Wapun Meadow there's more to me then death / disaster

for @Mawk & @Illecebra

A numbness had begun to settle into Cyron’s muscles and seep into the marrow of his bones as he trudges through the deep and untrodden snow that blankets the Wapun Meadow. His destination is home; holding onto memories of warmth; of his mother and father, of his siblings. It’s what has kept him going for this long, during his captivity. He isn’t sure how he managed to escape — days and details had begun to blur together as he receded deeper and deeper into himself to staunch the damage being done to his psyche, his mind. The important thing was to focus upon the fact that he was alive, that he had escaped and that thus far he had not been pursued. Hopefully, they will think he is not worth the effort.

Cyron is rawboned and filthy, malnourished and hungry. The thought of food makes his stomach turn with nausea even as his mouth inevitably waters; but he tucks all the things away: the hunger and the cold to focus on his singular goal: return home. His steps falter as he reaches a strand of mighty cottonwood trees, their black bark stark against the blinding bone-white of the snow. He reaches the nearest tree and presses his weight against it before his legs tremble and he shivers violently as he collapses to the snow, consumed by exhaustion. He is so close and yet …it is so very far.

It was his undeniable love for his stolen son that set him off away from within the borders of Easthollow, his determination to continue searching in hopes that somehow, the boy may have escaped the dark woods and those bloody trails that marked it. The pale wolfdog stalked the meadow, fiery gaze scanning every inch of the land in fear he might miss a sign, a faded scent he could follow. For Cyron had never been one to make much noise, and with his small frame he could be difficult to spot.

Illecebra was home once more, and it had sent another surge of hope that if she had made it, Cyron and Rowana might still be out there too - he clung tightly onto this thought, this belief. He caught the scent of a wolf, and for a moment his heart began racing but alas, as he nosed through the snow he discovered the aroma to be of an unrelated stranger, perhaps a lone wolf travelling across the valley. He told himself silently that he should not get his hopes up so fast, and yet still he felt the disappointment weigh in his chest like a heavy stone.

Mawk continued moving, paws not having felt the cold for some time now, and after he began to feel weary and distraught. He had been preparing to return to his home but the scent that drifted his way caused his blood to boil and his face to set in a furious snarl. The scout whipped around with his tail lashing, but as he caught no sight of a Blackfeather wolf his features softened and confusion momentarily passed over his expression. He could not help the burning curiousity that perked his ears forward, tail nosing through the snow again and then back in the air as he attempted to distinguish where the scent had come from - there. Though he had no figure in sight to target, he followed what he could of the scent, brows furrowing.

What he came upon shocked him beyond belief, and as his eyes widened he felt his heart hammer against his chest... The small grey pup was still on the snow, clearly having collapsed and lacking the energy to lift itself up. Mawk lowered his head and gently nudged the youngster to see if it was alive, and his suspicions about the identity of the boy were confirmed - it was Cyron, he was sure. His boy... was alive. Reeking of Blackfeather, but alive. With rapid breathing, he attempted to draw the small figure closer to warm him slightly. He'd bring him back to Easthollow and care for him there, but he had to be certain his son would make it there.

It wasn't surprising that when she was supposed to be resting she was in fact not doing so and wandering instead. She caught wind of Mawk's scent and had begun to trail him,curiosity making her want to follow. She was slow and wobbly and stayed behind Mawk far enough not to be spotted by her mate. She hadn't the slightest clue that her lover was still searching for their boy and all the rest of their children, so she was wondering why he was out.

The lone wolves scent put her on edge and she froze,hackles bristling as she looked around with wide eyes. After a few moments she realized there was nobody around and continued to trail Mawk. After a while there was yet another scent, this one made her growl audibly and running forward after Mawk afraid that he had encountered a blackfeather wolf.


What she saw instead made her both break and filled her with a fire that made her leap forth "my baby! My baby!" She screamed and fell to her belly beside Mawk,weeping and covering them both with kisses. She was exhausted by this point, pushing herself a bit too far by tracking her mate but she had no regrets. They had found their boy, and that was all that mattered.

