Neverwinter Forest this emptiness won't fade

Kja has come to deliver the sad news :c for @Scimitar but if anyone else would like to hop in, feel free! <3

Kjalarr grieved. Death, he found, was not an easy thing to accept. It had been easy for him to accept Ragnar's death for he'd been so young when it had happened and Ragnar believed. While it brought Kjalarr a small semblance of comfort to think that Whittier had found a place among the hall of Æsir he did not think the Nordic consolations were appropriate. Whittier was not a Viking, but Kjalarr had to believe that his soul had not entirely departed into some empty void for that was far more painful than anything else to consider and thus he did not. He had taken the long way to Neverwinter Forest, though by the time he did reach the familiar borders, the scent of young ones caused him to almost turn back. Still, days after the fact, Kjalarr struggled with it, struggled to forgive himself, to let go of what he so desperately clung to. Guilt was the easiest thing to keep him grounded. So many what if's led to a million different possibilities of how that day would have gone. If Kjalarr would have only woke Whittier up to run patrols with him then he would still be alive. Yet, out of an act that Kjalarr had mistaken to be kindness in allowing his brother to sleep and have the day to himself it had ended up with hideous consequences. Consequences that Kjalarr knew he now had to face again.

He had no idea how to say it, how to break it gently, or even if there was a gentle way to say the horrible words that he had to say. His eyes were lowered, devoid of his pride, devoid of the joy at the knowledge that his aunt Kaskara had no doubt given birth by now. He had promised to visit ...but this was not how he had ever believed he would fulfill it and he was left...scared. Unsure of how his would change things between him and his adopted family. He did not feel like the man he'd become but rather like the small child that Scimitar had taken under his wing.

Yet, this was not something he could run from, not something he could put off for a later date. Scimitar needed to know and telling Scimitar was the only hope Kjalarr had of forgiving himself for what he believed to be his failings. Left unchecked it would fester like an infection in a wound. He drew in a deep breath and howled for Scimitar.

Kjalarr mourned; and was too exhausted from the energy it took to bother to hide it. To act like Whittier's death wasn't eating him alive inside.

A round or two with these two first?!

Allure’s pale paws loped easily along the borders – her nose, however, was not set forward with intent of seeking out trespassers, but tracking a nearby herd she had seen earlier. They seemed to migrate out of the forest, and if they caught them soon enough and organized a hunt, it was likely they could feast well before they made it too far from their pack borders.

But it was something else entirely that she came upon – and when nostalgia met her nose with the scent of Jorunn, the girl’s heart practically sang. Her pace quickened then, and when she rounded past a tall pine, she caught sight of him. He had changed entirely – the thickness of his form stating with clarity that he was no longer the boy she had known when growing up, but a robust man. He had Floki were dangerously similar, and while it was awkward to catch view of the wolf she considered brother and resembled another that  stirred butterflies in her stomach, she still could not contain the large grin that cast upon her features.

So she barreled forward – not catching the desperate sadness that emanated from his very form in her joy at being reunited with him. Careening toward him, the bi-toned girl all but collided with him, eliciting a yelp of excitement as she did so. Her nose would tip upward to plant a kiss upon his cheek, a gentle whine escaping her as her tail was a flurry of motion behind her. “Jorunn! I have missed you so!”

of course! <3

 

Someone had begun to barrel towards him but it was not until he heard the exclamation of a name long dead to him did Kjalarr realize who it was. Allure. His breath caught in his throat as a fresh wave of sorrow fell over him he felt an awful wave of regret tighten the knot of his stomach. Allure was jovial to see him — and why shouldn't she be? — only because Kjalarr couldn't help but think, she had no idea the news he had come to bear. It made him wish, as he accepted her embrace when she collided with him, that he hadn't come at all — which was an awful and ridiculous thing. It was his job. He was supposed to look out for Whittier, to take care of him, and he'd failed. It had been his responsibility and his fault. Though Kjalarr desperately wanted to enjoy the reunion with Allure he couldn't. His heart was too heavy, and it cracked a bit under the strain of the terrible burden it carried when he felt his sister place a kiss upon his cheek. His head bent low and he allowed himself the moment to breathe in her scent.

