Stone Circle When it is time to close my eyes

Gunnar will only have one post but anyone else can have some. This was such a hard post, but it seems fitting as we turn to fall for him to meet his end. And if anyone wants backdated posts please let me know.

It was morning, bright and beautiful. Birds sang in the trees and the leaves painted their myriad of colors upon each other. Some letting go and falling in gentle sways to the ground.

He knew today was the day. He could feel it in the restriction of his lungs. In the way his body ached and his heart beat.

Oh but how his soul hurt more knowing that he was about to be the cause of his children's pain. Of his pack.That he hadn't been able to give Taktuq all the years she deserved and she deserved so much.

He stood on aching paws. The hitch in his hip painful and high. The blindness of his one eye making it hard to see where he was going. But he traveled towards the stone circle. He would not make them carry him. No. That was an unfairness. It would be enough to move him to where they wished him to lay.

As he made it there and fell hard he thought of those he had loved. Had he been enough? Had he said enough? He wasn't sure. But he had lived well.

The patriarch of Kvarsheim slipped quietly into death. Much quieter than when he had come into the world. And he hoped those he loved knew he had.

He sought him.
When morning came.
A passing that came unwanted, spare for guilted churn in his belly that rendered him disgusted. Low head, carried heavily and with wavering eyes, landing on none. A nose that followed the scent of Gunnar in all that he did not want it to; yet it did. Yet here he was.
He saw his body, collapsed and still. It was great caution that he approached, his limb a deathly stiffness that made the walk towards him a still one.
Even stiller was Gunnar, as he touched his nose to his neck, his hind coming to a sit. His heart, quivering and his chest a reckless waste that made his mouth dry. He stared, he stared. Stared. He couldn’t- breathe. He couldn’t. He couldn’t breathe. He felt. He. Not now. Not now. He could not move. He couldn’t. Why couldn’t he breathe? Why. He trembled, he broke by the Fadir of Kvarsheim. He broke. His entire mouth came to a drop, and his jaw stretching until he found himself in trembles as a curdling, gut wrenching scream ached from his mouth.
”HELP!”
He screamed. Until his mouth went dry and he couldn’t, his voice a crack and everything that he’d built, every wall. Every brick.
Broken.

She knew that this was imminent. She did, as much as she tried to ignore that ice-cold glare of fear. She had been stubborn. There was time, right? There was time. They could fix it.
She could fix it. She could fix him.
She hadn't left his side in weeks.
She hadn't been awake when he left the den.
No, no, it was not pabbi that woke her, but a blood-curdling screech of unadulterated terror that instantly had her stomach churning violently and her heart thudding and she had thrashed to break away from her siblings in order to make it out of the den in time.
He was gone before she got there.
She cannot feel her feet, her face, and her voice shatters as she screams one name, an instinctive, wretched call: @Tauris!
And, suddenly, she is silent. Eerily so. Terrifyingly.
She wriggles beside Bonnie and sweeps herself in between her father's limp arms, and she feels the windswept fur now frigid at the tips with morning frost against her cheek.
She had been too late.

HELP!

The cry was full of the pain of loss.
Ulfhild sprinted as fast as she could, skidding messily to a halt beside a broken Bonario, a crying Astrid in between the legs of a stilled Gunnar.

Her bright gold gaze was pinned upon The Fadir. Searching for breath, for life, and there was none to find. 

The Kappi, with tears in her eyes flowing, and agony in her song, lifted a chilling howl to the air of all Kvarsheim.

Gunnar is dead.

The song of their loss rang for as long as she had air to give, until Ulfhild herself lied down in a heap of tears beside Bonnie, Astrid and their beloved Fadir.

Long lived and long loved, the King and Father of Kvarsheim.

Horror wreaked. His voice fought to stay buried from the constriction of his throat. It all did not help that he. Could not. He could not breathe. He couldn’t breathe. Forehead engulfed by the fur of his Fadir’s neck, the terrible noises of his throat trying to release all that he could not say clicked out, one by one, as if he were drowning underneath waves of a horrific oceans depths. So hard. He tried so hard- so hard to breathe, to speak, and yet nothing coherent could even dare to take step through his mind. No attempts of calm could aid, could fix, could mend what was beginning to beat down on shattered pieces of a fractured mind. The only noise that he could make, the only word that he could manage, was a horrid scream of grief.
Someone fix it.
Someone fix it.

”HEEEEEELP!”

He wept, he screamed and his breath escaped from his lungs and stayed away as his figure melted heavy to the body of Gunnar. Until Astrid came, slipped between his figure and her growing body shrinking. Until Ulfhild came and soothed him with touch alone, and he could suffocate by another as he went from a man, to a boy, to nothing, and no more than a waking child that wished to be in his mothers belly again. It was not real. It was not happening. He could not lose all he had. He was losing it. Everything was leaving. He trembled horribly against Astrid, against Ulfhild, against Fadir. His mouth was weak, slacked open in a soft part as his eyes were crushed through pain. Please no more.
Please no more.

And all of it was gone.

It was the screaming that woke Kristjan, just as it had his sister, yet it was Astrid’s firm backfoot that brought the boy up. Ow, Astrid, he mumbled, shaking his bruised face. He hadn’t seen her do it, but he was pretty positive about her being the culprit… By the time he looked up, she was already gone.

An icicle of dread pierced him then. It started to melt into his bloodstream, chilling his veins and leaving him with the icy feeling of silent terror. His mind raced in those few seconds.

