Stone Circle lift with your knees atlas

tagging @Mawk ( hi dad! ) for visibility in case belle wants to jump in with him but otherwise this is an open joining thread! c:

coming back felt strange and there is trepidation thrumming through him that stiffens his shoulders with visible tension. will he be received well? or rejected and turned away? he's never thought valette as that kind of woman but it's not like cyron wouldn't understand if that ended up being the verdict. being an unproductive shell as the pack worked around him had been as hard on him as it had the pack. he'd wanted to contribute but the mental space he'd been in — that swallowing and choking black hole that his unpredictable triggers that led him to — hadn't allowed him. it'd taken his energy from him.

he's ...better now.

there's no cure; he will bear the scars both mental and physical for the rest of his life. but he's trying. which is all he can ask of himself. try.

his pace slows as he draws nearer to the borders, sure to leave plenty of respectable distance between them and him. he draws in a deep breath, the chilled air crisp and cool as it fills his lungs. upon the border scent he smells his father but none other. his sister and mother's scent are missing — which does not initially strike him as much of a surprise. neither of them ( much like himself ) seemed to have the same deep-rooted loyalty of mawk.

this time was different, he tells himself.

he's semi-stable now.

cyron draws in a second deep breath and tips his head to let out a howl, announcing his presence.

omg my child <3

There had been plenty to ponder in the weeks following Illecebra's death - he had felt a deep loneliness grow like a shoot in the depths of his stomach, climbing like a vine up his chest and then to his throat, and then to his mind; it was almost funny, how you could be surrounded by wolves and still feel alone, solitary among friends and family. He'd thought plenty, oh yes - life was so terribly fragile, soft paper tearing at the smallest drop of water, falling apart and dissolving into the earth. It was so easily unbalanced, upset, an unpredictability... often it felt as though you were walking on eggshells, or standing on a thin sheet of ice, waiting for it to crack...

but sometimes it didn't.

The call had broken his thoughts like a stone to glass, and his ears had pricked sharply on his crown - the voice, it was a sound so familiar, one he could never lose to the wind or the fading of memory; but he hesitated, if only to ensure that his assumption was correct and his heart would not soar only to drop again. But no, he was sure... So he picked himself up, black-tipped paws trotting briskly from where he had rested, speeding to a jog and then a sprint, feeling a continuous thud like the rumble of war drums in his chest until he emerged from the undergrowth to see a man at the borders. A young man, draped in silver and grey, worn but immediately identifiable - his son.

His son had come home.

"Cyron," He whispers, feeling the warmth of the word on his tongue, and the tears sting his eyes; he moved closer, closer, to embrace the boy who had disappeared with barely a trace... Mawk longed to touch his nose to the other Saefyn's shoulder, an act purely of tender, familial love, but he knew of the reluctance his son had maintained after his return from blackfeather - so, should he not accept the welcome, he would stop. He was willing to wait for whatever Cyron needed, whatever he wanted... he was home, he was alive, safe, and that was all that mattered to the wolfdog.

it shouldn't have came to cyron as any sort of surprise that mawk was the first to answer his call; yet seeing the familiar presence of his father emerge from within the depths of easthollow surprised him nevertheless. given the abrupt and unspoken nature of his departure he isn't ( wasn't? ) sure how he'd be received. by his family. by easthollow. does he deserve another chance? probably not. he isn't so sure he'd give it, if the tables were turned. hadn't didn't he hold a grudge against his mother? or was it past tense? he isn't sure. he can never put to rest the plague that has consumed his mind. the visions of wolfskull cave. the echoing pain of hunger though it has been a long time since he's know hunger. he'd been emancipated when his mother'd found him territories between here and his captives, cheeks sunken and shallow, ribs showing — but now he's filled out. strong muscled with the proper amount of weight on his frame.

cyron swallows thickly, drawing in a ragged breath that gets caught on the lump that's formed and risen in his throat as his father whispers his name. hey dad, cyron speaks, tone thick with emotion. it threatens to become too much for him. sometimes they were good and sometimes they were bad. sometimes they were triggers. so, cyron focuses on each one he feels and dissects them for clinical study to refocus himself.

joy. it's unbridled and it's the strongest emotion brewing within him. he's joyed to see his father, to see that he's well; perhaps aged a bit ( but haven't they both? ) but otherwise appears healthy.

guilt. ah, there it was. guilt for leaving. guilt for suffering. there was no use in being guilty for the latter, he knows. he doesn't have to — and more importantly he won't — apologize for the aftermath, for what's been made of him. the struggle, the traumatic stress was the marks of survivor.

congratulations, you have survived the war. now live with the trauma.

hesitation. still there. that hesitation that he feels: would the leaders and other wolves of easthollow be as welcoming? the hesitation he sees in his father as the older saefyn reaches for him. understandable, given cyron's strict rules on physical contact. he still isn't sure he wants to allow it but doesn't move and doesn't tense up should his father seek to push his nose into his fur.

how're things? cyron asks generally, wondering if he should broach upon the fact that he doesn't scent his mother or sister on easthollow's borders or if he should avoid the subject all together. abruptly, he decides not to assuming that it will come up in conversation at some point or another.

i typed 'eastwood' instead of 'easthollow' more times than i'd care to admit, lmao.

