Redtail Rise israfel

word had reached her of the young ones jockeying for position. she let it be, focused more on her burgeoning brood and healing her leg. even if the thought of it disturbed her.

now, though, she is whole again, and she searches for her eldest son. for @Relic, built in his father's image.

summer is upon them, and Prophet still not returned. they are left weak without a warlord, without a Berserkr, and she's loath to let that office stay unfilled.

and while she knows others are keen upon it. . .

Avicus sets her jaw, trotting across the plains. it must be him. she will keep this Rise in her blood; it's meant to be that way.

Time passed. Dynamics shifted. Relationships changed. Wounds healed.

Relic had caught news that Avicus, the true matriarch of the Rise, was back in form once again. The young wolves had considered stepping up. Only enough to ease the burden of leadership on Augur, until she had recovered. But Relic had shown no interest in stepping up to the plate. Not then. His place was here, by his mother's side. To provide, support and protect.

He had noticed Lilia and Ancelin spending more and more time together. Heard whispered exchanges of their affection. His cousin had won her. While disappointed, he did not remain bitter. He moved on, not one to be weighed down by matters of the heart. Were he meant to find a lover, she was out there somewhere.

Spotting her ruddy form, a vibrant blotch against the shadows of the incoming night, Relic called out in a deep bark. He quickened his stride, slipping in to step alongside her. Battle scarred and rugged, he carried himself proudly. A sons touch of the nose to her shoulder, a pleased growl in his throat.

his rugged, patchwork form is vibrant against the evening shadows; she feels a swell of pride at his appearance. Prophet's son, no doubt—but more than that, he's hers. and will always be hers, or so she hopes.

whatever tragedy or cowardice had befallen Prophet to take him from them. . .she vows her son will not meet the same fate.

lifh' your headh, Avicus says after accepting his greeting, meeting his crimson eyes dead-on. 

nearly full-grown, battle-scarred, self-assured—

he's ready.

i wan' you be our new warlordh. our Ber'hherkr. 

there's no need for 'will you accept?' she knows he will.

Prophet. Relic did not dwell on the loss of the man he had inherited his eyes from. Their interactions had been few and far between. Augur was more of a father than that man had ever been. Shaped in both of their images, he would continue to do them proud. For the Rise. For Wealda. 

He did as she bid, raising his head to it's full height. He was slightly taller than his mother, so it was only natural that his skull hovered inches above her own. Down into her indigo eyes he gazed. Nothing but the warmth of a son and the boldness of fierce warrior and keeper of the Rise. 

What she asked - no, commanded of him, made his heart swell. Fill the role of Berserkr. Take the title that Prophet once held. He did not expect this to come so soon. But it made perfect sense. The time was now. He had seen war, defended his rank and won. Partook in many successful hunts. Was always one of the first to respond in driving off trespassers. He had even gone toe to toe with Augur.

Rumbling deep, the dark line of his lips curled. "Then, Berserkr I will be. Yours. For the Rise." 

no hesitation, just as she had expected. she places her muzzle atop his broad crown (having to strain slightly to reach the top of it, given how tall he'd become). then again, she knows he'd bow to her if needed.

her son. her beautiful, brutish son.

done, Avicus says, breath stirring the hairs upon his forehead. she pulls back and regards him gravely. oh'herhh' will figh' you for your role, you know, she continues. your couh'hin. 'hLilia.

she hopes he is ready for their resistance, for she knows it will soon come.