Gyrfalcon's Keep the rules have changed

their numbers are small, and his children nearly outnumber the adults; this he can tell from the fading scents upon the borders and from the lack of dwellers within the keep. noticed now, since he's briefly ventured out of the keep, bringing back whale bone for the children to chew. an oversight made before simply because his children had held his attention captive since their birth.

he is not a leader and perhaps it is not his concern but as the husband of the queen, he takes the burden of lack of bodies and the coming months on his shoulders all the same.

to say he is not concerned would be a boldfaced lie.

so, he seeks @Solveig, because he cannot live on the whims of 'i'll cross that bridge when i get there' anymore. the reality that hljóðrfell might not be able to sustain itself or the children was bleak, but a reality that he does not dare turn a blind eye too.

fatherhood has changed him. it lingers in his priorities above all else, tied now with dutiful husband.

when he finds his wife, he greets her with a low, smoky purring croon, drawing alongside her to place a lingering kiss upon her cheek, followed by an affectionate nip; a loving segue into the bleak topic he brings up without preamble:

do we have a plan, if hljóðrfell would fall? surely, he could've broached it a bit more ... sensitive than that but he's never been a man to mince words and he doesn't plan to start now.

A constant companion of her everyday thoughts was the threat of losing the pack. Greyfalcon had yet to return, and she could only hope that the kind woman brought a fleet of friends with her. But summertime was not exactly the time for wolves to commit heavily to a pack, when they had the circumstances to live on their own for a few more months. Still; she herself had tried to grow the ranks and help the pack thrive, but until the children were older, they would need more help. 

Rusalka spoke familiar words which made her smile faintly to know they shared some thoughts without ever having spoken of them before. "I have thought about these things," She reassured him. "Greyfalcon should return soon, I think; and with her may come some reinforcements. But if not," She said, and she sighed. "Then we may face a difficult winter." She admitted. 

For all the love she had for the Keep, she knew it to be both perilous and at times, closer to barren than abundant. "I am thinking perhaps we move to lower lands for the Winter. A more forgiving, sheltered land, with easier prey. Close to another pack, so we might hunt together during the winter months and strengthen our bond without having to dissolve our own. What are your thoughts on this?" She asked.

while rusalka finds reassurance in her confirmation that such a thing has not fallen out of her notice, it is not, on it's own, enough to ease the pestering of grim what if's circling 'round in his mind like a flock of hungry vultures.

there is no sugar coating it, no candied promises that greyfalcon would return with fresh faced recruits for their ranks. there is a small shimmering flame of hope and while rusalka does not deign to snuff it out, he also does not know enough of greyfalcon to bank upon such things.

he trusts solveig, and he trusts himself. and he's starting to trust the crone who he guards while she tends to her duties in the temple ... though the guarding of it seems a bit useless given that at large it was just the three of them and the cubs. ( he would not dream of stating such aloud , not risking the wrath of any god that may be listening ).

but solveig has an idea, and she speaks of it to him, asking for his opinion at the end. the seaweathered cairn patriarch is quiet — his typical modus operandi — mulling it over before his lips part to speak,

i think that is smart, he begins. to say he has any particular love for the keep would be stretching the truth. it is not the land he is protective over but those that dwell within it's borders. land was land and if there was a place that better suited their children temporary or otherwise, he was happy to relocate. a good move and perhaps, if beneficial enough, one that would not have to be repeated.

he muses in a low, smoky purring murmur.

the question is, which pack? the diplomatic side is above my pay grade, a wiry grin tugs at the edges of his lips, ghosting chuckle lingering in his throat at his attempt at a joke. so if we have allies i am not aware of them. but i would not be opposed to speaking with packs to see if any would be open to such an idea. he offers his services, not really trusting the future of their children with anyone but solveig or himself; which drove his desire to be involved.

at any rate, he was not comfortable with the idea of parking themselves next to or in a close proximity to a pack that could take it as a hostile move.

Solveig nodded. She was fond of their declared home, but mostly because it was a place that Asvoria had deemed Holy. But with only Vaettir left to uphold the prayers, the temple had fallen silent; on both ends, she supposed. Her life had changed since Asvoria disappeared, and she didn't see that it might go back to the way it had been. Forward was where they went, now; to find a new home and perhaps also a new way of life. 

She began with a light chuckle, reaching up to nip at his cheek. "I am paying you plenty, so do not complain to me that something is above your paygrade," She teased, though she knew what he had meant. She knew Rusalka had many purposes and uses, and was playing to all of his strengths. The quiet man she married was thoughtful toward her and their children, but she would never force him to take on the responsibilities he did not wish to have, such as diplomacy. 

"The Moonpacks," She began. Her tone became more serious, but thoughtful still. "They have visited, and make known their want for peace and friendship. They...Do not seem as though they absorb other packs, but they do seem wanting to grow their own. I would think perhaps if we set boundaries to make certain we maintain our own laws, and simply share in peace and the bounty of hunting, they would be good for an ally." She said. 

"I will send Thyra to Moontide, I think.  And to scout out an area for a winter home."

i wasn't complaining, he amends with a wily grin tugging at the corners of his lips, tail swaying against his haunches once; twice. slow. lazy, almost.

she speaks of the moonpacks — the coined term falling short of their mark, if only because rusalka wasn't sure he'd heard of them before. perhaps he had, in passing, but until now the presence of the other packs had meant little to the cairn.

that is good, then. as far as rusalka cared to see, it appeared that they already had a paw in the threshold with the moonpacks as they had sought the wolves of hljóðrfell first, according to solveig's words.

solveig decides to send thrya on the mission and though rusalka recognizes it was probably the better move, for just several months ago he'd been quite stony and unsociable; and at any rate, without knowing anything about the moonpacks, going in blind wasn't a great idea.

still, it stung a little even if he knows he is better suited here and on their borders.

”It will be fine,” She echoed quietly, nuzzling into the coarse fur of his shoulder. Change came from time to time, and if it was welcomed then it could be as sweeping as a breeze or as harrowing as a gale. Solveig had lived for years trying to stand as bravely as a solemn oak, unyielding to the winds of change- but more recently, had found herself softening. Willow branches weathered better.

She felt a slight ache in her heart where tradition still begged for attention, but she tried to set those thoughts aside. They could make new traditions of their own in their new home.

paths were always carved with uncertainty: and though that causes rusalka to hesitate, wanting to shy away from it, he stops himself, thinking of how the unknown path he'd taken when leaving warsaw has brought him here:

husband. father.

and with that an exhibition of who he was when he stepped into those roles.

either way, things have a way of working themselves out. rusalka murmurs in purring agreement, pressing his muzzle to her shoulder, leaving a soft affectionate nip there.