Sawtooth Spire how do you title a swarm of thoughts

Set in the garden near Wylla's current den, night to morning. Tags are for reference/paging if anyone would like to join. Basically a lot of The Nutcracker shit going on. :,D

Over the span of three fortnights and half, Astraeus conclude that love and safety was reserved for the charmed. He was not felicitous for it all. The star-imp could only but spurn unconditional love without condition. Gaze, wanting, at dousing the rapid and fiery waters of the devotion between a father and his bairn. He had felt a mother's love radiate on him once, sighing rays of the brilliance of intimacy, starlight. Her tongue sweetly blemishing his cheek. She would trade a thousand lives to know what brewed in his mind . . . What did it denote, to be the lamplight of someone's life? And was really so difficult to acquire? The feeling was felt so long ago . . as if it were a faded dream. His mother had passed his sentence, a childhood devoid of passion and happiness. Happy childhoods could make more dull company anyways.

It wasn't plausible, either! What did the gargoyle (@Mahler) see in the imp (@Phaedra), greedy for all his milk? her brother (@Thade) was almost just as perturbing, nagging him one lick and snoring the next. If anything, they were excuses of royalty. Still, the princess and prince yearned for something, and they got what requested. Motherly love (@Wylla), fatherly companionship, each other. Astraeus possessed nothing, and nothing was fine. Grumbling, he stamped on a pebble, the once smooth coat now a writing of his frustrations. They say the author carries out his best works when executing the methods of pathos and emotion, and from the gravel under his hardening pads it proved suit.

The metallic tang of blood startled him. Disgruntled, cleaning the minuscule scratch, rocking on his paws as he grunted alone. Thinking was tiring, but what did he do but starve and think? Starve and think, starve and think . . . cry . . . grunt — then starve and think some more. His life wasn't very eventful (and made it very motherfucking hard for some to write him).

The night breeze of the mountains were wet yet arid. It was harder to sink into repose when the body heats of three cast pearly beads of sweat on the crest of his head. Tiptoeing from the crescendo of snores and dreamless grunts — he focused on the sky. The seas of mystery that was the infinitive expanse, the sky, his idolatry. The garden whispered soft nothings as he mooned over the dancing violets and cerulean that eluded his touch. The mountains kissed the sky as she danced without a care, all eyes were on her. The spires could move as she. Elusive, great, a natural beauty of her own. All envied her. Astraeus could state the same. 

Maybe his mother had retreated up there! No wonder, it was a magnificent place to behold, much more to surmount. Queen of the Stars they'd call her — all she sighed for was a belated but much needed arrival of starry imp prince. Astraeus was a duck in water in his mind, streaking and charting the sky. Seeing the world and all it had to offer, to please. He'd be much higher royalty the the prince and princess of Sagtannet. If only he could ask how she called a star to her like a falconer to his falcon. The he was a nyas to his her (@Agana)! All he had to do was to find the gargoyle and mountain to queen to call her back down to fetch what she left behind. It wasn't that she didn't want him, she was awfully distracted by the stars and allure — it only made the most sense.

A (rotting) fox-plum tripped him up as the galloped closer to the trees. Tilting his head rather in inquisition than agitation, he sniffed and provided a lick. The cautious bite. Half was gone. Then whole. Suddenly, the sky felt duller and his steps limited. The remnants literally came back to haunt him as he emptied his stomach on the ground. Sniffling as bile rose in his throat, Astraeus lay exhausted from hoping, sweating and eating. If rotten plums were a sign then maybe the worst had come to the worst. Maybe his father (@Kavik) waited for him instead in the stars, but maybe less so with his show of idiocy. At least he knew what rotten foodstuffs and child blood tasted like, check it off the bucket list. 

"Dah?" he warbled, teary-eyed."Come take me too?"

He wanted to go home. But where was home? Not here, surely. Not in the stars, not with his father, not with his mother. Then, who? Himself? Maybe a happy childhood would be preferable after all. Sleeping finally paying an owing visit, Astraeus welcomed it like a brother-in-arms. He awoke; however, shivering like a wet dog. Dew creased his lashes as the groggy sense of diffused light kissed his face and brow. He'd spent the entire night alone, curled like a unused rope on the ground, parallel to his . . . tummy troubles.

