Ankyra Sound months will go on, like sand to stone, maybe i'll grow old, maybe i won't

takes place after all of grimnismal has already departed. 

the weeks had been long. jading. so much of what made Lycaon himself had been wrung out by the calloused hands of interminable grief and anger for the world’s capacity for unfairly partioning cruelty. he was twisted up and he was tired. the abandonment he felt wrought heavily upon him by his siblings had been the first domino to fall. the death of all but one of his children—one who would be pried from his wardship, to be raised alongside Caiaphas’ own—the second. 

the last suture keeping him held together was clawed violently apart when the only home he’d ever known befell the clout of a great violator; unbeknownst to him, the executioner of his brother, as well. 

it was uncanny, how much he and Ingram had in common. maybe even more than either of them realized... or wanted.

his heart was laden. it was tired of knowing only one rhythm.  languidly, his ears heard the rallying acclamation issued by the strand’s liege—her oath to its expanse had been unwillingly dismantled, and the wolves of Grimsnimal were urged to measure out, move inland, leave. it always involved leaving. 

Lycaon didn’t feel the same sense of urgency. slowly, he unfolded himself and propped his weight apathetically on his lank forelegs. he didn’t have the energy to cover any meaningful extent of ground—much less at the hectic pace that Caiaphas commanded. he didn't even have the energy to keep himself upright. his amber eyes were cast in the direction of her voice, and then overlooked his shoulder towards the grotto. he thought briefly of Svalinn, felt concern start to rise--but if there was anything of merit to be said for the siren queen, it was that child supervision was truly her heart’s calling, and that vestigial son of his would be safe with her. the young wolf huffed a weary grunt and sagged back to his belly, then slowly laid to his side, head pressed close against the sunwarmed sand.

whistling a faint whimper, he cast his solemn stare at the repetitive transit of waves. his lashes quivered, and then fluttered the eyes they framed shut.

i'm just resting my eyes for the long journey ahead.