"They are safe here," he confirmed. "I've swept this area clean. I patrol it diligently. Our pack does the same. No harm will come to them." She was not alone in ensuring their safety. He did his part. The rest of the pack did theirs. They all knew the value at the heart of their territory and they were all working to ensure their future.

He watched her for a moment. His eyes, sweeping over her form towards the darkness looming behind. "I placed the rabbit there," he confessed, turning his gaze back towards her. "I value your instinct, but still feel as though I am missing important moments in their lives." His ears turned, catching the mews of the child behind her. He did not know which of the four cried. He'd not met any of them. He'd not had the opportunity to truly distinguish their mews from one another.

"They need you," he spoke, though he knew full well she knew. It was impossible not to hear them. "And I need you to trust me." He met her gaze, not in challenge as he respectfully folded his ears to imply otherwise, but to add weight to his words. "Let me sit just inside the den and watch for a few minutes as they feed. Give me that, and I will respectfully keep my distance until you are ready to do more."

Tonravik trusted his word. She did not doubt that he and the whole of the pack did do as he said. They had been here too short a time, however, for her to think her children truly not threatened by anything outside of here. It was good that things were currently as he said; it did not mean they would not be tested. Tonravik simply wanted to be sure that when those tests did come, she would not be on failures side. Tonravik appreciated all those now of the Spire did, and she would never let it be for naught.

She grabbed at the raccoon and sniffed heartily at it herself. His words confirmed what she could smell, but the woman still did not think anything of it. No, the woman believed it even still to be an honest mistake... but her mind worked through the wording. Placed it there... Even as he continued, she did not understand; her brow furrowed, and Tonravik continued to trudge through the meaning. Her own ears heard the mewling, and she yearned to return to the protesting cub who she could identify as Malrok.

The patience she exercised in not reacting violently when she did put it all together was testament to how motherhood could change a woman. Of course, said patience was still incredibly short, and her lip quivered as she forced herself into a stony calm.

"Do not do that again," she advised, her displeasure toward his underhanded gesture clear. If he wanted her to trust him in this, that would not be the way. In fact, it did the opposite. And as he spoke on, while their son mewled, Tonravik felt the chords her sons had played at for days grow thin to the point of breaking apart; perhaps he could see it happen before his eyes as her composure threatened to break. It would be the last time she could humor him in this argument before she turned to her preferred method of violence.

She spoke at last. "You miss nothing. They do nothing but eat, and excrete, and make noise," comes her exasperated tone. It was clear that if she could reverse the roles, she would; it might also be clear that if there were a way for her to bend in this instinct, she would be the benefiting party, so she could get a good amount of rest. The prospect of letting him in was not without appeal, but something deep-rooted within her told her no; just as it would with any that came too close. It was not personal. "If they hear, I do not know, and their eyes are unopened. They are illitsuitok," (stupid) she admitted, without reserve—how could they yet be smart?—"Though they know what to do when they hunger, or are cold. They may all be both, now," she rumbles, "As you keep me from my task so that I can tell you again—no." He must have known this would be the answer. "I cannot explain to you why I must keep all from the den at this time," there was no articulating it. It was her instinct. "I would not trust my own mother with this. It is not you. It is me." Tonravik drew in a deep breath and did not know what to expect. He was adamant in this, but so too was she.


The woman trusted Iqniq with everything. The man had earned that trust many times over—although the action he had admitted to, even despite the admittance, caused it to waver slightly as she continued to wonder why, not fully comprehending his explanation—but in this, she trusted no one, not even her aokkatti. It was no personal slight; it, as ever, was her way.

Malrok continued to wail, the volume of his cries rising with each passing breath. He was hungry, and he would not settle until he had his meal. The second-born was needy, though he could not know as much. He knew only hunger right now, and he ached for the milk that would fill his belly and put him back to sleep. Malrok continued to cry, scooting himself as far along toward the mouth of the den as his mother would allow.

"I won't." He meant it. He'd honor it. He'd not go out of his way to try to trick her way so that he might lay his eyes upon his children. But his word did nothing to curb his desire to see them any less. His desire to know them. He could not help them in the same way that she, as a mother, could provide, but he wanted to be a part of their lives more than this constant on the outside, never looking in.

It frustrated him. He was known well for his patience, but in this his resolve was wearing thin. As soon as he'd built up the mentality to keep his respectful distance, that same resolve caved beneath the part of him that wished to speed this all along so he might have his chance at being the father he knew he could be.

