Neverwinter Forest home and away

@Scimitar!

The evening breeze was surprisingly cool after such a hot day, and Goldhawk submerged himself in it as he enjoyed a rare moment of respite. His golden coat was resplendent in the light as he lay upon a mossy rock in the forest's centre. He looked rather like a lazy lion, and he stretched his front limbs approvingly. For some reason he was in a nostalgic mood. Perhaps it was all the little 'uns who'd sprung into being recently. He loved the lot of them, and couldn't help but remember his own childhood whenever he was around them. Ahh, puppies. He gazed up into the familiar trees and as the breeze caught up again he wondered if he would ever be called father.

There was a sense of quiet that surrounded Neverwinter Forest, and for that the cinnamon wolf was grateful. The boys were growing like weeds – and each day that passed, they seemed to become more adventurous with brazen steps. Scimitar was not far from the den these days, though he was pulled to the borders from time to time – and while his thoughts would drift to Whittier and his son’s untimely death, he found there to be a distraction in the day to day hum drum of life.
 
With Eshe enticing the boys to a bout of play and cuddles, the man bid quiet farewell to his family before loping away from the den. He desired to seek out his Beta – it was either the golden wolf or Astra whom he felt he would trust with the favor, but given the shyness of his Theta, he was keen to find Goldhawk.
 
The wind was in his favor, and would soon direct him to the regal wolf, sprawled upon a large rock. “Goldhawk,” he greeted warmly, his own form slowing in pace as he rounded closer.

He sensed Scimitar approaching not just by scent but by a certain familiar shifting of the trees. The Lord appeared like a grey shadow, and Goldhawk rose slowly to meet him. He smiled, and bowed his head at the proud parent. You're looking well, sah, he observed brightly, speaking mostly of the good mood that seemed to lighten Scimitar's tone today. Must be those laddies. They'll make us all proud, he added.

“They will,” he affirmed, his thoughts drifting back to his two youngest. They were walking and babbling now – and always eager to poke their nose from the den, much to the chagrin of their parents. It was an active stage, and it left little wonder to dwell on other matters.
 
But Whittier’s death was upon his mind every waking moment, and his expression sobered as he considered what it was he was about to ask. “Goldhawk,” he began, his form stilling. “I received word from my adopted son in a pack from the shore – my older son, from a previous mateship.. he drowned.” He had spoken this a few times – had said the words to Eshe. To Pasha. Even to himself.. and yet it had never become easier. The pain did not dull. “My ex-mate does not know. I need to send word to her, I think.. I would want her to send word to me, if it had been the other way around.”

Goldhawk's long ears drooped comically at his spectacularly off judgement of Scimitar's mood. The Alpha had come to him warm and seemingly happy, and Goldhawk had supposed this was because his sons were on his mind. The bard had been right about one thing: his sons were on his mind... one in particular. One now dead.

Blimey... I'm so sorry, m'lord, he murmured gently, averting his eyes. A sorrowful thing indeed. But at mention of a quest, he felt an unexpected surge of envy for whichever wolf of Neverwinter Scimitar would choose to relay the message. Goldhawk loved his pack, but he had been feeling restless lately (such was the consequence of peace), and his paws ached for an adventure.

He tipped his muzzle lower, acknowledging the words, and feeling the gentle remorse pull at his features in a sad smile. There was little to be done now – nature was a fickle beast, and while he had tried to move mountains for his family before, it still had not saved his previous mateship, nor, it seemed, his son.
 
“Whittier was.. he was not meant to be away from Bazi. I don’t know why he was here – or why he chose to stay with a pack by the sea. All I know is that he found Jorunn, his adopted brother, and seemed to settle there.. and then one day, Jorunn found him in the ocean. It would seem the famine had been more unkind to us than I had earlier imagined.” He breathed out now, lifting himself as he thought of his heftier son – Whittier had always loved a good feast. Perhaps he had hoped to seek the fish from the water?
 
“I would send Kieran, but I don’t want him to have to leave his family. I would send Mazi or Astra, but I do not want them alone.. even with each other.” He paused then, his eyes drifting up to his Beta. “I would go myself, as I trust you with the pack, Goldhawk – but the boys are so young..” And he could only imagine that Bazi would actually murder him on sight. “Would you go, Goldhawk? It’s a journey from here.. but I trust no one else.”

Goldhawk felt a small, private sense of wonder at Scimitar's reaction to his son's death. For the first time, he felt the heaviness of Scimitar's age and wisdom. That sad smile... it was something Goldhawk wouldn't understand for at least a couple more years.

Although curious about why the Alpha didn't want Mazi and Astra travelling, he didn't argue because he swiftly realised what Scimitar was saying: he, Goldhawk, was to set out with this delicate objective. His heart leapt. I live to serve, said the warrior bard with honesty and drama, then added — and it's about time I jolly well stepped out on another jaunt through the country. He smiled lightly. Where might this roaming soul find the Lady Bazi?

Goldhawk was all too eager – stirring a swell of guilt within the Alpha’s chest. Even if his Beta had been unwilling, would he truly have said so? Scimitar imagined not – Goldhawk all too readily accepted anything that came his way.
 
But he took the eagerness for what it was, and giving a nod to the tawny wolf, Scimitar studied him quietly. “It will be a longer journey. She’s north from here – it could take you moons. According to my other son, Pasha, she now has claimed a land called Khepri Moors.” He paused then, hoping his companion realized just how long this trip would take him. “You will always have a home here, Goldhawk – and the Beta position of Neverwinter Forest.”

By now Goldhawk was unsurprised to find that his liege had a whole host of children scattered here and there, for another, Pasha, had just been named. But it didn't make the loss of one any less painful, nor the arrival of two more any less exciting.

Khepri Moors, he repeated, knowing suddenly that this name, the simple direction, and the name 'Bazi' was all he would have to go on. It was not only distance that would make his journey a long one.

I'm honoured, sah, he said with a smile, moved by Scimitar's trust in him. And when I trot back over yonder border and return to Neverwinter, I'm quite certain those sprogs of yours will be shooting upwards faster than bamboo.

“We’d like you to be there during the majority of their younger years,” he confided gently, giving his companion a gentle smile before nudging the cheek of the golden wolf. Goldhawk was a wolf who had managed to be accepted fully by the Frostfur clan – something that became harder to do as the years of mistrust grew. He idly wondered what Bazi would make of the talkative bard, but withdrew the thought immediately – those days had long past.
 
“Thank you, Goldhawk. Truly.” There was little he could show in terms of the gratitude he felt for the wolf before him – Bazi would need to know what had happened to Whittier, and while it would have been more appropriate to send a messenger she knew, he could not spare them now. Not his other children. Not his sister or her mate, as they raised their brood.
 
When the two males parted ways, the dark agouti wolf watched his Beta with mild concern – he could only hope Goldhawk would make a swift return to them.