Arrow Lake fall down a rabbit hole

AW but she's calling for Mahler. :o

Three weeks and the she-wolf’s seclusion only served to fuel the tension she felt within her breast. Stigmata would bring her meals as much he could—even taking to sleeping outside the whelping den at different times when he was available. The protective mother had let him gaze upon his children, but not without a warning grimace of a snarl upon her face. His proclamation to her had never wavered—that he was hers. But she also did not know what words he spoke to Takiyok, or any of the other mothers within their ranks.

The trust that had once been able to be placed on another had dwindled in the wake of her children’s birth, and the darkness she felt from the quiet of her thoughts did little to soothe her growing fears.

The day itself was overcast. The clouds above seemed to roil above, signifying the mother’s dark mood and her growing concern. The eyes of her babes had opened, and their milk teeth had made their presence known by sharp testing nips. The small girl and her silver brother were keen on ambling, trying their shaky limbs as they toddled.

Their dark brother, however, seemed more fatigued than them—and she smoothed her nose over him, noting she had not yet seen him try his mobility. There was a fleeting moment of rising worry that escalated in her chest—a worried hitch of breath before she unfurled herself from them, and pressed toward the den entrance. Green eyes scoured before her, and with a clipped call, she beckoned for @Mahler—she could not allow her concerns to be swallowed by her trepidation of trust toward her pack mates intentions.

mahler had returned from his excursion into the lowlands with little more to tell about swiftcurrent than before. no matter, he decided. such things could be puzzled out at a later time.
there were hunts to be made, patrols to be done, joiners to be found, but for all of that, mahler was content to find a bit of shade and unroll a stoat skin wherein he kept his choicest medicines.
a trip to the little herb cave would be necessary soon, but upon discovering the woman liri and her lingering cough, mahler had taken it upon himself to stock diaspora’s plant cache with plants for fever, mild illnesses, vomiting, and the unfortunate malady that often took children in their youth. he had liked liri, enjoyed her company, but could not be sure that the woman was indeed not contagious, and he would never forgive himself if he had inadvertently transported home from her a virus that might slay diasporan pups.
therefore he was close when ketzia summoned him; unsure why he had been called, and aware of the terse tone in her voice, the kapitän approached in a crisp gait, bearing with him his store. ”ketzia,” mahler greeted. ”vhat can i do for you?”

He responded—the act in itself spurring something within her slender breast. Fatigued emerald eyes roved over him, and she curled her tail through the air, her exotic muzzle dipping lower to provide her humble need. “Mahler…I need you to look at one of them.”

She swallowed that flutter of panic once more, her mind forcing itself over her heart. Her child would be fine. He was healthy. He had to be healthy.

“He’s lethargic, and hasn’t shown any interest in moving.”

his expression grew somber as ketzia spoke; a child within the den perhaps was failing. one of stigmata’s, yes, but more than that, he was a child of diaspora.
her children were too young yet to venture far from the denmouth without the watchful eye of an adult over them, and so mahler took up his skin of herbs and waited to be admitted.
when ketzia had presumably allowed him entry or brought forth her son, mahler crouched over the boy. ”i vill ask some questions now,” he warned, arranging the minuscule limbs for the child’s best comfort. ”how long has he been like this?” the gargoyle murmured, sniffing the breath at the tiny muzzle, lowering his own to prod gently at the small stomach. ”vhen did he last eat? and his vaste, vhen he excretes: does it seem normal or bitter to you? lastly, how is his urination?”
such questions were necessary to assess the boy’s situation; it could be a mere fever stealing his energy, or something more insidious, and presently he glanced to ketzia with an encouraging expression. ”i am sorry to bombard you, frau.”

She steeled herself as Mahler settled next to her boy—the dark ashen of his pelt melding to the youth’s own charcoal fur. A certain part of her screamed at having another so near them when they were so young, and the questions the Kapitan presented her only further flustered the pale sylph.

A worried step was taken toward Stigmata’s killbrother, her jewelled eyes fierce upon her boy as she felt heard the roughness of her voice—a dry throat wrought on by worry.

“He has eaten—but not as much as his brother and sister. He has been less assertive as them. His waste is… it’s normal. It’s normal…” She trailed off, worrying her boy with her eyes only before she felt her throat constrict more. Was it normal? “I think… Mahler, I think… His urine might be darker… I don’t know.”