A puff of air escaped him as he turned his eyes low, ears flat as he struggled internally. She spoke then. He listened to her describe their basic functions and called their children stupid. He looked to her then. Those children were not stupid. "They're infants," he interjected. Surely she was not any more intelligent than they were when she was of their age. "They will learn. Are learning." She confirmed as much. They were starting to identify basic needs and truthfully, his persistence was keeping her.

Iqniq lowered himself to the ground, fully laying in the spot where he stood. He did not wish to be misunderstood this time, he simply wished to find some mutual ground in which her instinct to mother could also appease his desire to have more of a presence in their early lives. He shifted on the ground, turning his back to her so he might survey the wilds beyond. "Go to them," he said, "I'll watch the woods."

His tail flipped, tapping thoughtfully against the ground before it fell flat. "Can you tell me about them?" he asked, speaking over his shoulder. "Which of our sons wails?" He knew their names. All she needed to do was speak one of them and he could begin to put a name to the sound. He grinned. "He sounds like a handful."

Tonravik nodded. They would see, but the only choice she had was to trust him. He had made the mistake once, and Tonravik did not think her mate dense to do it again. Too much risk, not enough reward there. A second of their life could not possibly be worth the rest of it he would miss in the early grave she would try to put anyone in that dared test her restricted boundaries. But in her head, the only reason anyone would try to enter was to take and harm. Even if someone were to explain to her a thousand times over this was not their intent and like her mate only wanted a look, she could never believe it. Tonravik herself would more likely than not be ruthless toward any other babe that was not her own whilst she could intervene on their lives... it was, of course, why her mother had sent her off in the first place. Tonravik likely would have died in the process in any case... Even so young, the babes were competition against her own potentials. And here they were, in the flesh... behind her. If it was projection, she didn't know it; even if she was faulted for it, she would not care. For now, this was the way it was and the way it would always be until they were a month old and those instincts abated.

His interjection was met with a shrug. If all infants were this way, her belief was that they were all dumb. Weren't they? Smart only to their needs, which was necessary, but still not particularly bright. It was her opinion and she stuck to it, her opinion on the leeches low despite her "doting". They would not be this way forever. He was right, they did seem to learn. She learned, too. Cubs did not come into the world knowing everything. Only with the ability to latch on and drink, and sleep. She had to help them do anything else, defecation included; but as her instinct was to aid them, she saw no issue in that. They could not help that they were dumb, but that did not mean that they weren't.

Of course, her opinions were harsh. As her mate wished, she too wanted to speed this process along. Her time with them was exhausting but at least now, there was some sort of ritual. Tonravik was able to sleep when they did at last. That schedule would go haywire when they opened their eyes but the brief reprieve was enough to give her system a much needed reboot.

He lay upon the earth now, and her lobes swiveled atop her head. Malrok exercised his vocal chords further, and at his word Tonravik took the raccoon and turned, tossing it into the den before grabbing him and bringing him to his brothers who had miraculously stayed still throughout, bundled together and keeping as warm as they could. She lent her body heat to them and placed Malrok near what he had cried for, licking at each of their backs to warm them before grabbing for the raccoon and placing a foreleg upon it to keep it still while she tore at it.

Tonravik licked her bloody lips, hearing again the voice of her mate. She looked to the light that shone through the mouth of the den and informed him: "Malrok," and the woman had to snort in a matter that enabled him to know she agreed. He was more than that, he was an earful. He wanted to know more of them... what could she tell him? "Atuaserk is quiet, and good," Quieter than the rest of them, at least, and strong, too, it seemed; "Pingasut is..." she tilted her head, frowning, "Different. Behaved, at least." Then to the lastborn, the male that shared a derivative of her name: "Sitamat is always hungry. He eats more than the rest." He was not rounder for it, though... but he was large. He and their first-born shared the same girth.

Thanks for the thread, 'rents! ^__^

He was transported to his brothers, and Malrok thought for a moment that he might be left there again. Instead, his mother nestled down. Greed was his primary sensation right then as he practically dove for a teat, shoving his brothers out of the way. At least, he had what he wanted, and the young Tartok wolf drank without restraint. He continued to suckle as he drifted off into sleep, occasionally waking with the teat still in his mouth, only to drink a few more swallows before being lulled back to sleep by the comfort of his family around him.

