Gyrfalcon's Keep red hill

It had been a week since Granite had tumbled down Porcupine Ridge into a ravine. He had meant to find a path back to his pack on Thunderdome… however, his young age and lack of developed skills sent the boy traveling in the wrong direction.

Just a little further, he kept telling himself as the scenery changed like a labyrinth’s walls. He grew hungrier and hungrier until every vertebra created a tiny knoll along his spine. Too young and fatigued to hunt anything, Granite subsisted on plants and late-summer berries - hardly enough for a growing boy.

Rail-thin and oh-so-tired, Granite thought he had hit the jackpot when he stumbled upon a cache of meat that had been squirreled away. Greedily, he began to inhale the food without a single regard for who it might belong to.

it is the obvious youth, the rapidfire realization that the child is about the same age as his own, give or take, that stills the fiercest of territorial instincts within rusalka and stokes the fire of the paternal ones instead.

a low, soft chuff leaves rusalka's lips, approaching the child slowly, leaving distance as he watches the presumably lost child devour the meat stored in the cache.

hey, rusalka broaches in a stilled, quieted voice. slow down a bit, yeah? eat too much, too fast and you're gonna be chucking it back up. the father in the cairn will not allow him to keep this advice to himself, even if it goes ignored.

Granite ate with the voracity of a labrador retriever who had just broken into a bag of its kibble. The plat du jour was a fawn's ribcage, aged two months and marinated in its own au jus with a crust of earthy loam. Slavering, he crunched bone and sheared meat from the skeleton.

Granite, completely fixated, hardly noticed the colossal male. His baritone voice nearly made the boy jump out of his skin.

Grrrr, he growled. Instinct switched to autopilot as the child snatched what was left of the carcass and scooted away. His hackles stood on end from tip to tail and his pupils were so large that they eclipsed the green of his iris.

Was he just a small fry about to be swallowed by the biggest bass in the lake?

the boy eats as if he hasn't had food in days, a week even. at least, that is what rusalka assumes and it twists in his stomach; an icy seep that heightens and feathers up his throat as the boy grabs his meal and skitters away, hackles raised and a growl lingering in his throat.

rusalka lowers his head, slightly; a small dip of his chin.

he wasn't going to hurt a child, nor did he have any intentions of taking the meat away nor berate him for stealing it.

the stark contrast of how he'd react if it was an adult was blindingly obvious and hypocritical but rusalka turns a blinded eye to it.

it's alright, rusalka offers in a low, quieted smoky exhale; reassuring. in a tone that he would take with one of his own children. you can eat. anything you want in the cache. rusalka gestures with a paw. it was nothing he couldn't replenish. i'm rusalka and this place is called hljóðrfell, he tells him unsure if the boy was going to listen but offering it all the same.

what's your name? still, he tries to reach past the wild of the lostboy and see if he can coax him into speaking something.

Granite’s tail was tucked so tightly under him that he looked as though he’d been docked. Adrenaline made his nervous system go haywire – he even flinched when a leaf gently fell beside the great man. Shark eyes swam, watching the giant closely, ready to fight should the wolf take him for a snack.

But the moments ticked by and nothing happened. The adult’s soft voice disarmed him, somewhat. Was it a trick? Most of the words didn’t land because the pup was too preoccupied with survival. Yet, the last question broke through.

“Grrr… Granite,” he said, the fringes of his voice roughhewn with a growl.

a growl follows and then, a small miracle rusalka believes, a name.

granite.

with that, rusalka reclines upon his haunches, golden gaze soft as he studies the boy; wondering just how far from home he's strayed.

granite, murmurs the leviathan thoughtfully; testing the boy's name out on his tongue, in his accent. starkly different from his wife's but still prevalent all the same.

...where is home for you? rusalka inquires next, tactician's mind already mapping out a plan to see the boy back home, assuming that he had one and wanted to return. the ... circumstances leading to this current situation remain an unknown to rusalka but he assumes that the boy has parents searching for him.

When the man sat Granite felt it was safe to continue eating. He began to gnaw erratically on the delicious bones once more, even if his adult teeth were only par-grown. However, his beady gaze never left the red mountain giant.

Then, a question. Where was home? Granite knew the name, but not the location. However, he felt two things: First, he did not want to lead this dangerous wolf back to his family. Secondly, and more importantly, he did not want to get in trouble with his parents for wandering off and getting lost.

“On…” chomp, “my own,” chomp. He lied, growling between mouthfuls of food like a stray kitten.

rusalka watches as granite continues to gobble down his meal, working to keep his posture as un-intimidating as he could manage; relaxed and non-threatening despite the boy's trespassing and theft. and though part of rusalka knows he should let these transgressions be known, the papabear in him will not let him scold an obviously lost child.

on my own, the boy answers between bites and small growls.

hm, the cairn rumbles absently in consideration; collecting what he knows ( which is primarily what he can see ) and granite's words. with no reason not to believe the boy, rusalka takes his words at face value.

a little young to be roughin' it on your own. a simple statement, made factual with a pointed look at the meal the boy was demolishing. wanderin' into claimed pack lands and stealin' food, smoke tainted words are not accusing nor chiding; a simple statement of facts laid out like a map for granite.

and though it is not his place because rusalka may be the husband of the valkyrie queen he is no leader himself but finds himself offering all the same, if you need a place to stay, you're welcome to stay with us in hljóðrfell. you'd be safe and your belly will never again know the pains of hunger.

if granite accepted then rusalka'd call for @Solveig.

Stealing food.

