Shadewood for she is now the stranger

@Melaneus @Lycabas @Cullen @Vorilye is baby time

If you had asked Themis what her children would look like, she would have answered “monochrome i guess?”. Her mother had worn the greys Themis herself now sported.

But looking at her children, all four nestled in a neat row at her teat? Yeah she had no fucking idea.

Two she could pinpoint. Asmodeus’s winter whites on the only girl. Vorilye’s creams on the third, the second son. But two wore reds she had never seen before, one dark, shrouded in brushes of dried blood. The other was fire, as if Prometheus himself had stashed his stolen goods in her womb. It was a curious sight, to her at least.

…huh.

She was disgusting, of course, after the birth. But she was actively repressing that whole ordeal, and instead staring at the children. For a long time.

….how the fuck do I name you guys, huh? The girl gave a squeak as if to respond.

You're no help.

The Cruor man had never really expected to be a father - even less so a father to children he didn't sire - and he... felt weird about it. He had never been around a birth before, but he had brought two hares for Themis, should she be hungry. Vorilye waited, stiff and uncomfortable, outside of the den. He heard her speaking to her - their - children, and he offered a quiet, "'V' names go in my family. But... tradition won't hide us. Sorry that's... not helpful." If Vex somehow caught wind of two Cruors in the Shadewood, she would murder them all. He paused, taking a deep breath, to calm himself.

Senseless and unnamed, the third born rests at the spigot of Themis, his altar.

He had been born squealing -- announcing his arrival in the world as loudly as he  could -- but now that the gremlin had been sated, he lay milk-drunk and quiet in the crook of his mother's belly. The boy would remain unconscious through any forcible readjusting of his position or any shifting of his siblings beside him; his mouth slack, with dribbles of his drink pooled against his blunt snout. If it wasn't for the steady rise and fall of his tongue-slicked body, he might have appeared lifeless.

To further prove otherwise, he produced a hiccup or two as he slept. His compliments to the chef.

He came into this world like a whisper. A tiny, blood-stained whisper, with blind eyes and deaf ears and a near mute tongue. He cried once, after Themis cleaned his mouth and breathed life into his lungs, and afterwards fell silent, even as he suckled, even as he sought rest between his siblings.

He was silent, and aware as any newborn could be. Feeling the movement of these others around him, until his tired mind finally blinked into sleep.

Themis raised her head at Vorilye’s voice, eyes tired, eyebrows tight, as though demanding his judgement.

Her eyes went to the children.

I have some ideas. Her nose found the girl, giving her a quick nudge.

For her. Metis. Wisdom, skill, cunning, a Titan of little parallel. Her mouth gave a cruel twist of a smile.

Eaten for the crime of being too smart for the King of Gods. Her eyes went to the rest.

Titans, were they? Perhaps not. Her sons weren’t to be beasts. Intelligent ones…perhaps. Her mouth twisted again.

Melaneus. For the boy like blood. Lycabas, for your lookalike. And for the last boy… Fire, unquenchable. Her lip went between her teeth.

"They are wonderful names," Vorilye offered, gently pushing into the den. He gazed down at his son, then at the rest. "I will raise them all as mine, should that be agreeable to you." His words were quiet, perhaps a bit stoic. He felt stiff, uncertain of what to do, or say, or even how to act. Then, a question. "Is there anything I can get or do for you?"

Her heart gave a little skip jump at the offer, and she blinked, eyes going wide and owlish.

You…would do that? She looked at her paws.

I have nothing to give you in return, not even the boy. But if you would raise them… She closed her eyes. Nobody had ever offered this to her. Themis’s entire existence had been a series of transactions, to her at least.

To be offered this? Free and willingly? 

It boggled her.

She looked to her final son.

Pyraethus. For the last son. He burns like fire.

The Cruor man saw the shock in Themis' eyes, and he frowned slightly, brows furrowing; frowning always made his scars tighten uncomfortably. He tried, instead, to smile at her — was he growing fond of her? Or was he simply feeling guilty for knocking her up and leaving? He didn't know.

"Yes, Themis, I would do this — for you." For you? What was that even supposed to mean? He swalled, hard, his own icy gaze dropping. He struggled to find the right words. "I... I expect nothing from you," and truly, he didn't. Vorilye had no claim upon her, they were not mates, and this wasn't a bargaining chip to attain that status. He was just choosing to be good, for once.

When she named the final son, Vorilye gazed upon him. For a split second, he silently willed that this boy be the fire to rival even Vex's flames. He shifted then, to gently touch his muzzle to Themis' shoulder. "They are all wonderful. Thank you, for... for allowing me to be a part of this." It meant more than she could possibly know.

fire upon his flesh and fire in his soul.

vorilye's wish branded his son's fate with the mark of the dragon. pyraethus let out a formidable growl — which came out more like a mewl thanks to the tiny body his noble soul now inhabited.

the flametouched boy was moved to a teat, and he suckled eagerly until he fell asleep warm and contented.