Neverwinter Forest i wonder where that young boy has gone

[table width=85%][tr][td]

Kjalarr supposed that the move was easy for him in some ways, and harder in others. His ascension to leadership shortly after Allure had invited them in had rendered the task (which would have been so very far from easy) of re-integrating himself as a subordinate unnecessary. On that Kjalarr got lucky and half of the battle was over before it had even begun. He realized, now, as she spoke it, that it wasn't so easy for her. He'd been taken from Stavanger Bay, from Nova Peak to Jade Fern Grove, from the Grove to Moonspear and then Saltwinter. Then again, being a vagabond was in his blood: Vikings were travelers (and conquerors) by nature. He also realized simultaneously that there was so much he didn't know about the woman who was now his wife. “I was born on the Sequoia Coast, in a territory called Stavanger Bay. I think it's claimed now by another, else I would take you there to share it with you.” But there was little that tied him there. His father's grave had long since been defiled and his bones scattered to the four winds. It might have suited him to take the religious relics his father had carved with his teeth that had once decorated the grave but likely they were gone too. “We'll take them to visit when they're old enough.” He promised her, drawing his salmon pink tongue over his nose. “We'll make a family trip out of it.” A mini vacation.

Kjalarr hadn't meant for his words to be cruel — and in true Kjalarr fashion he was oblivious to the fact that she might have taken it as such — he was tempted to ask her what she needed but then hesitated because he likely wouldn't remember. He did not have a healer's mind or any interest in the arts. He was the healer's worst nightmare, admittedly, stumbling home from battle still high on the berserker rage and bloodied and torn up but utterly jovial about it. Scars were marks of a berserker and the more he wore, the more respected he was. He wasn't the world's best patient either (no contest of where he got that from enter smirk here). His lack of patience made him insufferable. He was extremely lucky that the scars upon the bridge of his muzzle had healed without infection and incident.

She admitted that he was all she had left and that of course he was dear to her. He drew in a contemplative breath and let it out. He felt the obligation to say something but he wasn't sure what he was meant to say. “I'm not much good at this,” He admitted slowly, looking down at her paws before his gaze rose slowly back up to her face. “I don't know the first thing about being a mate. I've never been...in a relationship before,” He admitted wondering if she would think less of him for it. His confidence was deceptive at best; and he knew that he had to be honest with her. That was the first step to a healthy relationship, right? “...and I'm scared of fatherhood.” He'd known it was a possibility, and knew in the marrow of his bones that each time they coupled during her estrus that they were just digging their hole deeper (though it might have been too late after that first time). He hadn't cared when he'd taken Potema because he knew that he'd never see her again. If she wound up with his bastards then it wasn't his problem but he could not just walk away from Ondine.

And now that he faced the truth of what they had done and created together — which was kind of miraculous when he thought about it in a way untainted with fear (that wasn't often) — his inexperience left him paralyzed with terror of all the things that could go wrong, and everything that he could do wrong. He didn't think he was ready to be a father but of course that was too little, much too late.

[/td][/tr][/table]