Stone Circle Cry Me A River

He was not a nervous wolf; most of the pack could attest to this. Perhaps the newer members would have trouble believing it, as he'd been nothing short of neuroitc since returning from the Hinterlands with Amber in tow, but it was nothing but a sickness that'd affected him in a very deep way. At his core, he was a level-headed man. He knew what needed to be done and he knew how to do it - the rest was in the claws and hooves of the Cat and Calf, and Day had no business worrying about it.

But he was worried, now. Day knew it was wrong, but somehow, he just couldn't bring himself to pray; couldn't get it out of his head that Althaia might've prayed to Him, too, and what'd that gotten her? Dead. Althaia was dead, and there was a good chance Amber and the kids could be going the same way. She'd pushed so hard on the trip here, and Day was terrified of what that could mean for his family. What it would do to him.

He was, indeed, pacing the mouth of the den, murmuring curses and endearments in equal force. He wanted to be there for Amber, but for the most part, he was there for himself. Cagey, he might've been described right then. Wild-eyed. A wreck.

And when Amber called for him, he almost just pretended he hadn't heard her. Had almost walked the other way. There was a vice around his heart and another on his lungs, and it felt like dying to hear those words. Like nothing he'd ever felt before. And then joy so fierce and true that it was almost sorrow ripped through his body, and sigh after shuddering sigh, Day regained his breath, his sanity.

"Okay," he said in a low voice, turning his head toward the den, but not his body. There was a part of him that was still very afraid to take this step. It'd started snowing, today - the first of the year - and the Alaskan couldn't help but take it as an omen. Winter had come, and now he had kids - or he would, if he walked into that den. "Okay."

Stronger, this time, and Day turned and ambled over, head down and ears back as he crawled into the mouth of the den. The thick, heavy smell of blood and birth assulted his nose, and he paused for a moment to lock eyes with the dark shadow that laid within. The glow of blue seemed to strengthen him, and eventually, he tore his eyes from hers and looked down at his cubs. One was lighter and one was darker, but both were unmistakeably his. Maybe it didn't even have to do with the color of their pelts - maybe it was something that Day just knew. Something he'd always know, even if he had gone away, only to run into them when they were grown.

"What - which one?" he asked, his voice rough. "Which one's which?"