Granite became defensive when the man insinuated that he was doing a bad thing. The boy stopped chewing but clutched the carcass as his gaze became wall-eyed. Would this man decide to punish him after all? Granite was used to snatching and thieving precious things to hide them from his greedy siblings. It was always someone else who stole from him.

Yet, he listened to an offer. Uncertainty rattled his bones. Wouldn’t mom and dad find him soon? Didn’t he need to get home?

But which direction was home exactly?

Granite felt he could continue his lie a little longer… at least until his parents showed up. Plus, free food sounded awesome.

“O-okay…” the child agreed after thinking it over. "I'll go with you."

rusalka watches granite, notes the continuation of his food possession — wondering if that would pose an issue — but remains unsure what the boy will decide. even if granite decided to continue on his way once his belly was filled ... there was nothing rusalka could truly do.

he couldn't — wouldn't hold the boy here against his will.

but he agrees, and rusalka feels something tight in his chest loosen. despite his resolve on the matter of the choice being granite's, there had been the thought that rusalka'd be letting the boy possibly wander off to his untimely death, though he'd survived thus far.

alright, rusalka murmurs. i'll call for my wife. she's the queen here and her word is law. a lesson, advice and a warning wrapped neatly into one single sentence.

rusalka tips his head back and calls for @Solveig, asking her to meet him.

Fortunately, Solveig was able to summon a babysitter for the children, who slept now after a vigorous play session. Rusalka's call lightened her spirit, as she wondered if they might have a new recruit that had come to their borders. She imagined perhaps a skilled hunter, or another guardian, perhaps. Thyra was adept at watching the children, and Vaettir was a constant, loyal advisor as well, but Solveig wanted more capable, able bodies to join the pack. 

What she found, when she arrived to the borders, was a scrappy young pup. A little underfed, though the swelling in his belly was an indication that Rusalka had possibly seen fit to feed the boy. She moved forward, head lowered, to get a good look at him, sniffing for anything of a red flag in his scent. He was a bit dirty, but not terribly worse for the wear. His paws were large, and she smiled softly. He'd be giant when he grew. 

She looked then to Rusalka, exchanging a glance so she might read what his eyes would tell her. This child wasn't what she'd imagined, in terms of a helpful recruit. If nothing else, he would be a burden until he grew and learned to hunt and fight. 

Nevertheless- he could be trained. 

"You must be brave," She said, turning to the boy again. "And strong, to have made it here. What is your name?" She asked.

Rusalka summoned his wife. A queen. And she appeared almost in the image of his mother. She was a tall, strong-looking lady with mousey furs and eyes nearly the color of his own.

The two adults shared a glance he could not parse.

Granite slowly gulped one more bite of sinew. Fatigue prevented his mind from thinking too deeply.

Words of praise stroked the child’s diminutive ego.

“Granite,” he offered simply. Shyly. The boy finally set down the bone he had gnawed clean. His big eyes shifted between Rusalka and his wife, empty of any further factoids or context to provide the Fellians.

though rusalka knows another hungry mouth to feed hadn't been on his 'honey-to-do-list', he does not quite harbor the same stonecold heartlessness he once might've prior to becoming a father. there would no be imitating his father in 'survival of the fittest'.

he makes a small, noncommittal noise in his throat as he and solveig exchange looks, telling each other what they do not put to words in front of the boy.

somewhere, the boy had parents and there was a chance they might trace him back to them. at least, until they relocated. then it might be harder, but at any rate there remained a possibility he would be found and taken back home.

and if not?

he would train him. to be strong and fierce, as he was training his own children.

rusalka's thoughts break, attention drifting back to the boy who, in solveig's presence, acts shy rather than aggressive. it brings a small half smirk to the cairn's lips, amused to see this shift of personality.

She assumed Rusalka had already sorted out whatever there was to know about the boy, and however much it was he'd gleaned, she would find out from him later. For now, they had a very hungry child on their borders who had the wild look of one who knew what it felt like to be lost. Being questioned once was enough, for now. 

She pursed her lips and nodded when given his name, approvingly. It wasn't a terribly flattering name, she thought; granite wasn't a gemstone and was fairly common, but she tried not to judge him for it. After all, it'd likely been given to him by his parents...And his parents had somehow allowed him to wander off. He was likely far better where he was, now. 

And so, she'd save questions and stout judgement for later, and simply sweep him into her care alongside her own children. "Well, Granite- you like how that tastes, or would you like something more fresh?" She asked. "We have better food than that," She reassured him.

More, better, fresher food?!

Granite’s eyes went wide and a string of drool immediatly dribbled from his jowls.

He said nothing but began to quickly not his head as if to say yes, yes, yes, yes.

Enticed by the prospect of more food, Granite abandoned his bone and stepped towards Rusalka and Solveig, ready to follow.

last for me & rusalka! <3

rusalka is quiet as his wife offers the boy better meat; which appears to have been magic words to the boy's ears. rusalka watches him abandon the bone, looking to them to lead the way.

i will finish up my patrol, he murmurs to solveig before heading off in a different direction to wrap up his patrol.

With a knowing and appreciative smile, Solveig moved toward Rusalka to slip beneath his chin, leaning for a moment against his chest the way a cat will press against a beloved caretaker. She was glad he would accept the child into their pack, at least for the time being. This was a busy time. The pack would be moving soon, and while she did care to locate the child's parents, she knew they might not have the time or the means to stage a full search. 

At the end of the day, the child would be fed and cared for. It was the most they could do, right now. 

"Let's go, Granite," She said. "We will find you some good food; then I will show you to my children so you will have some others to play with." She said, hoping he might find both the offer of food and companionship amenable.