Firefly Glen young [wp]

His daughters had dispersed. Valiant could not fathom it; their time together had been so very short. At times, he felt a terrible emptiness beneath his breast. At others, a terrible grief that filled him to the bursting. A cousin to love, he knew. Perhaps even twin to it.

This was a day for the latter. Watching Ajei and Arrluk marry made his throat thick with bittersweet longing. Hope. Melancholy.

Love. Always love.

He kept to himself, prowling the edges of the celebration. He was not quite fit for company, but he celebrated them in his own way. Namely, keeping the revellers safe.

A wedding wasn't Pala's preferred setting in the least, especially not now. She had preferred to keep to the edge of things, not wanting to intrude. She wondered what her sons had gotten up to.

In the quiet of the glen's outskirts it was difficult not to notice that she was not alone. A man, older than herself, with a pale coat and rather large build.

Would it be weird not to say anything? Maybe. Probably.

You aren't with the other's either? The question came out a bit awkward, but then again Pala had never been much of a conversationalist.

It seemed he was not the only one unwilling to draw too near. He did not recognize the woman he came across, but he recognized the scent of Moonspear on her pelt. If she was one of them, then she was welcome.

Valiant's tail waved in greeting.

"I am," he replied, just a little embarrassed by the question. It seemed for a moment he might leave it at that. Not out of any coy cleverness or perceived slight — just because he was not quite sure anymore how to carry on a conversation. He used to be good at it, he thought. Once upon a time, he'd fancied himself just a little bit charming. Nowadays, he mainly spoke to his ailing wife.

He wished @Vairë was well enough to enjoy this day with him.

"The groom is my brother-in-law," he went on, his eyes tracing the wedding party with love before his attention returned to the woman. "I'm just keepin' an eye on things, is all."

His nostrils flared as he tested her scent again.

"Did you know them at Moonspear?" he wondered, curious about her ties to the couple.

She responded with a slow shake of her head.

I only joined Moonspear recently. How long had it been? A month? They are good wolves. Me and my children were in need of shelter, and they have been good friends to us.

She felt a bit guilty being here when she was so fresh, but nonetheless her loyalty was too Moonspear completely. She knew her place, at the sides watching for bears and birds of prey.

It made Valiant feel just a little bit better to know that he hadn't missed the woman for too long. She was only new, and that meant it was excusable he didn't know her name. For the next few seconds, at least.

"Welcome, then," he told her, a tired smile on his face. "I'm Valiant. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

He left space for the woman to share her own name, examining her just a little more carefully to be sure he had a face to attach it to. She was scarred, and she seemed just a little lost and sad. He hoped that Moonspear would be a good place for her; that she would not feel lost amongst the mountains.

"How old are your kids?" he asked her, beginning to circle the event once more. Perhaps the day would be more enjoyable still if he had some company along on his patrol. Some company who seemed just as reserved as him.

Pala. She shared after a short moment.

Moving after him, she was happy to move to the subject of her children. As cold as Pala was, they warmed her heart just a little. They're a few months now. My first litter. She spoke, the slightest of smiles crossing her face. Do you have children of your own? He looked to be older than herself, so surely he must. Most men over three years seemed to find somewhere to spread themselves whether they stuck around or not.

A few months! A bittersweet smile curved the isbjørn's mouth — for he might have said the same of his own children, had Pala not said it first. Now, however, he realized he ought to call them what they were: yearlings, all already out in the wider world.

"Yes," he replied, his heart aching. "Three daughters. They've dispersed, now, but they know where to find us. I hoped they might come to the wedding. It would do their mother good to see them again — and, well — I wish I could see 'em, too."

There was a rift, though. One he's created himself by being gone so long in the search for Nutuyikruk. He regretted it, despite knowing he would regret not searching for his niece if he'd stayed home.

He'd learned something, though. He'd learned that his place was here, with Vairë. Here, where his daughters could always find him.

"Lightfoot and Lilyflower and — and Yura," he said, remembering at the last moment to call Lariat by what he thought was her preferred name. He missed them all. He hoped they were happy.

"What are yours called?" he asked her. "Do they like the mountains?"