Tuktu Hinterlands Oh heart doth broken

SETTING: Primrose has run back to firebirds after an uncomfortable meeting with Kingslend! Takes place after the events of this thread
Weather: Overcast
cool
Late day
TERRITORY: Sun mote copse

TAGS: @Niamh + anyone! Looking for one more wolf <3

The boy runs home, face wet and eyes still dewy from the recent cry. His fur—once clean is now ragged and torn from his careless sprint back to the safety of his family. What was once nice and neat pale curls is now cluttered with sticks and fall leaves, dyed a slight brown from dust and dirt.

He looks around for anyone hastily and with no one in sight he lets out a shaky call. Niamh? Mom? Dad? Anyone? His chest expands and retracts with every ragged breath, every flutter of his fast heart. He doesn't call loud, not wanting for everyone to come; Just someone for him to cry onto.

The grey skies concerned Niamh, though they didn't seem to hold too much threat of rain. Not long from now though, she supposed she ought to be concerned for the snow that would eventually fall, and found herself wondering if it would be a civil winter, or a more difficult one. It seemed to her that with every passing year, the winters became more difficult- though she failed to realize that she was also much less disenchanted by the soft, fluffy snowflakes than she had been when she was younger, and that her patience had worn more and more thin over the years. Niamh had never liked the cold. 

So she was bristled a bit as she made her way along the borders, and stiffened further yet when she heard a ragged cry from Primrose- very uncharacteristic for her son who was often more musical than a songbird. She also knew her son to be a very emotionally capricious sort, and had learned not to get too overwhelmed every time the boy's heart was broken so she didn't immediately panic and think that the worst had happened. For all she knew, it was something as simple as a bad dream that had startled him. 

But when she saw him he looked smaller, pained, and distraught...Her ears turned back and she swept toward him with the fierceness of a Nor'easter, and leaned down to touch her muzzle to his face where his cheeks were wet. "Petal, what happened?" She murmured, bracing for what she knew would be a long story.

Luckily the boy didn't have to wait long. His mother—bless her heart, arrived to comfort him before long, and as she strode towards him he rushed to her like water. His limbs wrapping around her in an awkward hug and he pushed his face into her neck fur, burying himself deeper and deeper into the golden mass.

"T-The k-k-kngs-ingslend wolves!" he sobbed and sputtered, finally letting the flood gates burst open as he went into full cry mode. He wailed louder than an elk into his mothers embrace, painting her in tears and certainly creating two damp spots within her luscious mane before settling down, taking deep breaths of her homey, comforting scent.  

She coiled about her son, a python pulling its prey in close so that it could not escape, though he was willing and supple in her grasp, burying his face into the fur of her chest. She was certain he would hear the pace of her heartbeat quicken as she preened the fur along the top of his head and down toward his nape where she caught the distinct scent of one of the wolves who had cornered them before. The sour one. Why could she smell him on her son??

She did her best not to freeze or pull away when he admitted that he had been to see the Kingslend wolves. She did not approve of him going so far- especially not when their allignment with those wolves was unsettled and uneasy. What was it with her children, falling so amorously for wolves that their mother despised, so? So quick to love and easy to turn a blind eye to all the faults their mother could flush out with one blink of her honeyed gaze. The Rusalkans were vicious, proud, unpredicatable. The Kingslenders were egotistical, selfish, possibly inbred. While she did not like having to pin Quetzal down and discourage her obsession with mud, it was better than being enchanted by soft enemies. 

And while she knew Primrose was a sensitive child she indulged him, babied him, and pitied him for whatever it was that they had done to him. Part of her knew he was potentially over-reacting but she found it easier and more satisfying to engage him and sympathize with him. While she felt rage stirring within her like a haze of dark, boiling fog, she would need more to go off of than just a few of her son's many tears. "Sweet Prim," She said, to comfort and soothe her child, sweeping her tongue across his brow where worry creased it. It would take him some time to get his crying out, so she allowed him to do so- and rocked gently to and fro to help calm him. If she wanted Primrose to believe that mother knew what was best, she knew she would have to have his ear. And to get that, she would have to bear an ocean of tears. "Aww, my sweet Prim," She cooed, and allowed him time to relax until she finally felt he might be calm enough to talk without bursting into hysterics. 

"My baby boy...What did they do to you?"

The pale boy continued to sit there, clutching his mother as she did to him—his paws tightly woven through her warm autumn fur as they both made their way through the ocean of tears he cried, sobbing endlessly for his broken heart and even more so broken soul. The more Primrose dwelled on it the more aware he became that perhaps Cenric wasn't the man he dreamed he was. He wasn't humble, he wasn't kind.

A leader would not let their wolves be so mean. So terrifying.

Rocking against his mother's cradle like one would do in the warm summer tide the boy began to quiet down. His sobs—once loud and harsh were but mere hiccups and heavy intakes of breath as he shook.