Cyron’s eyelids are heavy and he fights the urge to let slumber take him for as long as he possibly can. He has to keep going. If there is nothing else he knows it is this. His body demands rest. He wants to sleep. He was brave, at least, he thinks. Or, at the very least this is what Cyron tells himself: that he was brave for escaping; but that ‘bravery’ could easily be misconstrued. It could have just as easily been terror that had finally spurred him into action; regardless Cyron believes it was his bravery. He does not realize that it was his fear that gave him the chance to be brave; that the two are not absent one another. For once, Cyron was his own hero. He thinks that with a gentle stirring of warmth in his numb chest, a small spark of something where he previously felt nothing but the insistent drive to keep walking. To not stop.

The warmth spreads and Cyron stirs having drifted off into sleep without truly meaning to, blinking blurry eyed at the looming shape. Cyron does not recognize his father right away, whether it was from his time away though Mawk had not changed so much as Cyron had or disorientation from being awoken from his cat nap. There is a sudden influx of noise: ‘my baby! my baby!’. The words are high pitched and cause Cyron to flinch, startled as he is showered with kisses. His heart pounds rapidly in his chest and he takes a few deep breaths and shifts his weight in the snow, curled tail giving a soft half-hearted wag as realization begins to dawn on him. “Mama? Papa?” His voice is as raw and rough as he no doubt looks, having not been used during his time in Blackfeather Woods. His tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth and the sound of his own voice causes him to recoil slightly. It too has changed. It has lost the softened and high-pitched cadences of early pup-hood.

“I wan — wanna go home.” He tells them, stuttering over his tongue, clumsy from months without vocal use, smacking his lips before he weakly scoops up a mouthful of snow in the hope that it might moisten his suddenly dry mouth.

Sorry for crap post!

As the man pulled his son close, his black-tipped ears perked foward - the tone in which Cebra's voice reached him made his head turn and he sent her a tearful smile. Cyron was alive. Both he and the boy were showered with kisses from the emotional mother and he sent a few back, placing gentle licks on both Cebra's cheek and Cyron's head.

His son's voice sounded different to what he remembered - deeper - and he was a good deal larger than the tiny boy he had guarded as a newborn. Still, he was not huge, but he had never been all that big. What mattered was that he was here, alive, perhaps not well, but alive.

"It's okay, you're safe. We'll take you home," He murmered softly, hoping not to startle the youngster or hurt his head - for it was clear he was not in the best state. Mawk slowly nudged the boy to his feet, standing close beside in case he was to topple.

Illecebra continued covering Cyron with long rasps of her tongue,both to comfort and warm the boy. When he spoke up her ears perked at the difference in pitch from the tiny child she remembered but it didn't matter to her at all, he was still their baby boy and after all of this he was safe with them again. "Of course baby boy, we'll take you home and you'll get warm and rest. Me and Daddy will make sure you're safe" she said gently her voice cracking with emotion.

As Mawk stood up she did too her posture strengthened and eyes flashing with that familiar fire. She would take the flank and keep her eyes and ears open while keeping track of the scents around them since Mawk would be smelling Cyron hanging from his jaws. Before they began to walk she pressed her nose to Mawk's cheek "maybe this is a sign....all of them will return to us"

since we have a more up-to-date thread ongoing i just edited an conclusion on this one and archived it. :-)

a shudder slithers down cyron’s spine as the pressing warmth of his parents engulf him and though he does desire to return home, he also is content to simply lay there and soak in the body warmth they offer him. and sleep. sleep does not come easy to escapees on the run. besides being little time for it, it seemed impractical when any noise behind him could easily be a blackfeather wolf. cyron tells himself that if they cared enough to look for him, if he truly meant that much to them that they would have set off after him by now. perhaps it is true, or perhaps they are more preoccupied with more pressing concerns then a runaway. whether it was just luck or unintentionally good timing cyron isn’t sure and doesn’t care. cyron is nudged to his paws and he stands slowly, ignoring the aching in his muscles. the sterling saefyn stumbles once, losing his balance, pressing his weight into mawk who stands prepared for it. cyron makes an apologetic noise but does not give actual voice to it. he wasn’t sure what he’d be for apologizing for anyway: everything, potentially. that is an apology for another day when cyron’s rested, his belly full and he’s not left with the fear that he was upon death’s door. he looks first to mawk as he shifts his weight off of his father’s after using him briefly for support and then to illecebra, i’m ready he silently communicates, confident that he could manage the rest of the distance. together, the trio headed the rest of the way to easthollow in heavy and relieved silence.