Wild Berry Meadow the world, the war, will wait, but morpheus knows no mercy

Back dated to after the previous thread. @Doe, @Szymon. @Skellige too but she's currently afraid of him, ha.

She doesn't know how long she runs. She doesn't even notice the burning in her lungs or the aches running through her legs. All she knows is she has to get away from them, all of them—even the pretty little wolf that helped her—as images of the two dark wolves and their teeth wrapping around her. They'd shown up to eat her, the dark wolf she remembers and the new one she doesn't, and now they were after her. 

Qilaq hits the ground in a heap, breathing heavily as she buries herself in the brush. Everything around her remains a blur as her mind spirals out of her head, forgetting the hunger, forgetting the pain. She only needs to get away from them, at least for a while, so she can find the ones to protect her. The smells of the meadow comes to her nose and she closes her eyes, curling into herself under a bush with long, wide leaves that offer her shade. She can still hear her pulse pumping loudly with each quickened heartbeat, still trembling and tired.

She'd taken off after the child as soon as the movement had caught her eye. It would take little effor to overtake the girl's escape, but Doe trailed after her for the most part, watching her flight and wondering if a quick approach would be helpful or detrimental to her cause. The girl was terrified - she stank of it - and Doe was as reluctant to associate herself with that kind of terror as she was to allow the experience to continue.

In the end, worry for the girl won out over worry for herself, and she approached the bush where the child was hiding on soft, quiet paws. Humming a quiet tune, she made herself low and poked her nose underneath, pushing through the low-lying branches until her muzzle brushed something soft enough to be a wolf pup.

"You're safe, little foundling," she murmured, a promise laced though the gentle words. "Come out, and I will take you someplace quiet and warm."

The black-banded Cairn trailed the scrappy little witch doctor through unfamiliar flatlands, keeping his distance should she need ample time and space to deal with the whelp she so coveted. The air was thick and bitter with the small creature’s terror and he had no wish to aggravate it further, so he folded his notched limbs into a sphinx-like position a good distance away from the pair — close enough to see his Chosen One’s satellite dish ears and hear her gentle promise but far enough away that he posed no immediate threat to the tiny sea urchin. He kept his senses trained on the horizon, watching for the approach of his brother or the resurgence of the dark wolf who had sought to claim the cub. Doe’s angry cry replayed itself in his mind: “She is mine — she is the daughter of Riverbone, and I have come to collect her!” It was an odd statement, but Szymon believed it to be a ruse — and a clever one at that. The conviction in her voice had been so raw — so absolute.

Instinctively he understood that the flighty little cub needed quiet and comfort — so instead of offering a guttural chuff of greeting to alert Doe of his presence, Szymon caught the lullaby’s melody and added his low bass timbre to it — just for a measure or two until he returned fully to silence. When Doe was ready to allow him near, she would let him know — and if that moment was days away, she would certainly let him know that as well.

If she lays there long enough, her father will show up. He'll come find her and take her home where she can nestle between him and her very fat mother, not knowing she's given birth to four puppies that would ultimately erase her from their lives. At least she has the knowledge that they will find her and keep her safe, because nothing else matters in that moment. It's not enough to soothe her, though, as she readjusts her legs and tries to make herself smaller. Her trembles remain intermittent with a few seconds of stillness, repeating over and over again.

The familiar voice comes first and her ears twitch, slowly opening her dull blue eyes and peering through a tangle of legs once a nose has touched her. Instantly, she scrambles to her feet and rushes the short distance between them to bury her face into her chest. It's warm and still has a smell remnant that belongs to her, that tells her it'll be okay. The woman had taken care of her once and she'd do it again. She'll find her parents and they can go wherever this one wanted to take her.

Some place warm and quiet.

Everything will be fine.

In a flurry of movement, she's tucked herself as small as she can to rest between the woman's legs. She buries herself in the scent, finding reassurance and comfort all at once, like she had by the lake. She's reminded of her hunger and thirst then and she whimpers a few times but she can't be bothered much more than this to get her message across.

Atoll sighed when the girl huddled against her once more. It was part relief and part worry. Now that she was reunited with Szymon and Skellige, her fraying nerves soothed, and she began to think more clearly. Her nose spoke to her not only of the girl's fear and exhaustion, but of a sickness as well.

The woman's tail lashed as she groomed the child once more and mulled over the day's events. It'd been only a few minutes ago that she'd even found the girl, but it seemed as though a lifetime had passed. Whatever the case, it'd been long enough for her to grow attached to the child, and she did not want to see her perish.

Decesively, she picked up the child and trotted carefully to a bend in the river that ran through there. Wading into the water, she laid down once more and set the girl once more on her forelegs, keeping the majority of her body above the water.

"Drink now," she insisted, nudging the girl with her nose. Worry grew over her heart, and she looked back at steady Szymon to take heart and comfort. No doubt, her emotions would be written across her face, but that couldn't be helped right now. She needed the comfort of her love in this confusing time.

