Blackfeather Woods can you guess how many of these crazy facts are just the weirdest myths?

He had not seen his mother since she had left the glen. In doing she had also removed herself from the forefront of his mind and he had not thought of her at all. He was content with — if not simply accepting of — the nature of his rearing, lacking in maternal attention and love as it was. He had his siblings, and he had an independence and resourcefulness that was nurtured in these circumstances.

Even as he caught sight of @Potema on one of his excursions beyond the nursery — which were becoming longer and more frequent with each passing day — he had no thought about her. Instead, he thought of the mouse he had killed, the warm blood on his tongue and the crunch of bone. He thought of the meat that his packmates had brought. He thought these things without intending to. It was a visceral response. The same as the saliva that collected in his mouth and dripped from the corners of his lips.

He stood like this at length. Slavering and trembling.

If you have time (and if you want to), Alisha. Otherwise open to anyone :)

hey kiddo @Euron

She had walked, moved for the sake of moving. She had no goal in mind, no place to be. She just knew that standing still in her den or in the infirmary was a surefire way to succumb to the chill, or to succumb to her mind's dark tendrils of anxiety, doubt, self-hatred, and paranoia. She walked and hummed softly to herself, a song she had learned long ago from a man she barely thought about these days, gripping tightly onto better memories in her life rather than the dark reality she now lived in.

Reality could not be ignored forever, though. As she walked she looked about absentmindedly, and in the corner of her eye she saw him. The sight of him made her freeze, as if gripped by the ice that snaked in the dirt and solidified the plants at her feet. It was too similar, too much like the lustful face that Sheogorath wore when he took her. Shock took her for a moment, then anger, and she snarled at Euron with a ferocity that she reserved for few wolves in her life.

Her snarl was fiercer than he had ever heard it before — but he had heard it. He had seen her face contorted in disgust and anger. None of this was surprising enough to startle him but it was severe enough to break his ravenous trance and increase his heart rate. It even breathed into him a sense of offense.

I am not understanding!" Euron scowled, his eyes narrowed and his tight mouth quivering as a snarl quarrelled with a frown. Then his voice dipped low and he rasped, "I want to—eow!!" The boy suddenly stumbled sideways, pawing at his head, worrying a spot above his left eye the most. He whimpered and sniffed and then was still. Frozen like a statue. He stayed like this for several moments, until his panting breaths simmered into a calm cadence. Then he turned to face his mother.

He sat down. His head was up. His spine straight and his ears lifted. There was a soldier's discipline to his posture and in the lack of expression on his face. He bowed his head deeply, and his intense gaze bore into the ground at Potema's paws.

"Mother."

Potema rn:

He spoke in a child's babble, but she knew what he had meant. Go away, She verbalizes what her snarl had meant, but she knew that he understood. She did not want this shadow of Cicero in her sight. The other she could tolerate for some brief moments of time, but not him. She looked too much like him, a worst deformity than Maegi or Ramsay had. 

Potema could only stand in confused horror as her son worried fervently at his brow. The seemingly random gasp had startled her, making her step back in fright as he wriggled. The quick stop, the sudden silence was unnerving. But she didn't move. Even as his voice and demeanor changed to an unrecognizable being she had never seen before. 

Who...? She knew that Cicero was two in one body — she blamed both and made no difference between the two. Who are you? She wanted to demand, but fear had shook her words. He had his father's curse of a two souls in one, and she didn't know just what this new being had in mind.

Lmfao that badger. I had a good laugh at that over tea this morning!

The pup looked up and gazed at Potema in a long moment of silence. Then there was a robotic cant of his head. His face might have still been expressionless but there was a discernible question in that simple move and in the length of time it took for him to answer.

"Jyggalag."

He stood then and took several paces toward her. For one so often animated, full of liquid grace and stealth, this time the boy moved with rigid deliberation, and his focus was severe. Nothing but the pale figure of his mother existed around him, or if it did there was no telling.

"I have been waiting for you to come back. To guide me."

The answer, while unexpected, was not all together surprising. In what names she gave her children, she gave Euron the name of Sheogorath's opposite — Jyggalag, the God of Order to Sheogorath's Madness and Chaos. She did it out of spite, hoping that the boy who looked so much like the man who ruined her life would be nothing like him in the end. In the end, he was just like his father-uncle.

Potema did not relax, however, especially not when the boy moved towards her with a frighteningly focused deliberation. She held her breath as he neared her, only releasing it to answer his words. Guide you to what? Curiosity was the only thing keeping her from sprinting away in terror from her mad son.

Potema did not move and he closed what was left of the gap between them. He had no answer for her. He could not articulate what it was he felt. He knew one simple fact: that she was his mother and that she was supposed to guide him. To be there for him. Jyggalag slipped his skull beneath Potema's chin and pressed his forehead to her chest. Then he stepped back and sat down in front of her, in the same stately fashion as he had before: a squire delivering his report.

"Euron wants to eat you."

She flinches as he pressed against her, unused to such affections from any of her latest litter, even if this boy was not the one she had borne. It is a brief gesture, saving her from pushing him away in disgust. Instead he returns to the strict, military position from his initial appearance. He says the words coldly, matter-of-factly, but they chill her, even if they had been said with urgency. Why...? Her memory returns to the story Miraak had told long ago, about a wolfeater from back at his home. Had her son grown to have the same mental deformity, on top of his split souls?

"I do not know."

He knew only that Euron felt that way and that it was his duty to tell her, and to stop him from doing it — as he had before. Such was his innate protectiveness of his mother. She could do nothing to push him away or convince him that she was not meant to be a prominent figurehead in his life. That she was not one of the ones meant to direct him, to teach him what laws he was to be governed by, to what order he was to anchor himself.

Jyggalag rose to his paws and lowered his head in a stately bow.

"I will take him away."

He walked away, pausing several paces ahead to leave his mother with one parting statement, said without turning his head to look at her.

"Do not leave me again."

There was no explanation as to why Euron was like this, though it would be hard for her to comprehend an explanation even if it was given to her. Instead, a solution was offered, no, promised. 

She didn't believe it. Cicero was thought to be gone for months, and yet he returned. She did not think that there was a way to permanently squash these rogue souls, except for killing the body itself. And she did not think that Jyggalag was offering to kill himself. 

The final words were not a plea in Potema's mind, but a threat. That she could be threatened by her own, small children, was not a surprising thing for her anymore, having been threatened by them since their conception. Potema gulped once more, eye staring wide after her one physically-perfect child, fearing what might happen if she left him.