Stone Circle devour to survive, so it's always been

AW but tagging @Gunnar or @Tauris

He had tried to tie the loose ends at the creek before his travel to Kvarsheim. They were so frayed, though, only time would be able to heal them, and while he was intent on finding the two wolves who had began to altercation and attacked Mae and Wren, he knew his first priority had to be getting his daughter and Moss’s daughter home… safe, where they belonged.

Upon their borders, the setting of the sun cast shadows among the valley lands. Another day had set—how many had it been since the news, now? He was losing track. When was the last time he had slept?

Not since Moss had died.

Still, the man stood, a low howl offered to the wolves of the Stone Circle, though he sought leadership. He would collect the girls, and be on his way—as fast as he could be, given the newborn would need the milk to sustain herself.

There’s a smoky figure abstracted in the dying light, yet another border visitor and another reason to prick at the alpine ridge along her spine, though this one is soon recognized as the creek alpha. He is a man she’s not once spoken with but suspects she knows why he’s come all the same.

“You lose something?” Comes her call, wading forward to meet with him through the veld, “pitch black, shoulder-high, mouth dirtier than a fishwife's?"

Her tone teases but she drinks in his face now- fitted with tired eyes. A father’s worry, or something more? Silver eyes hold him in staid question.

Gunnar heard the howl and though he was tired. He kissed each of his own childrem, checked on Inkeri amd the. Traveled to the border.

There was exhaustion in his gaze but also irritability. First a leader had brought two more mouths asking them for help and that was fine. But now a 2nd leader. And one of the daighters was rather rude. Gunnar waited patiently though. The hitch in his hip harsh and unyielding. Worsened by his recent adventures.

He was met with the dark form of the Nornir—Tauris, one who he only knew by name. In truth, the Kvarsheim wolves tended to keep to themselves mostly, and he was less knowledgeable of its members compared to Riverclan.

Or, maybe he was just extremely familiar with one certain member of Riverclan…

He’s greeted with good humor—but he couldn’t help but lift his paw and scrub at his face, already knowing that Mae had likely made her presence known. So. Very. Well. Known.

“She has a penchant for picking up every word and action you don’t want her to,” he acknowledged, a wane smile offered as he lowered his paw. His eyes sparked with faint humor—his gaze tracing over the pretty she-wolf before eliciting a gentle sigh. “I’m so sorry about that.”

Thanks, uncle Arric.

He was about to continue when the rather weary form of Gunnar comes to view. He shifts his weight then, about to greet the man when he notes a flash of irritation in the older man’s gaze, and falls silent for a moment, considering this.

“I’m here to collect my little troublemaker and the newborn.” He paused, as if he could lighten the darkened mood of the elder Fadir. “The Creek is too quiet without her. Thank you, for accommodating us so quickly… but we have a mother who was about to wean, but she’s still producing milk.” Arric, he assumed, had acted on base instinct.

Faðir is greeted with a fleeting brush of cheek to a grizzled side. His ire stagnates. There is great duress upon the man who endeavors to be both a present father and the pack’s chief leader. Dissension in the valley frays at his golden years. The nornir endeavors to do what she can in aid of this, keeping their borderlines manned when Gunnar is with his children, but her own swelling sides elude to more responsibility in Kvarsheim soon to come.

“She’s got spunk,” Tauris eases with a laugh and an inviting sweep of her muzzle that welcomes Akavir to their lea. “No need to apologize for that. Let’s go get your girls.” She paces back.

“Where’d the cub come from?” A begetting curiosity asks. She didn’t need to know such a thing but the creek wolves had made it their business, she reasons. Mae had called the pup her sister, and Tauris wonders idly how many of his wolves the creek alpha had covered this season- and why she wasn't with her mother.

Gunnar dipped his head to Akavir then. A siftening of the harsh lines at his back. Though his eyes still showed their irritation.

Mae isn't here. Had i known I'd have stopped her. She went to visit Riverclan. I must have missed her. I just returned. They are taking care of one of our own injured wolves. Im unsure what happened, but once hes better if he lives. I'll be speaking to him.

Gunnar gave a bone weary sigh, But I'm not sure he will.

He was unaware of what had happened and thus he saw no reason to keep the truth from an ally. By the time they'd made it to Bonnie, he'd been half dead and most scents washed of him.

Inkeri's den is this way. Are you sure you want to move the little girl so soon. Whatever adventure she had it wasn't a good one. If you move her again so soon she could get sick?

The ease in which the stone circle wolves interact with one another is akin to what Akavir strives for at the creek. A quick brush of reassurance from the woman to Gunnar—and the shadowrunner is pleased when he feels perhaps—he has seen such kinship within his own ranks.

A true family.

Tauris ushers him in with a graceful gesture—her words kind given Mae’s certain brand of attitude, and as any father would, he feels a warmth in his chest—fondness for the woman who sought to reassure him.

Tauris’s question drew a lift of his brows in surprise. Yet, given the rush of Arric’s voyage and the circumstances, he held no doubt the details had been vague. He bowed his head slightly at this, eyes drifting between either companion as they moved to the den where the pup nursed.