This was the only comfort Kjalarr allowed himself, and it was brief. “Allure,” Kjalarr spoke her name. “I have missed you too.” He murmured. It was the truth but the weight of his burden was pressing harder upon his shoulders and a lump rose up in his throat forcing him to take a ragged, uneven breath. “Allure I...” He struggled, knowing that he needed to tell her but his throat constricted and the words died off bitterly in his throat as he took a step back. He looked away from her, unwilling to feel the burn of her happiness at seeing him where it stung his heart. No doubt it would vanish the moment he spoke the words he needed to. He braced himself for the Frostfur's hatred because it was what he felt he deserved.

“Allure...it's about Whit he-” Kjalarr swallowed thickly, looking up to search her face with a sudden desperation. “He's dead, Allure.” The words burned as they choked from his lips and a shuddering sob wracked the viking's body.

Her brother was here! Her nose lingered along his fur, inhaling a scent that was so familiar to her, and yet so different. The salt of the sea clung to him, and she pulled back, a grin upon her features as she was about to tell him about her and Floki’s intended visit – but the famine had kept them at bay. But Her pale companion had something to say, and the joy that was within her eyes began to shift when his words were given – words that did not resonate instantly.

It was a strange moment. Whittier and death mentioned in one sentence seemed so impossible that she processed the statement, her jaw opening to speak, and then clamping shut with further thought and confusion. “I don’t.. Whit is here, in Teekon Wilds?” No, her mind corrected her in that moment. Whittier had been here.

Whitter was now to be spoken in past tense.

“Jorunn – what.. No.” The statement fell flat, her head beginning to give a gentle shake of her refusal. No. He was mistaken. Her chubby brother had been safe at the Ridge, last she had checked. Looking after her youngest siblings by Bazi. “It’s impossible.”

He heard the call of his son just as he finished cleaning off the milk from Cypress’ chin. He paused, glancing to Eshe – it would have been ideal for them both to go, but the boys could not be left alone, and so he unwound his large form from his youthful boys, and with a kiss planted to each head, was soon off in the direction of the borders. He would have returned the call, announcing a light delay on his end – but did not wish to wake the pups.
 
He arrived moments late, his large form emerging from the proud trees and a smile upon his white tipped muzzle. Jorunn looked as good as ever – and he uttered a low bark in greeting as he wound his way closer, pleased Allure had also been there to greet him. “Jorunn! It’s good to see you! I’m sorry we didn’t get to visit –“ But his words fell as he noted the wilt in the pale boy’s shoulders – the haunted look in both of his children’s eyes, and a frown smoothed across his features as his heart etched in worry.
 
What disaster had the Teekon Wilds provided his family with now? “What happened?”

Kjalarr's breath was uneven, heavy with the burden and words he'd spoken and all the what if's associated with it. If only he'd have taken Whittier on patrol with him ...but he allowed himself the small allowance that perhaps it wouldn't have made a difference. Kjalarr believed in the Norns — in fate and that their lives were already decided for them. Perhaps their choices changed things slightly but the end result always was the same. “He'd joined the pack I co-lead a few weeks ago,” Kjalarr informed Allure, feeling his words and breath catch in his throat when Scimitar joined the scene. This was hard, Kjalarr realized. Possibly the hardest thing he'd ever had to do in his short life. Whittier's death was Kjalarr's first experience with it — having been too young to have been truly affected by Ragnar's.

“I-” Kjalarr swallowed thickly, albeit with some difficultly and forced himself to look at his father. “Whittier's ...he's gone.” Gone sounded better than 'dead', though it was what it was. Whittier was not coming back from it and there wasn't anything Kjalarr could do to change it, no matter how hard he wished he could. “He joined the pack I co-lead a few weeks ago,” Kjalarr repeated what he'd told Allure for Scimitar. “I don't know what happened exactly. All I know is that I found his body washed up on the shore.” Kjalarr assumed that he'd drowned for there had been no visible wounds to give him evidence of otherwise. “I should have made him run patrols with me that morning — I should have... — I'm sorry I failed to keep him safe.” Because he'd failed. Because it was his fault.