The little sea urchin’s plaintive whimpers kindled a roiling unease in Szymon’s breast — something next door to misophonia bade him to clamp his tattered ears slickly against his narrow skull as his tongue nervously flicked the tip of his nose, darted to dampen his cracked, kohl-lined lips. He wanted — needed — the crying to stop, and fortunately the cub’s wheedling cries were few and frail. The irritation her innocent voice had aroused climbed sickly into his gut where it wrought havoc, causing the boy’s hackles to quiver along his spine. Doe, he thought weakly, don’t let her — don’t let her cry like that. A psychiatrist might have bade the golden-eyed boy to recline on a couch and talk about his past, finding the catalyst for his acute and violent discomfort at the child’s vulnerability buried deep within Szymon’s traumatic memories of his own weakness — but there were no psychiatrists in these wilds, and the youngest Cairn knew only that the child shouldn’t cry. Couldn’t.

The soft sound of Doe’s tongue preening the child’s velveteen crown soon replaced the silence in which Szymon’s ears had begun a terrified roaring, deep as the Sea in a hurricane; he rose when she did, following the odd-eared silhouette of his Doe to a bend in the river, ever watchful should they be followed by the dark wolf of the flatlands. “Drink now,” Doe said, and Szymon fanned an ear toward her, attentive as always to his Chosen One — in a continuation of that motion he turned his head to look upon her fully, his twitching tail waving reassurance at the worried expression in her eyes. A slow blink of his sulphureous eyes and a slow shake of his salt-crusted pelt attempted to convey that he was watchful but relaxed — Skellige had defended Doe in her time of need. Though the child would likely have to undergo The Drop just as Sharkbait had, the Leviathan had sanctioned Doe’s right to her. Szymon, as always, would abide by his brother’s rules and his Chosen One’s whims. If Doe wanted the cub to remain in the den, Szymon would likely spend a few nights on its outskirts just in case the nightmares threatened her safety — but he would not abandon either of them.

The tangle in his gut did not ease at the sight of the small, fragile creature, tucked against Doe’s chest and balanced securely on the Atoll’s long forelegs. Perhaps Szymon, of all his siblings, should boast the closest thing to a paternal instinct — but the feeling that churned bitterly through his veins was uncomfortable. It was like a prickling of the mind or soul — the pins and needles sensation of a limb gone cold from lack of circulation — that spread through every nerve of his body and even unto his loins. He couldn’t make it go away. To ease his nerves and comfort Doe — and perhaps, in small measure, to soothe the babe she so ardently coveted — he began to hum a song to which his faulty tongue could place no words.

She’s given a few moments of peace, burying herself further into the soft fur. The woman has a smell she hadn’t noticed before, and struggles to place, but the salty tinge isn’t entirely unpleasant. Qilaq licks her lips and finds the taste a little strange but her mouth feels even dryer than before. Not wanting to move from her spot, finding the grooming and closeness comforting, she allows her eyes to remain closed and readjust enough to tuck her legs inward so she might be able to sleep.

Which, of course, doesn’t last long. Qilaq grunts when she’s moved and picked up, whining something soft and pitiful, and her mouth parts to yelp when she touches the water but no sound comes out. She twists a little but for the most part remains immobile until she’s gently placed on the woman’s legs. Her nose submerges into the water while she struggles to keep her balance and she sputters a few times in surprise, recoiling quickly as if a bad memory had crept upon her.

It takes a moment to settle herself and trust the balance the other wolf offers her, feeling the water lap at her legs enough that might soothe the heat rising from her stressed body. She stares down at the rippling, watching a distorted profile of the both of them, and seeing the other’s watery reflection causes her nose to drop to touch it. Her nose wrinkles a little as she inhales a little, shaking her head and realizes it’s helping the dryness in her mouth with every drop that manages to sneak its way in. 

And then she drinks. And drinks some more. And drinks until her stomach can’t possibly fit anything else in it.

Atoll watched anxiously as the girl floundered, unsure she could help any more if the girl simply refused to drink. Her heart thrummed like hummingbird wings, her nerves telling her to do something, anything - but short of drowning the little wretch, she didn't know what could be done.

A heavy sigh of relief left her as the girl's mind finally caught up with her body. The babe drank deeply, easing some of the Blackrock beta's worry. Perhaps she was only thirsty and tired and scared, and would be well again soon enough. Either way, it was good that she drank, though she siphoned up more than the woman would have believed could fit in so small a body. Knowing that whatever she couldn't take would come back up without trouble, Atoll allowed the girl to quench herself, pressing soothing licks up her little spine as much for her own comfort as that of her new charge.

"Sy," she murmured, almost begging him to come to her. Her frayed nerves were being slowly soothed by the vigor with which her baby drank, but she needed her love's presence to wipe away the stress the journey had caused her.

I almost forgot again, she thought to herself, pushing her nose against her cub's back as she picked up Szymon's tune, harmonizing with him as much as she could in her current state. I was heading back to the bay, at least, but I almost forgot about why. About him.

