The light outside the den shifted between dim and bright for the morning in the world outside of the birthing den which was beginning to feel overcrowded and in some sense claustrophobic as Ein and his siblings grew, day by day. Milk teeth had been developed and beyond the improvement of his sight, hearing, and the ability to eat regurgitated meat Ein, along with his siblings, had developed the ability to babble. Not quite speech, but more than the small and limited baby noises they had previously been able to make. Ein had yet to attempt to babble if only because he was waiting for the moment to overshadow Tveir who had began screaming like some sort of miniature banshee with his infant nonsense as soon as he realized he could do it, and Ein had watched with observant (and perhaps jealous) eyes as both parents fawned and fussed over Tveir. As the older sibling that dug beneath Ein’s skin like a bug burrowing under the ground for the winter. It wasn’t like it was anything special or anything. Every baby did it.
The eldest child let out a loud snort, pushing away from Thistle as quickly as he could, miffed that Tveir got all the special treatment. He even got to go outside! Ein didn’t see Ragnar taking Gyda and him outside. He looked to Gyda with softened, milky blue eyes wondering how far they could get if they ran away. The way to the mouth of the den was an open shot and Ein was positive he could make it. He eyed Thistle wearily and then eyed the path before him, contemplating if he could make it. If they wanted something to fawn over, well then he’d give them something to fawn over, by doing what Tveir could never manage: sneaking out. Slowly, the boy of shadows began to creep up the incline towards the mouth of the den, each step slow as he inched closer to it not daring to look back lest he find out his mother was awake.
Thistle felt that she was an observant wolf, but even she did not see the makings of the jealousy that dug in her eldest son's hide. She had mistakingly thought that her children would get along and that they were far too young to feel disappointment or jealousy of any kind. A mistake she would find in time to truly mark the path the children walked. She had noticed herself that Ragnar had taken Tveir out of the den and she wondered if he would do the same with the other children. As all three began to get restless and cranky with their living quarters. They had less than a week before they would have the ritual and then they could be outside with their hearts content, but it was a week and a week was a long time to little ones.
She tilted her head and watched as Ein tried to sneak towards the den mouth. Checking to be certain the other two were sleeping she crept up behind her eldest and grasped him firmly by the scruff. She stepped gently out of the den with him hanging there and placing him down but keeping her paws on either side of him she spoke. Alright Ein you can be right here, but if you so much as attempt to go somewhere other than between your mother's paws. I will put you back inside. She didn't know how much he would understand but she hoped enough that he would get the just she would hate to make him go back down into the cave mouth when he could sit at her paws and look about the world.
Ein might not have been able to understand what he was thinking, the bitterness that swelled like a bubble of magma into his chest where it writhed and seethed burning with ferocity, and he didn’t understand it but that did not mean that he did not feel it, nevertheless. As his body developed, so did his mind and the conviction that because he was the oldest (something he just inherently knew without knowing how) he thought that he should get everything first and it bothered the child when he didn’t. Ein hadn’t looked to see if Thistle was awake, and presently, couldn’t find in himself to care. He wanted out of the den like Tveir got and he would get outside of it, no matter what. The sweet taste of victory was on the First Born’s tongue which had lolled out of his mouth as he crept closer and closer. So close only to curl into an instinctive ball when Thistle grasped him by the scruff and lifted him from the earth.
“Nuh, NUH!” (So much for saving his epic babbling skills) He cried out in protest and the uncurled himself and began to twist and fidget trying to break himself free, certain that she would force him back beside his younger siblings where he didn’t want to be. Else he might rudely wake them up by picking a fight with them; but Thistle did not turn, instead, she moved forward, towards the light and Ein’s eyes widened before they squeezed shut sharply at the onslaught of light. She spoke to him and he understood his ‘number’ certain that she was addressing him. She set him down and he scrambled for a moment, watching as the scuffle of his paws rose up light colored dust that floated lazily in the wind. Everything looked so much different out here. Ears perked as he blinked, eyes adjusted, glimpsing all around him at the things that lived beyond his world of the darkness of the den.
She snorted as he fought to get away and spoke a very clear nuh huh. He was definitely a fight and she was unsure how they would work as he got older, she feared for a hair trigger temper and wondered if he would have one. Thistle sat down over top of her son but watched him and surrounding area well. She knew that no one was supposed to see them and if someone were to come near she would have to haul him back in quickly also she was afraid that he would try and dash off and she didn't want to punish him, she wanted him to see the world, but he had to mind.
Ein had curled up when she had lifted him from the ground on pure instinct alone, body contorting into a fetal like position on the premise of surrender for that split second of confusion beyond that he was being lifted. That was before he had assumed that she was going to force him back into the den and the result had been his protest and attempt to squirm out of her firm grip upon his flesh and fur. And like any rebellious child the last thing he wanted was to be shoved back in the den. Simply, he wanted to explore. To question and discover the world. He was ready to face it …or so he thought. He really didn’t know what the outside world held for him, nor even what the future would hold. As it was he had not been born with the gifts of the Seers. Few were.
The dimness of the den had given way to the light of the outside world and he slammed his paw against the earth again, seemingly delighted with the stir of dust in the air though he breathed in as the lazily floating particles tickled his black, leathery nostrils and accordingly he let out a sneeze that rocked his body. He blinked a few times and twitched his nose before he glimpsed left and right at the prison of Thistle’s legs deigned to keep him back. “Nu,” He looked up at Thistle with a crestfallen expression nudging her leg as if he intended to move it. Maybe if he could turn on the puppy dog eye trick it would charm her into letting him out of the furry prison he’d been placed in and restricted too.
