Gyrfalcon's Keep son of a sinner

though spending time with his children has filled rusalka with a new and unyielding purpose, the sharp needling of their milk teeth as they learn the basic skills that will one day hone them into hunters and warriors has worn down on him. though he humors them with poor and over acting each time one of them practices stalking him or wrestles him, he is grateful for the brief reprieve of their relentless pursuits.

the chance to stretch his legs upon the borders without worrying about matching his pace to legs too little to truly keep up with him yet.

the air grows crisper with each passing day, dog earring the wane of summer; though fall is still just but a tease.

the cairn patriarch pauses along a stretch of borders, drinking in the scents that he finds there before lifting his leg and adding his own to it; squinting out at the neutral territory beyond.

She left Thyra to watch the children, warning her lightly of their emerging teeth though she laughed faintly as she heard a couple surprised gasps from her daughter as she left. Her children were growing strong, and would become fierce toddlers in no time. Her eldest daughter was quite gentle and soft in nature- perhaps spending some time with three teething babies might toughen her up a little bit. 

She took advantage of the opportunity to stretch her legs, and found herself crossing a scent trail left behind by Rusalka. Nowadays, they rarely had a moment alone where they didn't have to speak over their children, or worry about waking them up when they'd fallen asleep. She sought him out, finding him as she expected along the borders, patrolling. 

She crooned a soft note to him, and moved to his side where she felt she fit, rightfully, and leaned into his shoulder. She sighed and paused for a moment to enjoy the silence, before she spoke.

"I have given your name to our children. I would like it for myself, too."

no need to match the length, i got poetic and carried away, lol. <3

at the sound of approaching footfalls, rusalka's steps slow and then cease all together at the soft croon. he knows it is solveig before he turns his head to look at her, to watch with molten gaze as she fits herself against his side, leaning into his shoulder.

in the quiet, in the stillness of the moment, rusalka can finally feel the low thrum of the drumming of his heart, always a little too hard, a little too fast in solveig's presence. intense despite how hard he'd tried not to feel. but he is a scorpio and does not know how to keep from feeling everything in it's rawest, most primal of forms until it is cloyingly sweet in his throat, choking him.

and he'd understood that this — this co-parenting — hadn't came with strings.

so, when she speaks, stating that she desired his last name as well, rusalka feels the world shift a little on it's axis; knowing that it was only his own world that shifts. it is unexpected and he takes a moment to answer; wrapt in the tangled strings as his mind furiously attempts to reconnect the lines of the askew stars that dot his thoughts.

warring with the quieted hope that he is not misunderstanding — though taking the name cairn is a loudly spoken statement in and of itself, is it not? —

it is yours to take.

words tagging just behind that, left unspoken but implied heavily in the low, heady murmur of what rusalka does speak, i, am yours to take.

<3 beautiful!

The silence that fell between them caused Solveig's heart to thunder unexpectedly. Silence, from the seawolf, was never unexpected. His quiet nature was something she found calming, reassuring. His steady commitment to their children gave her every reason to believe he might also be willing to commit to her as well, but as he paused to think, she found her foundation shake, as if disturbed by a deep earthquake. It lingered for a moment, as he considered her proposal, leaving her on tip-toes, still swooning. 

And with words, he swooped in deftly to catch her before she could fall over the edge of insecurity and into fear. Into his embrace, instead, she leans, soul smiling to know she is claimed, and so is he. In that moment, their family felt more complete, and more real. Something she had known once, and she knew as well that it could be temporary- and yet she chose to find herself a second husband. This one, however, much more suited for her in nature. 

Tilting her head back, she chuffed quietly, an invitation for him to howl with her as they announce their union.

rusalka had not come to these wilds with ambitions beyond stepping out of the ever encompassing shadow of older half-siblings and the man that had sired him so severe and as ice cold as the northern seas.

he feels her lean more firmly into him and the commander feels the roots he's begun to grow here, nurture, sink ever deeper. mooring him here. to her, to their children.

and in the soft want for more, and the soft vow that followed the commander of the warriors adds 'husband to the queen' to his list of hearthborne titles.

he lifts his head to press his muzzle against the top of her head for a moment; though brief, the touch intimate, exposing a side of him that was prior reserved for their children. it is a relief to share it with her, to slowly tear apart his fortress brick by brick to share what affection had unintentionally been growing for her since their first encounter.

at her invitation, he tips his head back and lets out a howl that starts low, changing in tempo to harmonize with her own song.

While her lips pushed forward to sculpt the tone of her howl, the corners lifted. The man had once denied her the pleasure of hearing him sing once before, and she thought she saw his features soften as he paired his voice with hers. Her evergreen eye caught a glimpse of a man blossoming once given the role of husband, in the wake of being christened a father for the first time. She would have forgiven him for inexperience had he shown any sign of balking at the changes they went through together. Rusalka bore these changes with grace and dignity. 

She knew Thyra would hear, and she would find her daughter later to speak though she felt no concern. Her eldest was adaptable, and had seemed light and airy since the birth of her new siblings. 

"Normally," She said, "This would mean time for celebration." She said. "A hunt, a feast, juice of fermented berries and probably a fight or two among those who seek to marry in the coming year," She laughed. A slight shimmer in her eyes revealed her desire for such things, quelled only by the humbleness of their household and pack. "I think we will have a hunt, and perhaps an outing for the children...And then a night at hot springs for us. Hmm?" She asked, to see how he might handle the bid for a little bit of pomp and circumstance.

rusalka listens as she speaks; ever quiet. contemplative, considering of her traditions and thinking of his own.

only to feel the soft twist in stomach, the phantom ice of water too cold as it needles his flesh and his lungs. the drop was an ... unnecessarily cruel cairn tradition that rusalka finds himself balking at when facing even the faintest thoughts of subjecting his own children to it.

he wouldn't. and the force in which he held to his ground on that as if he were an immovable mountain was a bit staggering. reflect a change in himself that perhaps he hadn't been aware of until that moment.

if you desire such a feast and spar ... perhaps in spring? the children will be older and the coming months may bring new faces to our hearth. he suggests, but for now, a hunt, an outing with the children and a night for just us, his deep timbre strikes low upon those words, a crooning lullaby; smoky. sounds good.

note to self: find out what 'the drop' is 0_0

He suggested they delay some of their festivities until the spring, when they could perhaps involve the children too. She liked the idea- they might be old enough to have their own sparring games by then, as they were currently still too chubby and clumsy to provide an entertaining battle to watch. She considered Rusalka for a moment, wondering if he was suggesting she ought to wait until Spring to spar as well, and a coy smile pulled at her lips. "Alright. I will give you until Spring to train, but only because I like you and I would be too powerful a foe for you, currently." She said, graciously. 

He agreed to the other suggestions she made, and she loosed a purring growl before combing her teeth through the thick, brined fur of his chest. "A hunt, a feast, and hot springs," She agreed.

i don't think i ever mentioned it in rusalka's profile but it's in kraken's. the shortened version: it's a tradition of dropping puppies old enough to speak and walk firmly from a high point into the sea. if they live they are granted their totem spirit and welcomed into the pack.

rusalka lets loose a deep throated chuckle, speaking in a smoky purr of that, i do not doubt.; breath stuttering momentarily in the hollow of his throat at the feel of her teeth combing thru the fur of his chest.

is it your tradition that a married couple spar? he inquires, his cloy tone turning serious as he considers her words further. or is it another kind of sparring that you mean?

a wily grin tugs at the edges of his lips, hidden then as he draws his tongue over the curve of her nearest ear.

this soft banter continues for a while longer, before the pair continue along their sweep of the borders.