He grounded her. Without him, she didn't know up from down, and she needed his strength now. Would not believe in this reality until his heat was pressed against her side, and his long muzzle was slanted toward her own. There was no Doe without Szymon, and without Doe, what was there? Life would go on, but it would be lost to her, just as surely as she had been lost to the world.

Supressing a whimper, she licked her girl's back once more, humming more intently to block out the confusion of her train of thought.

They were fine.

Several more of the soft, pitiful cries escaped the tiny sea urchin, and Szymon’s hackles, wild and unkempt, rippled down his spine; they stood sentinel even as his Doe’s gusty sigh of relief reached his waiting ears. Their tattered points flickered indecisively as he watched the girl drink — tentatively at first, then with a burgeoning gusto he knew to be folly; she would lose it all, he thought, and rumbled uneasily.

“Sy.”

The Atoll’s voice, low and unsteady, drew Szymon with a force so magnetic even the unfamiliarity of the child could not dissuade him. Doe needed him, and he would go to her — perhaps he needed her, too, and perhaps the child needed them both. The notion was terrifying, but he crept forward upon his belly anyway, doing his best not to frighten the girl into running — if she ran while voiding the overflow of water, she could choke. Still humming, though his splendid bass timbre was haggard and breathless, he came up upon the pair — perhaps if he paid little overt attention to the child, she would be willing to ignore him. And he curled his body around his Chosen One, mindful and ready to move should the child regurgitate what water she could not drink or become agitated at his presence or be followed by the dark male from the flatland.

He gave her what she needed, and in doing so, received the same sense of peace and wholeness that Doe so ardently sought. His muzzle rested across her shoulder blades, his teeth and tongue preening through the fur at the nape, and a great shudder overtook his body as he catalogued the scent of the cub — a new scent, but one already saturated with Doe’s. I don’t know how to do this, Doe, he thought with a measure of despair, burrowing his lean muzzle into the fur of her ruff and breathing deeply. Her scent and nearness reassured him, but his tail continued to twitch with frenetic energy and he dared not speak, lest the stutter arise in full force and irritate her. He simply continued to hum to himself, to Doe, and to the small sea urchin that rested on her paws. I will keep you safe, he thought ardently. Both of you.

He would have to learn.

Sorry for the delay! I didn't realize it was my turn, whoops. Feel free to power play Qilaq for the rest of the thread!

Her lapping slows down until her head hangs low, above the water and barely supported by the woman's paws. Eyes half lidded, a rumble in her stomach keeps her from being comfortable. Water should have been the answer but only does it bring another set of problems the young girl isn't ready for. The urge to get away from the other clouds her judgement and she moves a fraction to one side to find herself unsteady and unable to go farther when suddenly a rush of warm water expels from her mouth. 

Qilaq's sides angle in against her ribs as she heaves a second time, another flow of water spilling out of her mouth and on to the ground and her front paws. She blinks a few times, eyes watering and mouth oozing drool as she lazily puts her head on one of the woman's front feet. It is not long before exhaustion takes its course, and as much water as she'd been able to retain, and her body becomes heavy with sleep.

A soft ah escaped the woman as she watched her newly appointed charge disspell most of the water she'd just drunk, but she did not flinch away from the acrid flow. Some got in her fur, a mess of it was spilled over her paws - but that didn't matter. She nosed worriedly at the girl, careful not to jostle her, and tried to sniff out possible causes of her confusion and lethargy. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary to the woman, however. Weariness, hunger, stress.

She is healthy. She is safe, she is healthy, and she is mine.

The thoughts warmed her heart, and she shifted the tiny being closer to her chest, supporting her more firmly in the water as it stripped away those sour fluids and the unnatural heat of her body. Very soon, they would have to leave for the safety of their blessed land - but Doe would wait just a while longer while she got used to this strange new feeling that was growing in her heart.

"I worry for her already," she said to Szymon, marvelling at the fact. Her head twitched toward him, but her eyes stayed on the girl, protective even in this moment of peace.

Szymon didn’t need to know why Doe had staked such a huge claim on this child; he didn’t care what her motives had been or who Riverbone was or if this tiny girl was truly his daughter. Doe wanted her and he would ensure that she kept her. Carefully, slowly, because his voice wanted badly to stammer and stutter and he knew he needed to present himself as a stronger creature, “Doe,” he intoned quietly, his bass timbre hushed and reverent. There was wonder in her voice as much as worry and he didn’t know how to appropriately respond; he licked his lips anxiously, trying again to still the racing of his heart. “She is yours, my l-lovely girl,” is what he eventually went with, “and Skellige and h-his warhounds will p-protect and raise her w-with you — I most f-fiercely of all.” Though Szymon would feel immeasurably more comfortable in the protected territory, he was content to stay here, reassuring his Chosen One and their frail ward as long as necessary. “I will walk with you until the b-bay comes into v-view,” he said, “and then I will go further s-south for supplies.” Already his subservient mind was hatching plans about food, toys, and items of recovery for the stingers that he could see tangled in Doe’s fur. “Rest until then,” he told her gently.