Was it just, love?

he had not seen wintersbane for some time, and in the moments between visiting his children, he searched for some semblance of scent for where the man had gone. inordinately tired, the eisen had assumed perhaps a visiting woman at the end of her season had taken his brother off, and put it to the side of his mind.
a patrol after he left nyx' den. mahler began to look at once for any bear spoor or pugmark of another beast, one that could threaten harm to his younger brood. thereafter he took up the helm of his quest for the other once more, finding only scentmarks fading from the places he had last seen the man.
perturbed, the gargoyle looped back to where wylla slumbered with their fledglings and the little chick that had come to roost therein. he gave a cursory glance over the entrance and surrounding area, deciding not to wake them since naught was amiss. another looping walk and the man wearily laid himself down to garner some few hours of sleep before the youngest woke.
if he had done this, it was to himself; mahler immediately began to search for the child when he became aware there was one departed from two. it was not long thereafter that the worried shadowpriest located astraeus, curved against the ground. sickened, mahler stepped forward and sought to nose over, seeking any sort of ill tang.

it's poetry i promise xD

Breathing as quiet as leaves in spring breeze, the boy stilled. He could feel the breath of something over him. A bear, perhaps? Had his mother sent a palanquin mayhaps, of the constellations themselves to carry him to the otherworldly palaces of the sky? Appropriate, he knew they'd have time to change their minds. The soft swathes of grass tickling his form, Astraeus heaved and pushes his fore body upwards, his back legs still glass. The ill tang of his last ventures still sat near him, flies collecting near. Conversing with their perturbing mouths, revolting. Where was there Lady Mad? The queen that rode her fly-flown chariot over the wart-riddled noses of men. Bestowing dreams an nightmares wherever she pleased. And Astraeus and wolves alike were not spared nor exempt of this treatment. Devilish, minuscule, just like her steeds. Removing himself from their congregation Mahler's form became clear.

It wasn't his mother's. He remember that much. The curves and chasms of her. Her hot, turbulent winds that were her loving breath when she slept. The heavy swathe of her tongue o'er his crest. He had wore her saliva like a crown that day, recognized. It wasn't dripping or wild, controlled and wrapping. His body was ice, and she was curling tongue of a flame. Warm and loved, fed. He didn't hat Mahler, far from it seemed. But it was never going to be the same, the seasons were always changing and so did his thoughts on society. Maybe he should forget the queen — Agana — as well. Phlegm gathered in his throat, he stumbled away from Mahler. Hid didn't want to face the stone gargoyle anymore. He didn't want to face the ground, or the the two demon-spawn that awaited him in the spire-dragon's keep.

The man would most likely stop him, prod his ribs to reassure his hearing of his chicken-sized heart. Chicken-boned, chicken-skinned. Who would be the butcher to undo his entrails, and rid him of this agony? And where would he, or she, do it? Any sooner? Could they hopefully come any sooner, he'd wished. His teeth were clacking like the tik tik clap of Phaedra's nails and his own skipping pebbles and trumping smooth stone. The crackling, peeling skin on his chicken-feet. His eyes — the world seemed feint and blurred . . . 

He collapses.

Damn gravity,

Was it just love?

<3

astraeus soon pulled away from mahler's examination, stumbling away weakly before his young limbs folded beneath his tottering body. dismayed, the doktor swept forward to pass his muzzle across the small figure. "ve must get you home," he grunted. 
was it only grief that had planted its dire seed in the young heart, or a true illness? was there more to it than the injury of flesh? mahler could not know the pain of losing his mother; her face had long grown muzzy in his heart and in his mind. and he had lost the eyes of his father.
he pondered the way that such engagement might shape astraeus, even as he parted heavy jaws to carry the boy as best he was able back to wylla's densite.

wotd: harangue (6/17)

Instead of being served a harangue of worry-some chides, the child was plucked like a swan feather from the mess. Emotion; however sick and tiring the boy guzzled on it's sensations. Poison that would envenom your envisage. Horrid yet beautiful. You could not wager, that sense. Fragile as an egg-sliver and raging like a tropical gale. Perhaps the fox plum was more at fault. He'd never trust a fox nor it's fruit again, red devils in wiry clothing. His body flexxed like stem under in the clasp of the gargoyle. No more, the weak cowbird could do. The star-imp would be justified to a frenzy, yet his mouth stilled, for once. 

He'd wished the entrances of the garden had eluded him, Phaedra could have her keep. Evils brewed in it's hanging mists so it was suitable for demon children to romp about in it. Pitiful snivel down the bridge of his nose drips disguised as dew as he leaves the morning's kiss. 

astraeus struggled, but mahler had expected it. the bedraggled little wolf had been through an instructured and unsure life; it was writ into every interaction the boy had made with the pair of eisen and their children. thus he tightened only briefly, more a steeling of his jaw, and bore the child up up up until the encampment grew larger and less distant.
only when they were within sight did he set astraeus down, nudging him gently in the direction of warmth, however unwanted the company seemed to be. the musiker himself followed closely, believing the babe far too weakened to attempt another escape, but keeping watch all the same. rest and food; a close eye to ensure he did not catch cold.