She swallowed once more, noting the rambling of her words before she caught herself, her eyes beseeching his own, now. “He sleeps often. He does not try to push himself. He doesn’t…” Her voice trailed away once more, her words descending a certain darkness upon her.

he knew she meant well, and of course she could give no doctor's answers. the boy was weak, was flushed. such things happened, one taken after birth that the others might live. the warmth concerned him, for such illnesses could quickly spread to the rest of the brood. 
but he could not tell ketzia to abandon her son, not now. she looked to him for hope, and there was no necessity in deeming the child doomed. not yet. "i vill bring vater. he is young for it yet, but it is important to bring down his fever. and willowbark, a tiny amount." yes — between the two might the child perhaps be saved. he would visit every hour until a verdict could be made.
a nod to ketzia; a quick trip down to the lake, and he returned bearing soaked moss and a renewed sense of hope.

What baleful gaze that had been cast to the medic before had now turned to desperation and a glint of something else—hopelessness, loneliness, regret. Whatever it was that clutched at her pale breast alongside her panic was unrecognizable to her, and as Mahler suggested a route to health, the pale dove parted for him, allowing him to slip from the den she had hidden away in with her tiny family for weeks now. 

She fussed over her boy in the Kapitan’s absence. Her mind fluttered with the outcomes any mother dreaded, and she ensured the well-being of the other two of her charge as they mewled toward her. When Mahler returned, the exotic dame slipped to his side, allowing him the space he needed to tend to the waning boy. 

Time was not considered. She fed her silver and gold babes before slipping quietly away for only a moment, quenching her thirst and berating herself for all her faults that would have brought this about—her anger, her inability to care for herself. Had she not fed enough? Had she not drank enough to keep her milk supply at its strongest?

These questions went unanswered, and as she once more returned to the gargoyle who tended to her son even more gently than perhaps their father, she felt her despair meet a surging breaking point. “Diaspora is no longer home,” she choked out, the whithering form of the pale dove slinking closer to the ground and enshrouding her two healthy remaining cubs with her warmth. Her ears slid back to her skull as her jewelry eyes sought his own lavender, beckoning him to tell her otherwise. To instill promise to her once more.

a flick of his ear followed ketzia as she departed the den; mahler gladly let his gruff gaze linger on her healthier babies before he settled to ekeing water into the mouth of the sick entlein, pausing to chew the tiniest bolus of bark into a paste for the miniscule tongue.
in time the boy slept, his breathing watched over closely by the shadowpriest. while death’s dog-head perhaps loomed near he would remain, unwilling to leave ketzia at such a crucial time.
finally the little goddess crumpled; her glowing gemlike eyes puddled with tears and she sought his reassurance. but what could he say? mahler settled close to her, offering the warmth of his bulk, and again judged stigmata for what he had done, brushing her shoulder with a friendly gesture. 
”your children make it a home,” mahler murmured at length. ”but in your heart, vhere vould you vant to reside?”

She watched as the man attempted to purify her son. The dark boys chest would rise and fall as gentle sleep would take over him, and she released a sigh—the breath she did not realize that she had held in her breast. 

The gargoyle rumbled his response to her, the question something she did not need long to mull over. “Home is where my children are,” she agreed, her nose stretching out to seek the dark mans throat as she sought solace in the scent and warmth of his ruff—the first touch from one of her pack mates before she had become pregnant. She had only ever wanted companionship. A pack that was family and home.

“But that home is not where they are unwelcome. Not under the ire of Takiyok and the guilty presence of Stigmata.” She blew out a breath once more, nosing down as the gentle tawny female pup whimpered in her sleep. “I will not tolerate them outcasted from an act of love.”

He he had said he loved her. Had promised himself to her. And only now was the pale dove realizing that as much as he would wish to, he would never be able to fully commit to those words and stay true to himself.

mahler did not know the extent of what had transpired between ketzia and his kill-brother, nor did he wish to know, for the details did not concern him.
but stigmata had mistreated them both, in mahler’s opinion. proud takiyok would not have considered bearing the ironstar’s young had stigmata planned to divert resources from the fiery quartet to another litter of pups. diaspora was, therefore, compromised in its ability to aptly provide, outnumbered as the adults were to the little ones.
the gargoyle refused to disparage stigmata aloud, for a great undercurrent of respect for the ambitious man ran deep and lastingly within his heart, but ketzia’s fears were not invalid.
”your children are no less important than those born to takiyok,” he murmured, ”and it is known. allow me to speak vith her. i am certain she vas ... caught off guard,” mahler finished, for surely stigmata had not consulted the winterwhite about his lust for the delicate jewel.
on a whim mahler reached to ketzia again, wishing to soothe the hurt of spurned love he did not understand, and finding in himself a comfort in contact with another.