He lingered where he lay, unmoving save for the rotating of his ears, the flickering of his eyes, and the occasional swish of his tail. He felt her move behind him and scented as the decay of the raccoon became fainter as she retreated into the depths of the den. The cries of their children soon settled as she contented them. The sound of her teeth tearing into flesh let him know she'd chosen to eat and for the moment, all was well with the world.

His questions asked, he was somewhat surprised when she chose to answer him. Her silence when he posed inquiries was something he'd almost grown used to, but he appreciated the time she took between bites to share with him the happenings of the den. Malrok. He was the one who cried and based on the sound she made, he could only guess she more than agreed with his words. He grinned then, lowering his head to his paws as she described each one.

Ata was quiet and good. Strong traits for a first born. Their third was... different? He lifted his head then. Was there something about that child he needed to know. "Different how?" Missing a tail? An extra ear? What? As much as he wished to see for himself, he remained grounded. This was far more of them than she had shared with him in the previous days and he did not wish to spoil it; not now that they had found some common ground to share. Still, it contented him to know their last didn't raise any cause for alarm. Hungry. He laughed. "I think he gets that from you."

*mom & dad hijack*

She continued to eat until the raccoon was reduced to nothing. The question of her mate was valid, but how to answer? "He is more kayuqtuq than tikaani," comes her disdainful words. His appearance alone lent her a decent amount of her disinclination toward him... but, she tried to think of him as simply taking after his father. Still, the mother could not see that yet. His bright red was something she did not prefer; it would not do him any favors at all in the wild, she imagined. Though maybe his furs could change as he grew. Was it possible? She did not know.

As far as who the youngest got his hunger from, Tonravik snorted. Possibly. She would have nothing to worry about then. But her ravenous hunger began with their being conceived and continued even now, if only because she still ate for them all. It was they who reaped most of the benefits of her meals. Speaking of hunger, she felt such a thing now.

"How is the big game here?" She paused, and then, "Have you seen bison?"

At Arktayok Peak, there had been bison aplenty. She hoped that by some miracle, there could be bison here, even if it brought the Plains wolves—one of which who had inquired about them when there were none near the Spine—against them now. Tonravik was sure they could handle them, given how swiftly the other two had been dealt with. If the one she had dragged home was dead, she still had no idea or thoughts on the matter. The matter had ended there she imagined, seemingly as swiftly as it began.

Okay okay. Not a second head or anything... but more fox than wolf? "Did you romp with someone I don't know about?" he asked, wondering for a half second if the reason the Spine had had that fox infestation was as a result to her getting overly friendly with them. It would explain how she'd ended up with a wolf-fox hybrid... though the image of her trying to get it on with a fox was damn right amusing. He wondered how the mechanics of something like that would work. "Fox how?" he asked again, hoping she might elaborate on what she meant by that.

Her question from the den caused him to reflect back. "There are herds of deer in the nearby meadow," he mused, thinking back to his earlier encounters. A grin slipped across his muzzle. "If any wolf is hunting billy goat gruff, they mean Echelon." What else had he seen..? Lots of droppings of some kind, but he had yet to put an animal to the scat. "There's more, but I'd hate to spoil the surprise. When you're feeling up to moving from the den, you can enjoy finding out for yourself."

Tonravik snorted, not humoring the question with an answer. Her disdain and lack of tolerance toward all canine's not wolves was quite obvious. But the second question? Tonravik cocked her head as she looked at her son. The words could not be thought of. Not how she meant them. "Fur," she said then. Different than her mates own, lighter somehow. Perhaps it was just youthful vibrance. One—Tonravik especially—could only hope.

As he went on to explain the rest of what he saw thus far, Tonravik listened. She was eager to get to know these lands as she had known the Spine... and her mate was right, she would enjoy finding out for herself when that time came. Her dark eyes looked to her sons who had all settled by now, and she settled, too. She wondered if there were bison to be found somewhere in the depths of this land... if there were, she would discover them.

One word. He got a one word response. His face fell flat as he was was left to mentally fill in the rest of that sentence. They had a son with similar coloring to his own. That didn't actually surprise him considering the way genetics were supposed to work and all of that. He lifted a brow to her. The red-orange coloring that had given him several names akin to fire wasn't life changing news, nor was it disappointing. Did Tonravik take issue with his own coloring?

He might have asked, but it was evident his mate had exhausted her word quota for the day. His ears fell as the rest of his words were met with silence. Their conversation was over. Just once, he wished he could be the one to decide when they were done speaking.

A puff of air escaped him as he lifted to his feet. If there was nothing more to entertain here he'd best be off to more useful, practical things.

-fade thread-