December 16, 2018, 02:01 AM
Stormy times had preceded the actual clouds, and the Drakru was.. tired in the aftermath of it all. Every unanswered howl for every time he felt like he couldn't get a grasp on things had eaten away at him, one worse than the next. Between duty to guard when shady company manifested right on the doorstep (with their captive to consider), and the old sting of abandonment, nothing felt like it was going his way some days.
The greater picture remained strong, while he found himself weighing twice as much thanks to sorrow, and draining fast. Without Portia, his routine? Upended. Something far too important was missing and in her absence, he was lost.
For Dacio and Opalia, he was stone-faced and determined, however. They, with the pack's routines, helped hold him up when he didn't want to—and for when the days passed with still no sign of her. Scents had gone from scattered, to fading, to absent. The storm had come, then passed. He remained as steadfast as the sunrise to greet each day with the same grit to his teeth, working past it and all the emptiness it left, or so he said to himself.
He couldn't say what precisely compelled him down to the sands. He knew he needed to go check in with the captive, and make sure the Sound side was tended--among all else. But, he trotted over the stretch of beach first, slow and careful.
Soon, Dio could understand why. A sinking feeling in his gut, but an ice cold closure that he hated to meet here today.
His head hung as he reached the waterlogged body, and a nose buried in to her ruff like he had done a thousand times before didn't feel right. It was her, unmistakably, yet she was.. gone.
Whining, he still grabbed her scruff in his teeth and pulled her from the waves' immediate reach. Some distant hope wanted her to still be there.. that he could just dry her off, get her to safety, and all would be well again but the better sense told him how foolish that hope was to have at the hands of the sea's mercy—and for how long had it been? He didn't have it in his heart to call for his son and daughter just yet either. They would know, but did they need to see her? She would have a resting place to honor her proper, but now.. here she was but a husk of what had once been so vibrant and alive. Still her. Still his wife, true, the one he could never doubt that he loved so wholly and well.. despite it all, and beyond what they had been through in the last year that had finally beat them both down so badly that she succumbed when it was too much. To what end exactly, he could only guess expertly with a nose full of seasalt.. but there was so much to blame here, he knew that for sure.
She deserved better than any of this.
The wocha stayed alone with her for some time, listening to the waves, overcome with sorrow, and wishing he could have stopped it from coming this far.
He was going to miss her.
The greater picture remained strong, while he found himself weighing twice as much thanks to sorrow, and draining fast. Without Portia, his routine? Upended. Something far too important was missing and in her absence, he was lost.
For Dacio and Opalia, he was stone-faced and determined, however. They, with the pack's routines, helped hold him up when he didn't want to—and for when the days passed with still no sign of her. Scents had gone from scattered, to fading, to absent. The storm had come, then passed. He remained as steadfast as the sunrise to greet each day with the same grit to his teeth, working past it and all the emptiness it left, or so he said to himself.
He couldn't say what precisely compelled him down to the sands. He knew he needed to go check in with the captive, and make sure the Sound side was tended--among all else. But, he trotted over the stretch of beach first, slow and careful.
Soon, Dio could understand why. A sinking feeling in his gut, but an ice cold closure that he hated to meet here today.
His head hung as he reached the waterlogged body, and a nose buried in to her ruff like he had done a thousand times before didn't feel right. It was her, unmistakably, yet she was.. gone.
Whining, he still grabbed her scruff in his teeth and pulled her from the waves' immediate reach. Some distant hope wanted her to still be there.. that he could just dry her off, get her to safety, and all would be well again but the better sense told him how foolish that hope was to have at the hands of the sea's mercy—and for how long had it been? He didn't have it in his heart to call for his son and daughter just yet either. They would know, but did they need to see her? She would have a resting place to honor her proper, but now.. here she was but a husk of what had once been so vibrant and alive. Still her. Still his wife, true, the one he could never doubt that he loved so wholly and well.. despite it all, and beyond what they had been through in the last year that had finally beat them both down so badly that she succumbed when it was too much. To what end exactly, he could only guess expertly with a nose full of seasalt.. but there was so much to blame here, he knew that for sure.
She deserved better than any of this.
The wocha stayed alone with her for some time, listening to the waves, overcome with sorrow, and wishing he could have stopped it from coming this far.
He was going to miss her.
<3 <3 <3
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