Thistle had a hard time holding onto his squirming body, but she held fast. She was fearful that she would drop him, and she would feel awful, but he was struggling and she had not had a good grip on him anyway. She managed to get him to the den mouth without dropping him though, and as she sat him down, she sighed in relief. She knew he was curious, they all were, but until they were a month old and ready to be inducted as actual members of the pack, they had to be curious indoors.
Thistle chuckled above him, and then sneezed as the dirt he was stirring worked its way into her nostrils. Goodness Ein, you make your mother sneeze so She laughed when he also sneezed and spoke softly well it only serves you right son. She looked at his crestfallen face and felt bad, but he was not allowed out of her legs. Neinn my son I am sorry. You have to stay there. I know you want to explore and you can in time, but you must have patience.
The sound of his mother’s laughter brought a rush of unexplainable warmth to the child. It was a sound he associated with good things, like the warmth of the sunlight (as he was experiencing for the first time now) upon his back, the melodious tunes of the songbirds in the trees above; only to have the moment of warmth shattered, in a startling way when she sneezed at his stirring of the dust. Only to have retribution make it’s way to him when he sneezed in turn. The giggle that burst from the First Born’s lips was high pitched and sudden, causing him to glimpse around quickly to look at Thistle, unsure if he had really made that noise or not. He scowled at her when she denied him passage out into the world, his crestfallen expression abandoned in his frustration. Neinn, neinn, neinn, it was always no. Ein supposed if he wanted the answer to finally be yes he would have to attempt another sneak out. “Nuuuuu,” He drug the word out — his babble version of the word ‘no’ though admittedly it was closer to it’s English variation than Old Norse and plopped his butt down with a huff, pouting as he started at her offending leg barring his path which stretched out, teasingly, before him, taunting him with it’s proximity.
Conquer me, Ein. Come and conquer me, it is your Fate. It seemed to be saying to him, but alas, it would seem since Thistle wasn’t budging, it would not be his Fate today.
Thistle raised an eyebrow in amusement as her son giggled and she looked down at him a smile etched in her own maw. She was only amused for a moment, when his little scowl broke across his face and she felt even worse that he couldn’t explore. Not that she remembered it, but her mother had told her that they had often wanted out when they were little, and couldn’t be her brothers and her. yes little one Neinn. She felt like praising him for at least trying to say the word no or neinne whichever he would prefer saying. Thus far though, her children responded to norse quicker than English, in a way it made her a little sad, but it also filled her with joy that they were so quick to learn, it would bring them closer to their father, who she knew missed his home and his language.
Thistle saw him watching her leg with a dark look and she bent down and nosed his side gently. Tickling him with her muzzle and whiskers, she blew gently on his side to get his attention and nuzzled the side of his little face.
“NUUU.” The child argued without truly understanding what he was arguing. He just liked saying ‘no’. Even though he really didn’t understand anything as complex as the ramifications that were often tied to the word. It was easy to say, even in baby babble. and that was the simple facts of it. His ears twitched a bug buzzed by it, brushing the tip of it with it’s spindly legs, the culprit: a metallic blue dragon fly that was as fascinated with the child as he was momentarily fascinated with it. It’s shimmering body, the rapid beat of it’s wings, the soft noise it made before he did zigzag and darted off. Ein watched it fly until it was a teeny tiny smudge before it disappeared into the foliage all together.
Well. That was short lived, but was probably good for the child because his attention span wasn’t very trained yet and tended to go from one thing to another with the rapid blink of an eye. He squirmed at the touch of his mother’s cool nose against his warm side, only to let out a noise when her whiskers tickled him before he let out a shrieking giggle when she blew on his side, the fur fanning out in the small area before he leaned into her nuzzle, giving her a tiny lick on her nose which was wet, like his tongue, he discovered in amazement.
Thistle looked at him with wide blue eyes, enchanted with the whisper kiss, he had landed on her nose. She blew gently into his face, as he looked at her and she gently nuzzled his little neck, humming quietly to herself in contentment. She had been happy before, but motherhood did something to her, and made her so happy she could sing to the heavens of all about it. She giggled gently and licked his ear and tugged at it gently, playing with him in her own way.
English was without reason not one of his favorite languages. Perhaps because he took the Norse/Icelandic quickly, as far as his comprehension went, anyway, limited though it was. He was a child and all he needed to know was that he, like everything, had a favorite language. It didn’t stem beyond anything more important and deep than that, currently. She told him, presumably, was the metallic flying thing was. He glimpsed up at her when she spoke the thing’s name though he did not attempt to mimic it, before he looked back just in time to watch it zoom off. The boy frowned at it’s disappearance but was contented with his mother’s affectionate touches and playful tugs on his ear. Ein let out a fit of giggles but was attempting to bide his time for his attack of vengeance.
She realized that he was intentionally refusing to speak English and for a moment she was a little bit upset with him, but she ignored it. If as he got older he would refuse to speak the common language to those in the pack, he and she would have some words, and she would probably have some words with his father as well. But for now she just repeated what she said in Norse wondering if perhaps, he really just couldn’t speak English, that he took to Norse quicker and still struggled with the common language as her husband called it." það er Dragonfly litli prinsinn A Dragonfly"
Thistle tickled his side and licked the hair between his eyes. She knew he didn’t like licks and baths, but well she was a mother and she did what was needed even if it annoyed her children, although this time it was mostly a lick of affection. Then she lay her head to the side content to laze the day away for the moment with her eldest son.