"I wanted to go play with Cenric; I thought after the meeting you two were on good terms!" He reasoned. "But I think...Mom—I think I made a mistake. I don't think the Kingslend wolves are good wolves." Primrose pushed deep within her fur at that realization once more. "I spent ALL MORNING picking flowers for him and then waited at the borders. But other wolves showed up! One stole my flowers and they both tried to turn me away! They said Cenric was busy..."

"But then he came to see me! And as I went to go greet him one of the wolves scuffed me. It only hurt a bit but.." The sweet child wanted to say it was embarrassing, he didn't want to hide from his mother. But the thought of repeating that part only made him want to curl tighter into a ball and hide. "But then he told me to go home...He didn't want to play."

Safe in the cradle of her arms, he settled against her, as though settling into the gentle rock of a hammock, or an old porch swing. Primrose was like her- when prompted to explain something, he was a wellspring of words and emotions, which poured freely from him like water tipped from a vase. Unsteady as he was, he still informed his mother of what had happened- and she maintained a calm visage while her honeyed gaze was pointed off into the distance, no doubt boring a fiery hole into whatever tree it happened to land on. 

She was glad to hear that his opinion of the Kingslend wolves had changed as it now suited her own tastes for the wolves so she didn't feel as though she would need to discourage him or even necessarily punish him for going to their lands. All she would need to do would be to sympathize with him, and reinforce this new realization he had. At first, it seemed fairly harmless- patrolling guards had stolen his flowers, which wasn't necessarily harmful but inconsiderate nonetheless. A much bigger deal to the child than it was to his mother, of course, but if the Déorwines saw fit to terrorize a child who strayed to their borders then they were certainly not safe. 

And when Prim mentioned that they had dared to scruff him, she had to tighten her lips to keep her fangs concealed. She didn't care to consider that perhaps Primrose had overstepped his boundaries- the child was as dangerous as a daisy-chain, and scruffing such a harmless child was, in her opinion, excessive force. Unacceptable. With Primrose huddled against her, she was able to inspect the flaxen, featherlight fluff at the back of his neck- and concluded that at least they hadn't grabbed him hard enough to puncture the skin but still...They'd leapt to use physical force before using words, and she knew that if they had bothered to even look at Primrose with an evil eye, he would've been knocked over like a playing card tower under a puff of breath. Why they'd seen it appropriate to grab him was beyond her, and means for discussion with the others. 

"How awful," She said, a low growl in her voice as she protectively gave him a gentle squeeze. "Primrose, darling...I think you are right about Cenric, and I know how much it hurts when someone seems kind, but ends up showing their true, ugly nature," She said. She should know- she was just that sort of wolf herself. "It was very nice of you to pick flowers for him, and they were wrong to steal those from you and they should not have touched you. It is never okay for anyone to touch you if they aren't someone you know and trust." She said. "We use physical force only for those who do not listen to words, or those who might be dangerous. And I know my son, and you are neither." She said, smoothing the fur between his ears with a brush of her muzzle. 

She breathed in deeply. She felt fairly certain she could trace the scent of the male who'd scruffed Primrose, but she had only a memory of his face and the guess that the same sour-faced male who'd met her in the Glad had been the very same one who'd grabbed her son. But she'd need a name. "Your Mama will sort this out...But I'll need your help. Do you remember the names of the other two, who met you at the borders, darling?" She enquired, with the ominous tone of a sculptor asking for the names needed to be carved into gravestones.

The willowed boy could feel the rumbles from within his mothers throat, and though scary as it was, it was also comforting. Niamh was a creature of habit, a mother so fierce she left fires where she walked, and Primrose reveled in it. His strong mother. His fierce mother.

"I know, mama," he whispered into her once more, rubbing his face harshly into her coat. "But- But! The really scary one—Cool horn said something about not being worthy...ness and respect." The boy peeled back at that, looking up at her with a confused brow and worried lip.

"I don't know that they mean by that," Primrose always thought he was respectful. He followed his mama's orders and always let others eat first. He was quiet when Towhee was speaking to the pack, and he always helped bugs stuck in a spider's web!

This was all very confusing to the boy.

"Promise you won't fight them?" He questioned, worrying for his mother's safety. "Maybe we should just leave them alone... I dont want to cause trouble."

Niamh was already scheming how to properly handle the Kingslend situation. Another mother might not have taken it so seriously- but Niamh was one to hold a grudge, and for no reason other than to be miserable, she'd decided that she disliked the Kingslend wolves. Now that they'd used excessive force on her son, she had to figure out how to work things in her favour- so she could punish them, or push them out of their territory. She wanted them to be as far away from the Copse as possible- but she couldn't do it alone. 

"They're wolves who believe in worshipping prey, dear," She explained softly. "And they do not like others who don't. They see us as being bad wolves, because we don't live the same way they do; and that's not fair or kind of them, is it?" She asked. After all, she had taught her son better than that- and even if she hadn't, Primrose had kind instincts. She felt sure he'd see how unfair the Kingslend wolves were being, and she was happy to let him come to his own conclusions about their true nature, so long as it was the one she wanted him to have. As for the name- Coolhorn- she tucked that away in her memory, though she had to try and suppress a roll of her eyes. Coolhorn? Of course they'd name themselves something like that. 