The raw hurt of it all stemmed only from Stigmata’s words and his inability to complete them. The dove begged for patience to deal with her beloved—but the very real possibility that her expectations of him would be far too much for the dark General was not lost upon her, but they were concerns that she swallowed for now.

Her gaze would linger upon the sickly boy that Mahler came to care for, her heart fluttering with the knowledge that she could very well lose him. What was the breaking point for the new mother? She did not know.

For now, with careful eyes upon her boy and drifting every so often to Mahler, she would force a wane smile upon lips that had curved far more naturally and carefree in earlier years. Stigmata, Mahler and Takiyok—the trio were indescribably close, and she could not help but voice the final question she held on the matter for now. “Does she love him?”

they crouched in silence for quite some time, mahler dividing his attentions between ketzia and her son. the boy slumbered; mahler did not think he would succumb to the fever, for he was strong even in infancy. 
had he known the woman’s thoughts, mahler would have agreed that himself, stigmata, and takiyok made a gentle threesome, but it was perhaps wrought now with tension.
at the touch of ketzia’s tense inquiry, mahler looked to her, beheld the expression of her lovely eyes. ”their binding vas contractual in nature,” he revealed softly, ”and i am sure there is affection between them.” but love? perhaps takiyok loved the fierce general; perhaps stigmata was blind.
”you love him,” mahler observed, gaze gone soft with a sympathetic knowingness. ”you vould not have borne his children if you did not.”

Contractual. It was such a cold word to break down the relationship between the General and the pale dove. Takiyok was an enigma to Ketzia in many ways—cold in mannerism, steely heart, and yet loyal and trustworthy.

Until it came to her own children, now. The woman’s gaze of ire was not missed, and Ketzia was loathe to allow any opportunity for any jealousy to fester from the proud woman upon her children—but even then, was she truly capable of such a malicious act?

Mahler instead made the statement that was left between them, and the corner of the siren’s lip quirked in a hesitant smile. “After my childhood, I told myself I would settle for nothing less than love when it came to family.” She paused, unable to swallow the bitter taste that brewed within her drying mouth. Her smoky voice only reiterated her mood. “Now I’m not sure where I stand."

Lashes fluttered gently over her lids as she studied the wolf before her now, her mistrust of the generous healer exposed for the foolishness that it was.

love, a fickle, evasive, tormenting thing. mahler thought of ruenna — his mind was unrelenting upon the subject of a woman who had surely forgotten him by now — and how he had been unfairly dismissive of the very true fact that there was nothing between them, only the breath of a promise predicated upon a mutual intelligence.
love was in fact, rather isolating for mahler; he would prefer not to engage in it again. ketzia seemed quite torn by it as well, and he was at a loss for what next to say that might lift her spirits. he could not promise stigmata's love, or that takiyok's anger would abate, he had only himself to pledge, a leader to his subordinate, a midwife to a new mother and her children.
but perhaps as her companion as well. "i vill not forsake you, ketzia," mahler murmured after some time. no matter how she pined for stigmata, or if she took her leave of diaspora one day; he would forever remain fond of the little goddess and her jadestone eyes.

Thank you for the thread! <3 Feel free to fade or simply archive?

She took his words with a silent rumble of consent and appreciation, her eyes focused solely upon the rise and fall of Trench’s tiny chest—knowing that while Mahler’s words were meant with only the most promising intentions, that even he might not be able to save the day—and she feared Takiyok and her ire far less or her unrequited feelings toward their General than the potential that her son would soon become still, waning from the sickness that plagued him.

“Thank you,” she whispered, the usual voice of silk and smoke low and broken as she fell silent. Even with exhaustion bearing down on her, she would not be able to sleep—for every hitched breath her son emitted would stir her right back to wakefulness—yet it was better than silence when it enveloped her den.