Seaside Moors any groove to make you move,

part one of many dreamscapes -- these characters are dreaming!

if anything could be said of valravn, it was that he was adaptable.

he and his sister had more miles under his belt than any other child his age. they had seen shores of immeasurable distance, their lives had intersected by sheer fate with great forces -- and now, both he and @Regin slept and nursed by @Rosalyn's side.

already the memory of his birth mother was fading. already, images of sugar glider were gradually transforming into images of rosalyn. in a week or two, the whelp would completely forget the hardship of his trek, the stern face of his biological mother. in a month, he would never know rosalyn was not his true dam.

for now, he slept.

valravn was a good child in many ways. he was quiet. he was agreeable (unless you were trying to wake him up!). he was easily jostled aside by regin if she was hungry, and he was often seen trying to snuggle for warmth with either 'sibling' (@Chacal was not even a week old yet, and somehow valravn knew to treat the newborn as if she were made of the most fragile leaf).

he was deep in slumber, his mouth soft and eyes rapidly moving beneath heavily weighted eyelids.

he was dreaming -- not of his current life, or even a past life -- but of a place; a place his heart knew as intimately as his soul knew the womb and the grave -- a place that for every life he had lived, he had never forgotten.

a place lit by sunfire, edged by a silvery lake in the shape of a fading crescent moon. a place where plateaus rose in sheer columns alongside the glittering water, and the powerful chorus of swampsong overrode the gentle melody of wandering winds.

a place where he had lived and died once, again and again -- only this time, in this dream, he was valravn. he was himself; small and rotund and dark, not some pelagic monster, not some ancient leviathan, but his current form.

and there was another form too -- intangible, but present. aurous but edged in ridges of mercury -- a fluttering shape at once intimate and too far away for discernment. valravn gasped and fumbled after it, while the faerie light flit away like the dancing lanterns of cocytus' deceased, luring him deeper and deeper into the labrythine dark.

it was the first dream he would remember when the groanings of the conscious world at last stole him away.

As they slept, Rosalyn watched, silently observing her quiet brood.  Raleska had brought them to her, and how could she refuse?  Though a part of her worried that regret might linger, there was no other answer to give.  Children needed a mother, and if Raleska could not fill the role, Rosalyn and Erzulie would ensure they knew a home.  

She had no way of knowing their dreams, or even if they dreamed.  But she was careful in her shifting not to disturb.  It was not hard accept them as readily as her own daughter... near in age, in size, and equal in need.  They'd grow no different.

little val did not know of the turmoil his life brought; in time he might grow introspective and wonder of his origins, but for now he was blissful as any babe, and slept deep while his surrogate dam ruminated on the dark happenstance surrounding each of their lives.

in time val would come to love rosalyn, erzulie, and all the wolves that comprised of his family. he would not suffer, or know the sting of a mother that did not love him -- perhaps that had been raleska's parting gift, a stable hearth she had known she would never be able to provide.

if only she knew the irony behind such a thing: that she would do anything to rid herself of the mother's burden, while her own mother would have stopped at nothing to amass her own children.

valravn continued through the deep. his mind was leagues away, but in the world where his body was present, he yawned peacefully and snuggled close to rosalyn's chest, content and with every need of his met.

He snuggled closer, and she smiled.  Though she would not admit it, there had been a slight breath of relief when their children had all been daughters this year; she loved her sons fiercely, but she could not understand them.

Yet here she was again with one, and he would grow.  She thought again to Reyes, and laid her head down.  She did not know how, but she'd failed him.  Perhaps it was absence.  She'd let him have distance, space to grow, and in doing so the space had engulfed them.  If this time she held him closer...

Maybe it would be different.  She'd never had another to trust with her troubles until Erzulie, and somehow, she'd failed to make that space with their first.  She wasn't sure how she'd do it with these now, but it was worth a try.

he walked the slim margin of consciousness and dreamveld, feeling with every step his balance was somehow compromised -- as if he were walking across a narrow gorge of dazzling heights.

through this maelstrom of firewater and tundrian grey he continued, the path as intimate as his soul -- known to him better than possibly anything else earthside.

he was walking to a cave hooded in shadow. its mouth was dark.

he knew somewhere within that mercurial shade had slipped, that all-important, all-encompassing other-piece of his elusive soul.

and when he bent his head to duck under, the blackness was suddenly punctuated by the glare of two luminous, hateful eyes.


valravn woke with a scream, unaware of his mother's deep thoughts or the fact he was safe. he began to claw violently, sightless and terrified -- to the point he flipped over onto his back and let out a deep and disconcerting wail of terror.

Rosalyn started as the pup abruptly wailed, waking with a scream and violent movement.  Mierde she cursed, quietly, then moved her muzzle close, muttering low.

Little crow, shhh, it's alright.  It is only a dream, hijo, no need to cry.  Softly she touched her nose to his side, hoping to gently calm and herd him to her warmth.

a new sensation stirred along his flank; the comforting touch of his maman. valravn instinctively turned to it, nosing his blunt muzzle towards her own in a feeble gesture of vulnerability.

while her words meant very little, the intention of them was clear and soothing. like a river, almost -- soft as it carried him away, back to a realm of sleep free of those wicked, silver eyes.

wrapping up if you like!

He was quieted, and she exhaled, watching one moment longer before looking out and watching the shifting light that patterned the earth near the entrance.

Were these all?  Or had the others grown and also had children of their own?  Illidan... and the other, whose name she could not recall.  The former she hoped for.  She'd been fond of him too, if not with the love she had for his sister, then as much as she could have for a son who was not hers.  

If not, then it seemed the witch's legacy was hers to see forward.  Maybe she should have felt triumph, but instead, she felt oddly reflective.  A lot of late good to come from a relationship she'd at times reluctantly accepted, at times scorned.