Blackwater Islands Who will breathe the earth we lost

The quiet spiderling grew stronger every day. She grew more interested in things other than easing her hunger and finding warmth and safety. 

Now she could lift herself up on wobbly legs and move a few steps at a time. Her balance was terrible, though, so she would often tip over to one side and plop down on her butt. Her missing toe didn't do her any favors either. 

But she was persistent. She wanted to make it to where the light was. So little by little, she made her way to the entrance. Morgra just hoped she reached it before she became too tired to continue.

tags for reference. <3

the sound of shuffling draws ingram's attention; his ears perking towards @The Wispmother's den. he came back from his patrol earlier than he anticipated and sought out @The Listener where she was oft found these days.

thus far, ingram's curiosity about the cubs has been rather non-existent. he is not sure what to make of the squealing, suckling babes but knows that one day they would be more and that they were, nonetheless, important to blackwater.

he chuffs at the mouth of the den to announce his presence; where he remains, seaglass gaze falling on the small, round silhouette shuffling towards the light of day. he lowers himself onto his belly, chin resting against his front paws as, slowly, more and more of her appears.

morgra. first born; first to find her will; first to begin the longest battle. the girl would be a warrior one day, the listener felt, though only time would reveal her weapon of choice.

not far behind her daring firstborn, the listener appeared from the shadows as morgra completed her turtle-paced escape. ingram awaited past the den's mouth, ever watchful; her iron guardian. the typical severity of her features softened to see him lowered to morgra's own height. killers, both of them, and she knew her children would be safer with none other.

morgra, the prophet spoke to her keeper with a gesture to the pale girl. she is yours, as much as she is mine. they all are. when the time comes, you will train one of them.

The persistent girl continued to make her way to the light, regardless of how long it took her. And when she saw the large man plant himself in the entrance, she was given even more reason to reach her destination. His scent was familiar and comforting; he was around often, though she rarely saw him. She somehow knew he was safe. 

About the time Morgra reached the guardian, she felt her mother's presence behind her. It didn't stop her from jumping at the man's nose. She ended up stumbling forward and falling into his muzzle, but she quickly recovered and began to chew on his lip, her tail wagging the whole time. She heard the listener speak but wasn't able to understand the words very well yet. She was busy anyway.

though ingram is ready to return to his station, he is pleasantly surprised when he is not chased away with teeth. given that he has never had experience around children before, he assumes wispmother or the listener might chase him off. it is one of the rare moments when ingram is glad to be wrong.

morgra, he repeats the young girl's name in a low murmur, seaglass gaze watching her with wiry curiosity as she ambles closer; fearless, he assumes. it reminds him of the wispmother's name upon their first meeting. it sounds alike though not the same.

she jumps for his nose, misses and collides against his muzzle. he keeps it lowered, still; so as to not disrupt her even as she begins to chew on his lip. a flick of his ear is given, letting the listener know that she has his attention despite that it is split between the two.

his. morgra, the boys — whose names are still unknown to him. their's? he does his best to ignore the subtle uptick of his heartbeat, the rapid blinking as he processes her words and considers. mine? ...to train, you mean? he asks seeking clarification because his thoughts were running rampant and he thinks he is reading too much into it.

the words come out slightly distorted and muffled by his gentle attempt to not disrupt morgra's mission too much.

morgra launched into merry assault against ingram's face as the druids conversed. the listener paid her no mind, accustomed by now to the antics of children. instead, her eyes traced the features of her keeper. the shift in his demeanor was noted.

i am their mother, but they have no father. instead, they have you, she explained gently, well aware of the weight she placed on his shoulders. it rested heavily on her own. you will walk by my side in this, as with all things. not as their father, but perhaps something like it; something like the bond that had existed between merrick and his night-pearl in those early days. but this bond, the listener prayed, would last forever.

The two adults continued to talk to each other, the man allowing her to continue her battle with his lip. She was completely unaware that they discussed her future.

As usual, her burst of energy was short-lived. She released the guardian's flesh to allow a large yawn to part her jaws. 

Sleepily, she stumbled forward and found a large, fluffy chest. The spiderling immediately curled up in the plush hair and promptly fell asleep.

she is skippable now <3

morgra tires herself out soon enough — quicker than ingram had imagined she would, only proving his naivety with cubs and what to expect. she snuggles up against his chest and her breath smooths into heavy ones of slumber. ingram's gaze softens, shifting ever-so-slightly so his position is more comfortable — careful not to disturb the girl.

another mission, then. not their father but something close to it. when it comes to the listener he tends to wear his heart on his leg, and thinks back to alduin's taunting not too long ago and how it makes him weak.

of course, trikova. the keeper murmurs, after a moment of contemplation on whether he should address her by title or not in that moment. either way, he understands the assignment given to him; and as he has done everything thus far: he would make it his life's mission. what have you named the others? ingram inquires after a moment.

of course, trikova.

she knew he would not fail her; he never had.

isangrim, my secondborn, after the keeper, in a fashion. and ptolemy, my darkling lastborn.

the listener stood in silence for a moment, gazing on the slight form of her sleeping firstborn. her thoughts had turned to the future. soon they would all be grown. it would be her own turn, then. she would take the wispmother's place, as she saw in her dreams. it would be the prophet writhing in her own blood, screaming, torn from the inside out.

perhaps one day, the children we raise will truly be our own.

she swept in close to gather morgra, and left the keeper with that final thought, disappearing behind the waterfall to tuck the girl among her brothers.

isangrim and ptolemy.

he tucks the name of the boys away, holding their names close to him, as he holds morgra's.

his natyongon — nightchildren. not of his blood and not his children in the sense that he would be 'father' but his all the same. it is this way, ingram is able to make the separation; and will teach it to them when they are old enough to learn words and understand. there is a sort of irony that part of him clings to praimfaya's language despite that he has shed everything else.

she leaves him with words to think about; a soft bloom of a potential future. he moves slightly as she scoops up morgra and disappears with her back inside the embracing shadows of the birthing den. he lingers for a few moments before resuming his station nearby.