Duskfire Glacier To the edge of the universe and back.

A whole 24 hours had passed since the first of Duskfire's cubs came kicking and screaming into the world. Together they nursed and slept, for not much else could be done at such a delicate age.

Wayfarer lay close to @Veteran, warm and content at their mother's flank. Having shared a womb with him, he radiated comfort and safety in the midst of this new, vulnerable place they'd been forced into. She crooned softly and resisted sleep by pressing her little nose to his velvety ear, and parted her jaws to taste.

there are no words that wintersbane can think of — in common or tundrian — to describe how he feels about his newborn cubs. he only knows that the love he feels for them, so small and fragile; perfect despite that... is so fierce and buoying and warm.

wanting to stay close at all times, wintersbane leaves to get food for @Lane, to eat himself and to make patrols though the distance he feels like a tangible thing.

he wants to be near them always: lane and the newest duskfires.

he enters the birthing den to leave two plump rabbits for lane and lays down near the small trio without invitation, staring at his newborn children with nothing but devotion in his glacial gaze. hello pikkuiset, he croons to his daughter and son in his rasping smoky timbre, feeling a small tug at his heart as he uses tundrian for the first time in many, many moons. it is sudden but it feels right.

in my mother's native tongue pikkuiset means 'little ones'. he offers as an explanation without prompt, unsure if lane was listening or even awake; and aware even vaguely that the cubs were not yet able to hear him ...still, it brings him some comfort to speak to them regardless.

She gnawed happily on the side of her brother's head, the gums of her toothless maw pressed firm to his downy obsidian crown. He smelled good to her, but his head was too large to fit between her jaws, so her attempt to consume him was short-lived. The earthen Duskfire withdrew, though remained briefly connected by a string of drool.

Wayfarer promptly forgot her effort, and did not even consider how traumatising it might've been for Veteran. Her focus turned elsewhere, having sensed the arrival of another as he settled in close proximity. With a happy little coo she nosed around and bumped her squished snout to the furs of the newcomer's forelimb.

Veteran knew his parents only as infinitely large objects, soft and warm. Occasionally a comforting, luxurious tongue might sweep over him, coaxing him into a state of calm passivity. 

He knew his sister too, by the way her feet jabbed into him mercilessly. This was a familiar occurance, for it had happened both before and after their birth into the Big Cold. 

The little mouth nursing on his head was a new feeling, however, and not a welcome one. He mewled piteously, begging for rescue. The little mouth withdrew from his ear, leaving behind a slimy, cold sensation. Veteran protested weakly with another pathetic whimper.

Wintersbane arrived at the perfect time; Wayfarer had just finished nursing, which meant that she would be in her contented, sweet little cooing stage before she fell asleep once more, every inch the perfect angel. This stood in sharp contrast to the the Wayfarer that would present herself once she awoke: cold, hungry, indignant, and screaming... 

Who knew a tiny child could make such a big sound? 

Veteran did not seem to be a more contented child, although he was thankfully a quieter one. The majority of his communication was delivered in whimpers, pathetic and tugging ruthlessly at Lane's heartstrings. She often kept the boy swept up in her embrace, where she could place lick after lick across his poor, trembling body. Veteran's sad whimpers were harsher on her ears than even Wayfarer's shrillest scream. 

As Wintersbane spoke, Lane smiled and stirred, indulging in a large yawn and a stretch before making her sleepy reply. "Pi-coy-set," she repeated. "What language is it, and from what land?" Would Wintersbane teach any of the language to his children? Lane would like to know more about his mother, if only to be able to pass her legacy down to her grandchildren. 

Lane removed herself briefly from the children to investigate the rabbits that Wintersbane procured. She was absolutely ravenous since her delivery, eating almost as often as the children nursed. Veteran's difficult birth had left her anemic and shaky, but she was slowly improving. 

When she turned over her shoulder, Wayfarer was already snuggling her father. Veteran simply laid there and whimpered in the cold, but for once, Lane did not rush to placate him. She chomped down on her rabbit, watching the little scene unfold with interest. Would Wintersbane reach out to comfort his son? Would the boy drag himself over to his father, as Wayfarer had done?

a soft smile warms wintersbane's scarred visage as lane repeats it. it comes as some surprise, if only because he'd been distracted by their rambunctious daughter. a soft noise of affections brews in his chest and rumbles its way up his throat at his daughter as she presses her face against his forelimb. my mother called the language tundrian, winterbane rasps, falling into the familiar — if not nostalgic — ease of speaking about his heritage. it makes him miss the nightingale queen that gave birth to him with a fierce longing that flares every now and then. it is not as strong as it had been when he was younger, but it persists nevertheless.

she hailed from a place called enok tundra. i spent some time there in my youth. led for a little bit. wintersbane recalls with quiet fondness. it was good to connect with my mother's people. they are a harsh people, born from hardy wilderness. enok tundra is a lot like the glacier which is why i chose it. a land of ice and snow and stone with towering fjords of whose view is ...spectacular. but wintersbane feels that he can't even do it justice.

he then turns his attention to wayfarer — as she is the nearest — and brushes his muzzle lightly over her back, gently ( afraid to hurt her for he feels like a titan compared to them ), curious to see how she'd react.