He pleaded then, for her to avoid them and she didn't realize he was begging her not to attack them for her sake. She thought he was doing so simply because he loathed violence- and maybe, partially, because he wanted the Kingslend wolves to be left alone. Perhaps he still had some affinity for Cenric. "We only ever fight other wolves when we must, Prim," She said softly. "But sometimes, we must weed out the bad ones before they begin to bite. You're growing up, my son; you're getting stronger. But what would happen if we let them grow, become strong, and allow their wickedness to grow...You'll have new brothers and sisters next year, Petal, and they will be small, sweet, and defenseless. I will not have my children growing up in fear of their neighbours," She said softly. "You would want them to be safe, wouldn't you, sweet boy?"

Worshiping prey? Primrose tipped his head at such a subject, unable to comprehend just why. Why would they do that? Didn't they have to eat prey? What were the weird deer wolves going to eat if they didn't eat the forest's only large food. "Thats... weird," he echoed. "And thats rude... Not everyone has to live like them!"

Unable to sit still the boy stood upwards, tail straight up in the air and fluffed out. Is that why they were so mean to him? Because he didn't worship the weird deer? It angered to boy. Why had Cenric kept being nice to him them? Was it to embarrass him? Primrose puffed out his cheeks at such a thought and stomped his paw. He almost never got angry, but this time was different. He felt betrayed. He felt embarrassed.

"I understand mama, but I don't want you or towma and the others to get hurt. I don't want to get hurt either! What are we going to do?"

WC: 321

It made Niamh fiercely proud when her son echoed her sentiments, and she nodded sagely, willing to continue cultivating what she would consider being the right sort of beliefs in her son. While she coulselled him against following irrational beliefs, she had absolutely no issue with more or less doing the same thing to her son- as she believed that her judgement was correct. “It is very rude, isn't it. It's inconsiderate, and it's ridiculous to choose to worship a prey animal...Especially one that tastes to delicious, right?” She asked, though she chuckled darkly. Elk was one of her favourites- and she looked forward to the pack's next elk hunt simply so that they might have a chance at felling one of the beasts just to spite the Kingslend wolves.

When he stood and squared his stance, her little petal still seemed so soft and gentle, but there was no mistaking the fact that her young son was rife with indignition, and she admired how fiercly he seemed to want justice. At the same time, her little son was fearful that harm might come her way, which made her smile faintly. It was nice to hear that someone was concerned about her- most simply assumed that she could, and would, handle herself. But it tweaked her heartstrings to hear one of her children express just how much he cared about her safety. So she swept to her teeth, circled him, and embraced her child to reassure him.

“You don't need to worry about them, Petal, or your Mama or your Towma,” She said, kissing his forehead softly to ease the concern he felt. “We'll talk, and we'll figure it out; that's what leaders do. But you, my sweet little man, I need a promise from you,” She said, squaring up and seeking his feathersoft gaze. “I need you to promise me that you won't go near the Kingslenders again, alright?”

The boy laughed lightly at her joke, his shoulders curling inwards as the breath knocked around within his chest. "Yeah, theyre tasty for sure!"

But despite his mother's best attempt at reassuring him all would be fine the boy still had a hard time believing it. Firebirds were strong, but what about Kingslend? Primrose didn't know of their numbers, of their strength, but the air they exuded was awful, weird, unknown. "I promise mama, i'll just stay by you!"

And with that the boy reached up his forepaw to rub lightly at his snout, wiping the last remaining sadness stuck to his fur before turning to face his mother with a wide smile. "Thank you, mama."

end here?

wc: 277
<3

The gentle manipulation she used with Primrose came to her with deft ease; Primrose was a child with a heart and conscience still supple as a sapling- and she could use that to make sure that she raised him infused with beliefs and sentiments that she upheld on her own. He was very much his own wolf, of course, but she was aware that she could have an impact on her children, and sway their feelings and beliefs in a direction that she found favourable. So it pleased her greatly when perhaps her most pliable child thus far settled right into the niche she carved out for him. He made her proud.

She was convinced, then, that he as potentially over this little infatuation with the Kingslend wolves, and she had them to thank for curing her son of his ridiculous curiosity. The fact that they'd done most of the work for her pleased her- though she did not take kindly to the fact that they had dared touch a hair on her child's body. This would be something she would discuss with Phox and Towhee- and just as she had promised her son, she would find some way to make sure that the Kingslend wolves would no longer be a problem for any of them.

“That's my good boy,” She crooned. How truly lovely it was, having a son who actually took her advice. “Now. Let's go get you something to eat, you've had such a long day already,” She said, and led her son off to go and find a treat for him- something special, to reward him for being such a good son.