He didn’t know what was happening. (Though deep down, he knew.) He hadn’t been too concerned with Gunnar’s worsening condition. (Though deep down, he had.) He’d been told of the sometimes-cruel nature of existing, but he had no clue what it truly meant, nor could he recognize the feeling of losing someone’s very existence. (Though he may have thought about it.) He was just a boy – he didn’t understand. (Though he would soon.)

Fear made him hesitate. He fidgeted on his feet, at first unsure of what to do. He had never heard such a gut-wrenching cry before; he was afraid of what following it might lead to. But still! The darkhooded boy found himself scrambling after Astrid, an innate sense of duty driving him forward, arriving on scene to see the wolves crouched beside the still body of –

Faðir?

Kristjan slowed to a stop. What is wrong with Faðir? Why is he lying like that? So… still. That’s not how you hunt… A whine of uncertainty escaped him, and he audibly swallowed his absolute fear before slowly venturing the rest of the way.

When he touched his nose to the patriarch’s hip and felt no breath or warmth or life, he gasped and recoiled from the soulless husk as if it had shocked him; his heart clenching so hard inside his chest that it felt like teeth were around it – and for a moment, he feared it might burst.

Is he… dead?

No, Kristjan answered himself out loud, shuddering as a sob threatened to break him into pieces. He- He just needs to eat. The boy started to nod, convincing only himself. Já. Let’s find- I mean, we can- He looked around them, desperation seeping, his breaths beginning to come in faster and sharper, now an instrument to beat back his sorrow with. He just needs to… If we get him food, he will get up. He always gets up.

Stage one: denial.

The first cry came, and it was from a wolf he knew Tauris had feuded with. Still- the desperation in the plea frightened him, and for the man to have called out so urgently...Skáld offered to go, but promised to come back and take care of the pups if it was something he couldn't handle. 

He was not used to stepping up like this- but he had a bad feeling about Gunnar; something about the dreams he had had last night had felt...Different. He couldn't remember the dream just yet but it lingered, like a shadow, casting a cool gloom over his heart as he raced toward the stone circle. 

When he heard Astrid call out for Tauris, it clenched his heart. He could see the stones in the distance, but just before he came over the doll, a death knell rang out- called out by the pale wolf who announced to all that Gunnar was dead. 

Skáld was not quick to anger and yet, he showed a dour look, and a wrinkled muzzle to the white wolf whose name he did not know- finding out via a howl was not the way that Gunnar's closest friends and family should find out about him. Sven was nowhere to be seen, same with Ujurak- they would have been told by howl, now, a cruel way to find out about their father's death. Bonario was a wreck, hardly allowing Gunnar's children space to see their own father, and neither of the adults present were accounting for the fact that there were other children, other family that should have time with him. 

Skáld had seen wolves come and go so much that his own grief was delayed.

"Bonario," He said, in a kind, but low voice. "Give space. Take breath, slow, calm." He said, knowing that it was more easily said than done. He turned to Kristjan, and his heart melted. It would take him time to realize what had happened, and even longer, then, to mourn. He exhaled as he reached to touch the boy's shoulders gently with his muzzle. The realization would come to him when it came. "Kristjan...Your sister needs you," He said softly, hoping to draw his attention toward Astrid, who was devastated. 

He knew Tauris would arrive soon, if she had heard Ulfhild's call. He moved to the edge of the stone circle, to stand on watch for Sven and Ujurak, so he might soften the blow when they arrived.

Ujurak had found himself locked into a sprint yet again. Tearing after Astrid and the wretched cry that shattered the air of an otherwise quiet morning. Sleep still encrusted his eyes as Ujurak left the warmth of the den, the gentle embrace of his siblings as they all roused from rest. Heeding the desperate wail that still echoed in his ears.

His legs seized as they neared the stone circle. Halting his stride, the others proceeded ahead of him, Ujurak's breath caught in his chest. Paws leadened as he grew statue still. Whale eyed as he balked at the sight of his father's corpse. He had thought Gunnar still when he first collapsed.


How wrong he was.


Now the former leader lay unmoving. Lively as the stones that encircled his deathbed. His siblings rushed to him. The elder siblings of the heim also by his side as Bonario, Astrid, and Ufhild embraced him. Kristjan rushed about, tending to the man they all loved so dearly.

Their mouths moved, but there was no sound. Only a static ringing in his ears. Bile rose in his throat as his guts twisted. A pierce through his heart and Ujurak dropped to the ground. Legs splayed to embrace the earth as he allowed the field grasses to swallow him. He pressed against the ground as though applying pressure would keep the pieces of his shattered heart in place.

Skáld too now arrived. Saying.... something. Looking around. Ujurak scarcely mustered the strength to lift his front off the ground. Legs trembling as he watched. He needed to go to them. To wrap his siblings in his arms and hold them close. Like he was supposed to. 

His head hung low as he peeled himself off the ground and entered the circle. His eyes darting between all present, and his father's face.

In Astrid’s call, she knew. Gunnar was gone.

He was gone before her eyes saw the stones and her feet met the grass between them, and her ears heard wails pass over the vale. He was gone before she rushed to his side and reached for his hand only to find it cold.

Cold. Gunnar was gone. This was a body.

Fig heard the call, but he did not go to answer it. He knew what it meant, of course. But it was for Tauris to attend while he stayed behind with their children who he deemed simply too young to see what was left behind when the soul left the body.

There was much he wanted to shelter them from, for their whole lives if he could. If he only could.

The pack would not see him, but still he attended with the raising of his voice—a call of mourning and sympathy that sang low through the trees, across the grasses and rocks and waters that made up his home. He sent it to the pack, and to the woman he loved. He was there.