A touch came from above, similar to the gesture her father had reached to offer on the day of her birth - though Wayfarer could not recall such day. The earthen Duskfire emitted a surprised little squeak in response, and writhed beneath the tundrian's broat snout.

She wriggled forward, blindly navigating along the length of his strong forelimb until her blunt little snout found the longer furs of his shoulder and shoved her face among them. He smelled different to the provider of milk, but familiar enough to associate him with safety. With a content little coo, Wayfarer carried on until she nestled herself comfortably behind Dad's elbow, where she felt happy to doze.

Veteran was abandoned, utterly and completely. Had anyone ever been so alone, and so cold? Not in his very limited experience. What had he done to deserve such a fate? Nothing!

A hot, strange feeling bubbled over inside Veteran, and he let out his very first, indignant scream. It was similar to the sound that Wayfarer had been making since birth, however it would likely attract a good deal of attention and concern, coming from the taciturn boy. 

After a pause, Veteran began wriggling in a random direction. He bumped into Warm Thing, and he began searching the belly fur for his meal. It smelled wrong though; there was no scent of milk, sweet and intoxicating, guiding him in to feed. The child lifted his nose from Wintersbane's belly and let out another, angry war-cry.

It did not take Veteran long to follow in his sister's pawprints, wriggling over to his father to make the pairing a trio. He did go though the process quite a bit more noisily than his sister, protesting his forced-exploration every step of the way. This one had not inherited Lane's thirst for travel, it seemed, which stood in contrast to Wayfarer's bold adventurousness. 

"That fits," Lane observed between bites, referring to the background that Wintersbane described. There was something about him that seemed like it belonged in the Taiga; whether it was his body chiseled from ice, hard, built and angular; his demeanor, chilly and aloof; or his glacial gaze, able to freeze with simply a look. 

Something about his notation that he had led in his birthpack, and that connection he mentioned, piqued Lane's curiosity. "So um, how many other wolves out there, ah, share blood with Wayfarer and Veteran?" How many other litters had Wintersbane sired in his long history of leading packs?  "My parents have a litter every year. There must be a dozen Vitale aunts and uncles out there by now. Cousins, too." Lane had made a point to never share her surname around the Teekons, but Lane believed that if Wintersbane or the children should ever meet a Vitale, they should know the connection.

the babes nestled into him — or at least one did. the other seemed content to scream that he couldn't produce milk to sate him. a small chuckle rumbles in wintersbane's chest, remembering when he'd came upon astraeus after the young infant's mother had abandoned him and had the same outraged reaction. unfortunately, wintersbane coos to his son, though lingers in the realm of uncertainty on whether he could hear or not. i cannot produce milk. but wintersbane digressed. lane was welcome to scoop him back up and to her side if she wished.

uh, wintersbane draws, a bit sheepishly. i'm not real sure, to be honest. i only know of my oldest daughter, quellcrist ...but there may be others and then i have siblings ...even though i haven't seen them in a long time so — with that wintersbane drifts off with a shrug. last i knew, i was the last fearghal-ansbjorn in these wilds. even my oldest daughter left to forge her own path after staying with me for a time. beyond that he really can't say with any measure of certainty.

Going to skip Wayfarer, since it's been a few weeks and I think she actually might be sleeping?

After the mention of Quellcrist, Wintersbane admitted to uncertainty regarding Lane's question. Well then. It seemed that the way Wintersbane had conducted himself this season was in line with past behavior, with the exception of his keeping the mothers around so that he could meet his children. 

The reminder soured Lane's stomach. If she had thought less of her alpha, she might had felt that her youth and ignorance had been knowingly exploited-- that he had taken advantage, so that he could have the exact moment he was currently living. 

But Lane was a realist, and she knew that the responsibility of the mistake fell on both of them equally. All of this had occurred due to a lack of communication between both parties. Even knowing this, the sour feeling continued to slowly creep up Lane's throat. 

"Well, you're not the last one anymore," Lane noted with a small, semi-forced smile, although she silently questioned what exactly a Fearghal-Ansbjorn might be. Was it his original surname? 

"You got this?" Lane asked, pulling herself to her feet. Both of the children seemed otherwise occupied by Wintersbane, so this was as good a time as any to sneak out for a break. The bile-taste had reached the back of her tongue, and she knew she had to either get some fresh air, now, or vomit on Wintersbane's feet. Those being her options, Lane didn't wait for his reply before jetting out of the room.

Final one from me here.   <3

With her entire head almost buried among dense furs of soot and sterling, Wayfarer's earthen backside could be observed in stark contrast. Her tiny tail wiggled happily between hind limbs stretched out behind her, and the excitement of the grand adventure that brought her nosing outwith the nest was overcome by an infant's sudden need for sleep.

Unaware of her brother's own trailing and the writhing of her mother's gut, Wayfarer snuggled in and slept peacefully.

As indignant as he was, the day-old boy was easily exhausted. Giving up his search for a teat, he flopped himself against his father's belly in defeat. His loud protesting faded into quiet grumbles, and then they ceased entirely as as sleep reeled him in as well.