“Moss,” he offered, his deep tones hitching for a moment before he cleared his throat. “As you know, she’s been sick… But it seems she died giving birth in the swamp. The babe is hers—the details seem to be lost in the circumstances.”

He lifted his head, eyes ahead, trying to keep his mind from revisiting the hollow and blank stare of his fallen friend. “From what I know, Eshe and Mae discovered her, but another pair of wolves—rogues I assume—tried to steal the baby from them. They tried to attack Mae when she took the girl but Wren showed up… Eshe went to help Mae. I assume they found Arric—and brought her here. Wren’s in a state, but she should be okay…”

She had to be okay.

When Gunnar spoke, Akavir’s gaze was sharp upon him—only for a moment, riddled with guilt. It wouldn’t even occur to him in that moment the possibility—“did they attack him, too? We’ll be setting up a patrol… We’ll find the wolves who did this to him. To Wren.”

Meanwhile, the news that Mae wasn’t there at the moment wasn’t necessarily a surprise, but he huffed out a soft sigh of exasperation. “So she squirreled from watching the new kiddo,” he mused, his tone tired but wry. “Sounds like Mae. But yeah... I guess without Mae I can move faster. We're eager to get her home... But thank you for all you've done. Again.”

Her muzzle twists darkly, she knows of whom Gunnar speaks and his involvement in the violence fails to surprise. Silvertongue allowed for peace to be restored when she swept him out of their lands, and she was certain Riverclan was well equipped to handle whatever injuries a foul tongue had certainly won him.

Her tail flounces as Gunnar speaks. She is inclined to agree with her alpha, the stress and length of the journey to Swiftcurrent, where the newborn would go without milk was a risk. But there is a steady resolve in Akavir’s face that will go unconfronted.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, and the attack on your wolves,” she falls to solemn silence, remembering the soldier’s strength- though also how she had collapsed that day of the trial. Her heart aches for the creek wolves, and also for her own. A rogue brigade in the vale was a danger to them all and the vulnerability of her pregnancy was suffocating. Her ridge gave rise, maternal impulses turning defensive.

“Are you in need of warriors?” she will selfishly wish keep Figment at her side, but there were others who could go to aid the valley. Ulfhild. Germanicus. This threat needed to be eradicated immediately.

Unknown to him was Tauris’ thoughts—nor Gunnar’s—of the man’s involvement. His own treading toward the idea of two rogue wolves needing to be displaced from the valley he had promised peace to—and so, once the babe was home, Mae was relocated back home as well, he would be setting up their perimeters.

Justice would come to them—for Moss. For Mae, who had been attacked. Eshe. And Wren, the most battered of them all….

He could not bear the thought of her fallen body—wounded—put out so much more than emotionally.

“Thank you,” he murmurs to Tauris, pale eyes shifting to study her. At her offer—he considers. Was he too prideful to accept help from the stone wolves after they had done so much? No—yet still—

“I don’t believe so,” he notes quietly, as they near Inkeri’s den. “I will let you know once I know more, but Arric and I will make rounds first to see.” He pauses, a sort of grim determination settling upon him as Gunnar questions moving the babe so soon—the poor thing’s life had been jostled completely the moment from birth… But he fully believed she should be settled at the creek. With family.

“Since Mae is visiting elsewhere I can move her more swiftly… Then I’ll have to try to find Mae…” An internal parental wince at this—because his plate was not full already, without his adventurous and boisterous daughter deciding now was a good time to explore.

To be youthful and naive once more… He could only hope she stayed clear of trouble and the rogues while he did this one task.

Nearing Inkeri’s den, a little wind batters the field flowers and she swats at fly with her tail, eyes and ears redirecting to the creek alpha.

“If that changes, please let us know.” They all had things in the valley they wished to safekeep. “We’ll keep an eye out for Mae. She’ll be alright, Akavir,” her lips pull into a tight bow as they pad ahead.

At the threshold of the nursing mother’s whelping den the nornir whispers a low croon, that she may be granted permission to enter. When she reappears it’s with a tiny, nacre bundle tucked in the gentle clutches of her mouth. She holds @Cygnet out for Akavir to take.

He didn’t expect the emotion that flooded him when his eyes fell upon the bundle of pale fur that Tauris carried forward. Moss’s puppy.

The last part of Moss that remained tangible in this world. Nothing like the she-wolf of stone and yet everything like her at the same time—what kind of mother would she have been? Stern, surely… but also quietly doting? They would never know.

His throat felt thick then—a sharp blink, then two, as he cleared his throat, and hopefully, the emotion from his throat. “Thank you, Tauris,” he repeats, because what words could truly convey this very moment and what Kvarsheim had given them yet again in their time of need?

“I’ll send word soon,” he offered, and then, the girl was placed with him—his eyes bore down on her for only a moment before he moved steadily to the direction of the creek—his pace quickening as he felt the first shiver of emotion trace the tiny spine of the girl, knowing being torn from a warm embrace was not going to be a welcome change for her.

Hopefully, though, she would come to know only warmth again when he had her nestled into the loving arms of Bella.

A child of the creek wolves as a whole. Moss’s legacy.