Blackfeather Woods i'm like a bird by nelly furtado

perhaps @Kove or @Damien? FATHER(S) PLEASE LOVE UR CHILD.

 

He had learned a word.
Ma. 

The being had started to reffer to itself as Ma, or Mother, yet he had not fully wrapped his head around the real concept of the larger M word. Ma, was Ma; the big black warmth giver that had just recently started feeding him a special thing. It was an odd taste, and he often whined and fussed for the familiar taste of milk but to not much use. Eventually, he resigned to the fact that things were changing and there was little he could do. So instead, he slept and he played and he sniffed odd substances and he cried and he slept some more. Yet, as he woke some days, his mother was gone. This confused him. Why? Why did it leave? He had learnt a word. It was Ma and it was his, right? So, why did it keep leaving. It baffled him and he wailed until it returned, or until his father came to play.

Father was fun. It was a pale colour, and often made him wince as his eyes adjested to the colour against the dark backdrop of the world around him. He didn't know what to call his Father exactly, so he figured he could just call Kove, Ma, and it would all work out fine. In his tiny little world, everything was Ma and his Mother was simply, everything. Yet, at the moment, his mother was currently missing and his siblings sleep or elsewhere, he simply lay sprawled outside the alcove of the den; not to far but hardly close. Curious eyes watched as tiny thingies crawled across the sand carrying other tiny thingies and as larger thingies in the sky moved weirdly above him. He would come to know this as "birds" yet for now he invisioned himself as capable of doing the same thing and readily embraced himself as a bird without wings; leaping and frolicking as high as he could off the ground in attempt to join the groundles beings. This proved unsucessful and he pouted, stomping his feet on the ground in a fit of anger. Resorting to the usual scream of displeasure, he screeched. "Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!".

Earlier in the day he'd talked Nemesis into taking a break from their children, having promised to watch over them until she returned. Many of them were asleep, making his job easy, but there'd been that one boy that had decided to wander off. It was after having taken several glances towards the rest of his children that the man had settled outside of the den, focusing on the one that was awake and moving around. It was strange to see him outside of the den, but then again, it meant that they were growing. They were getting older, developing their own personalities and interests, and it wouldn't be long before they each departed from the familial den in order to find ones for themselves. The thought alone had him feeling nervous, for just as they were aging, he knew that he was as well. He'd yet to reach the point at which his body was stiff upon each awakening—with the exception of when he slept funny, in which case it was his own fault—but he knew that it would someday arrive.

Thankfully, his mind had been pulled out of the gutters as he'd heard his son shouting. Kove had been quick to get up and approach the whelp, nosing over him briefly to check for any marks. There was nothing to find, however, and so he'd looked at Atshen then with a raised brow. "Calm down, it's alright," he'd voiced, assuring him that whatever had happened wasn't a big deal. He hadn't gotten hurt, nor did there appear to be any threats nearby, and so the child was fine.

As the familiar image of his father came into view, he abandoned his attempts at flying and flung himself at the older male, butting his head repeatedly against the foreleg of his father. Kove had nosed him over yet he had ignored it's cautionary look-over and went right into stupidifying action. With each head-slam a grunt, "Ma," escaped him until he could not remember exactly why he was currently bashing his supple head against the bone of his father's leg, nor why he had thought it was a good idea. When the pain began to form on his forehead, he paused, blinking up at the pale figure with squinty eyes as to ask what it was presently doing, letting him untowardly injure himself. If the boy could scoff, he would have done so. When the head bashing no longer interested him, nor did the calming baritones of his father stimulate any fun at all, he waddled away in search of his mother; traveling deeper into the dark woods than he knew. 

Whatever the boy had been doing prior to his arrival had been abandoned. Instead, he'd suddenly flung himself towards the man, and then proceeded to smack his head against Kove’s leg repeatedly. Confused, he could do little more than stare at him, wondering to himself what the hell was going on. Yet, he’d said nothing, unable to form words that might be appropriate for the situation. Eventually, he’d stopped, and the two were made to just stare at one another for a moment. A brow was quirked, silently questioning the mental state of his child. His mouth had opened to say something, but was closed the second Atshen turned away and began wandering off. Of course, the Inuit followed closely behind him, reluctant to let the boy get hurt on his watch.

“Atshen,” he’d voiced, desiring his attention. “Inittik aulak.” Kove wasn’t normally the sort to put a stop to an adventure of any sort, but since the whelp had decided to try and go off on his own, he’d felt it necessary to correct the behavior. He was young, still, and not yet able to be left on his own to wander around. It was important that he learn that, too, for there existed within the woods some dangerous locations.

"ugh?" The boy stopped, peering at his father with a quizzical gaze, almost daringly. A tick at the back of his mind sent the boy the mildest annoyance, yet on the verge of another self created melt down in the art of head-bashing should this father of his not let the boy simply wander as he did so countless times before. Feeling quite independent (by his mother's ushering) the boy would not relent, having already faced a dead end with trying to fly. "Auka," the small child replied in his father's funny talk thing, before returning to his prance. Atshen had little mind for obedience at this stage, simply existing where he wanted to and doing what he wanted. The boy knew no real bounds for what he was permited to do and not, for really, he hadn't totally wrapped his head around the idea of rules. What a bother. Truth was, he never really would.

Smol PP. Lemme know if you want stuff changed.

Auka.

The word had been said clearly, as well as used properly, which made the boy’s choice so much worse. For a moment, Kove stood there, watching his son move away from him. Then, he’d hardly a chance to finish saying, “Nâlak,” before his own body was moving forward. Knowing that the boy needed corrected—the last thing he needed was the stress of an Alexander 2.0—he’d not hesitated for even a second before striking out and wrapping his jaws around the arch of Atshen’s neck. Without warning, he’d yanked back, intending to situate the child between his forelimbs; there he’d be released shortly after. “Piunngitonngimaillutit,” he stated, voice stern. The Inuk loved all of his children, he really did, but he couldn’t allow for them to get away with acting against their elders.