Neverwinter Forest fear is born of loving something enough that it's loss would break you

for @Arrille ! slight & vague pp of Ondine, marie if you're reading this and want me to change anything let me know and I'll gladly change it. edit. slight pp of arrille too; as always i will change anything. <3

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Kjalarr wrapped up his patrols and as the sun rose in the winter sky the dawn painted the sky a myriad of pastel colors: warm against the chill that Kjalarr’s thick, coarse winter coat worked to combat. He caught a fat rabbit and brought it to the birthing den dropping it at the mouth of the den, letting out a low chuff to let know his mate that her breakfast waited for her. He did not hear Arrille suckling, though between sleeping and pooping that seemed to be all the newborn did. Still, so long as the youngest Lodbrok was not eating Kjalarr deigned to give his mate a bit of a break, to allow her to stretch her legs and get some fresh air, to alleviate some of the claustrophobia he thought she might be feeling. They switched and Kjalarr settled into the spot that she had recently vacated, drawing his tiny son gently between his large paws, against his broad chest. Perhaps Arrille…Calder as the viking christened his son was not actually tiny by newborn standards: but to Kjalarr who felt like giant next to his son he was tiny. Fragile.

For a moment, Kjalarr was reminded of Wylla, the only pup of Lusca’s that he’d had brief interaction with before the woman had stolen her and her two sons away from Saltwinter. For a moment the new father contended himself to admire the child. His child, a warmth spreading through his chest. He was perfect. The Northman made to gently brush his muzzle against the boy’s body, so that he might, too, become familiar with him, though Kjalarr knew that the newborn likely only knew what very little of the world the protection of the birthing den offered him by sense and touch alone.

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