His son's voice was thick with untold emotion, and Mawk's expression mirrored some of the emotions that filtered through Cryon - guilt at failing to defend his boy from the dangers of the world, guilt at greeting his return with the lack of a mother, and guilt the absence of his sister. He'd not done a good job, had he? Joy, too; an overwhelming sense of relief that flooded through his system when he had confirmed that it was the young Saefyn at the borders, not some lookalike rogue. He thought of how broken their family was, ripped apart by the woes of life, and for a fleeting second he felt a burning anger in his chest...

why his family, of all of them?

But it passed, and it had not shown across his weary features. Cyron did not seem to reject his touch, but he did not appear to favour it either, so Mawk made the gesture swift, light. He longed to embrace his son in warmth, to drape his neck over the silvery youth's shoulders, but he'd never wish to make the other wolfdog any more uncomfortable than he might already be.

He just wanted to be a good dad.

The enquiry was simple -- general, and the scout hesitated at an answer. He wished he could answer in the same simplicity that the question was proposed, but alas, he cannot tell Cyron of everything that has occured without it turning into a novel, and it's one he struggles to tell. "...Better now that you're here." He concludes, seeing it as the only way to answer without his voice cracking, or his legs trembling. "I hope..." He pauses, but pushes himself to continue -- if only for the benefit of his son. "I hope you know I'm not mad that you left. I understand. Maybe not... the full extent of it, but i'm glad you're here."

cyron allows the touch and mawk follows through with it, making it respectfully brief. cyron is grateful for it. though he is undoubtedly happy to see his father again, alive and presumably well, and though cyron's semi-stable these days he isn't sure he'll ever be fully receptive to casual physical contact. mawk hesitates to answer him and something unsettled takes home within cyron's chest. a slow, encouraging wag of his own curled tail is given and mawk's answer isn't exactly satisfying. it's a simple response that leaves cyron with the feeling that there is much that his father's left unspoken.

cyron assumes that it has to deal with the lack of two other saefyn scent on the borders and just as mawk is respectful to his hesitance towards physical contact, cyron returns the favor. he doesn't pry. perhaps there would be time to catch up once he knows whether he may call easthollow home again or if he needs to carry on and try to find another home within the wilds. it's true that the number of scents on the borders tell cyron that they're doing well and are not hurting for wolves — and he's glad to know it.

i should've given warning that i was leaving. ...i should've been more open about how i was suffering, he takes a pause here, drawing salmon pink tongue across his scarred jowls. ...i'm better now. not cured — there's no cure for — a soft clear of his throat is given, eager to dance around the torture he endured in the 'care' of blackfeather woods. for it. but i know my triggers and that makes it easier to avoid situations where i might have an episode. it's not perfect and it's certainly not failsafe but it's definitely progress.

Mawk listened in silence, wheels turning and clicking in his mind -- he had always known his son had struggled to speak of his struggles, his difficulty, but he had never once blamed him. Though perhaps it had been frustrating at times, when he was pushed back and a barrier had been forced up between them, the wolfdog had never decided to abandon the relationship between himself and the younger Saefyn; with time, he'd always trusted, with time.

"I don't blame you." He stated, chewing idly on the inside of his cheek in silent contemplation. "I know... I know there's no cure, but I'm glad you're doing better. You're heading in the right direction, and I'm incredibly proud of you." Illecebra would be, too... was she watching them now, smiling down upon her son? He prayed as much.

"Would you... would you like me to call Valette...?" The scout enquired, eyes glittering hopefully -- he would have loved nothing more than to see his boy return home, to see him live a life worth living, but he knew it was better to ask than to assume. Rowana had wandered... perhaps he'd do the same (though it would hurt to see the back of Cyron once more; to hear his voice again had been a blessing itself!). He only wanted his son's happiness.

there is something indefinitely comforting about being told the words i don't blame you by his father; and the fact that he finds it so relieving and comforting shocks cyron for a moment. he hadn't realized that he'd been worrying that mawk would until he was reassured that he didn't. thank you, dad. cyron says with another soft clear of his throat, ears slicking back to rest at half mast atop his skull as he processes and catalogs those emotions.

the question pops up then: inevitable as it was from the start. should he call for valette? and with it question of cyron's own: things he's already pondered but show up again with more insistency than they had before. would she allow his return? should she allow his return? after the depressed and easily triggered shell he'd been last time she'd seen him? it wouldn't hurt to ask her. to get that closure personally rather than just assuming either way. yeah, cyron replied after a prolonged moment of contemplation. call for her.

He felt a sudden rush of cold, though whether it was from a frigid blast of wind or the prickling worry that clambered from his stomach, he didn't know -- it was a sudden thought that had his eyes squint a fraction, resisting the urge to chew at his inner cheek again; a habit gained from his current worries. What if Valette didn't allow Cyron to return?

The panic shuddered from him as quick as it had come, dissolving into the sky as his lips parted. Mawk called quickly for @Valette, and then settled to wait for her arrival, fiery gaze tracing the horizon.

Valette lifted her head when she heard Mawk howl for her. The female was curious what he was howling for. She hoped that he was doing better. She wanted to give him as much space to mourn the loss of his mate. Hence why she had not been showing her face too much to the male. She knew that if he needed comfort that he would come to her. Perhaps this was a call for comfort. The female trotted towards him, and realized that this was a border call.

When she arrived the noticed that Mawk was standing with a young male. Valette frowned. He looked familiar. Was it... Cyron? Valette stopped a pace away from he two. She looked at Mawk, he looked happy and scared at the same time. "What is wrong?," she asked. She then turned to the young male. "Cyron, was it?," she then asked.