It was amazing how the high she had felt only moments ago at being reunited with her brother had come to this. Her mind reeled – Allure processed the words he spoke, but she did not grasp them fully. He mentioned he co-lead a pack – twice, as her father came upon the scene, and vaguely she wondered if she should be congratulating him on this – or if he felt the weight of guilt moreso because of his title.

She could not speak, and as her muzzle remained buried in the nape of her brother, she wept silently. Whittier – her partner in crime. She held a special bond with each of her brothers, but it was Whittier who had always come to her defense without thought.. who had looked after her without judgement.

Her heart ached, and she could not move, could not speak.. instead, she pressed closer to Jorunn, aching to know he felt some form of responsibility for the tragedy that had befallen their family.

He froze – feeling the news wash over him and only in that moment could he see the pudgy, lovable boy Whitter had been when he was younger. A small boy, aiding him in border patrol -- "Pa! Let's find ma a present!!" Whit practically shrieked, his entire body wriggling from the force of his wagging tail.
 
He blinked, hollow as his eyes swept from the weeping form of his daughter, and to the guilt and despair that weighed upon Jorunn’s shoulders. “He drowned?” The words stumbled past his lips – even to him, they sounded stupid, as he only could repeat what had been spoken to him. Whittier had been here? For weeks? How had he not known?
 
“I don’t understand.” And he didn’t. Last he had seen Whittier, the boy had been at home, with his mother. Only days before his own ousting, and when Allure had taken her leave. “He was with Bazi last I sene him.. he was..” Alive, his mind finished for him.

Allure did not recoil from him as he thought she might have, instead burying her face into his neck where she wept. A soft whine of sorrow escaped him as he held her, as if he could shield her from the grief that had plagued him for days. He couldn't, of course, but still he tried. Kjalarr looked up from Allure's back where his eyes had been trained, focusing upon Scimitar in the distance watching as their father tried to grasp Kjalarr's words. “Whittier never told me why he came back to the Wilds,” Kjalarr admitted. “I think he came to my pack on accident. I kept him from being attacked for stumbling into our borders and when he asked to join I accepted him, of course,” Because Kjalarr would never turn away family. That wasn't the kind of man he was. The Frostfurs and Floki meant everything to him and he there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for them. “He didn't-he didn't know you guys were here, not until I told him.” Kjalarr stopped himself there, though. He could not break it to Scimitar that Whittier had been angry with him for leaving Bazi. Not now, possibly not ever.

“I'm sorry.” Kjalarr knew it wasn't enough — it would never be enough, but it was all he could say, because he had no real answers. He didn't know why Whittier had returned, or why he had went to the ocean, or why he had drowned only that it had happened.

Jorunn settled in to her embrace, and she cried softly. The family had suffered pain, absolutely – the loss of Nova Peak was a distant memory for the girl who had been too young to truly remember many of the events, but she did recall the fear she felt when she, her mother and brother had been terrorized by the bears of the Grove. Swift had lost his eyesight that day – and while her other brother was still alive and breathing, she wondered if in part, he had lost his life as well.

Jorunn spoke, and she closed her eyes, a frown knitting itself upon her features. “He didn’t come visit us.. let us know..” She did not grasp why – only after the words slipped out did she begin to piece together the possibility of Whittier’s trepidation at doing so – he had wanted to avoid Eshe, and Scimitar’s new happy family.

She had certainly wanted to, at times.

There was nothing left to say for the man – words did not formulate, nor did thought. His son had been a spark of life, waiting to grow in to himself, and now he had been taken from them. There had to be a mistake. Whittier was not bound to face such cruelty from this world, surely? Not the boy who had longed for nothing more than long naps, a decent meal, and to make his mother happy.
 
“Thank you,” he murmured, his eyes drifting from the sobbing form of his daughter to study Jorunn. “Thank you for telling us.” He paused then, about to voice how he would need to tell Bazi, but he let the thought drift to the wayside for now. He simply stood and watched his family fall further apart.