Moonspear love the child

Hydra gazed at the bodies of four sleeping cubs, perfect in near every way but for their excessive energy. Perhaps that, too, ought to mean they were perfect; these inexhaustible souls would no doubt contribute well when someday they could. Their spirits were great, and sometimes Hydra enjoyed it–this day, though, her gaze upon them was pure relief that they slept so soundly. Hydra rose and moved to the mouth of the den, crawling so that her body was half-out and half-in of the den she had made. She was always content to keep close, but her bright gaze this day looked to the horizon. 

Soon she would introduce her babes to the pack; soon, she could join the ranks again and resume her border patrol. Hydra kept active near the whelping den, sparring with her sisters and brothers and her mate, too. It was him her gaze sought, and she hoped now to see him emerge from the line of trees nearby.

And she had been right to think of him.

From the timberline he emerged only to dip into it again along the juts of stone, a sort of weaving and meandering spell that carried him. He hadn't quite intended to go by Hydra's whelping den again so soon, but it was where the path took him, and the muscle memory carried him further. It was only when he spotted her resting in the den mouth that his steps turned towards her with mute interest; he wondered what crossed her mind then to idle so, or whether or not the pups she protected so swiftly had finally worn her down.

The confidence in his stride faltered as he closed in—he knew to be wary and knew his dance well. It was just as probable that she didn't want company as much as she did, and a once over of his surroundings told him that she seemed to be alone for the time being. Yet there was something there that always tested the boundaries of their unspoken arrangement, a certain surly antagonism in his step beneath the absent confidence. He didn't want to aggravate her or stoke that ire, no, but he did not shy away from the opportunity to reach out and touch, to steal a tender moment by his hand in whatever solitude they had between them.

And today, he was feeling particularly enticed. Perhaps he could steal her away.

His muzzle reached for her, a lascivious smile gracing his countenance.

Hydra lay sphinx-like, though in the passing time she lay her muzzle upon her forelegs. Her ears twitched now and then as a bird took flight, and a rabbit fussed in the nearby brambles. But when she heard the familiar tread she had hoped to hear the woman alertly lifted her head, searching eyes hunting for his familiar silhouette which she would see in three, two—

There he was, as handsome as ever, blending well with the earthy tones that surrounded him. One ear cupped back, listening to the sound of the babes in their deep slumber while also attentive to his arrival. With no teeth revealed as he reached for her, Hydra leaned into his embrace with a pleased hum before moving to nip his cheek fondly from below. King Dirge, she began, playfully formal, The crown suits you, husband. she drawled, tilting her head slightly and grinning wolfishly.

He may have debated progressing things a little further when her voice reached up to him, the words bringing a halt to whatever inappropriate thoughts he had. King Dirge, he mused to himself. It had a certain ring to it that he hadn't thought about; whatever sense of pride he may have had was mute for the time being, given the series of tumultuous events that had proceeded all. It wasn't how he had intended to rise into power, certainly not how Hydra had planned to either.

But still...

"It does have a nice ring to it," he supposed with a thin smile. He followed through with stepping over her, settling in the dust and grit of her prior excavations. "Goes well with Queen Hydra, I'd think." The smile broadened, and he briefly stole a glance away to the darkened den where the cubs laid. Hers, he thought of them, at least for now. They were wholly hers—he wondered after them, wanting to see them, but knowing better. Stolen glances were the best he would glean for now, and his gaze turned back to her.

"And I suppose that would make them princes and princess of present and future."

How things had come to pass was unfortunate. She had hoped that both her mother and her father would have been here to support her, as she had done for them... but it was not to be. Her children heralded a bright, new beginning—though the pain had not faded in its entirety, it had become background noise, muffled by the mewls of their children and their daily growth.

Hydra looked pleased as he called her Queen, and she nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly. Queen Hydra and King Dirge; strong and sure of their place in this world. Together. On top. Her ears pricked at his supposing, and one foreleg crossed neatly over the other. It does, she hummed. I have named them, our princes and princess, she informed with a bright look. They had discussed it, at length—options, what would best suit them. Ultimately he left it to her to decide, though she had done so mindfully.

Atlas, Antares, and Osiris are our princes... and Vega, our princess, she watched his expression, wondering what he might think of these names. This simple boon she could give him, until he could meet them and see them with his own eyes. They breathed deeply in the den, sleeping soundly.

It was potentially of interest to note that he felt something unsettling in the way that she referenced the children. They were in essence of them both, but he wavered back and forth in how he thought of them, often considering them more hers than his in any regard. To father was one thing, but to be a father was another thing entirely, and how he would rise to the occasion was a matter yet to unfold. It had been in part why he had left their names up to her—she had wanted tradition, had tradition to build from, and he had none. The threat of inadequacy from then passed over him now, masked behind an appraising note in his throat.

"Vega... I believe your brother suggested that to me at one point," he noted, gently touching her with his nose. "But they do seem a suitable set of names for certain. Proud, and strong. You chose well." It was easy to pull that thin smile across his face, to seem appeased when the truth of it was that he didn't know how to feel. The neutrally, the apathy of it, that was unsettling; he chalked it up to simply being able to see them. And it may have been a large part of it indeed, but he was far from begrudging her of how she wanted to progress things. They were both a guarded set if nothing else.

Yes, you may have mentioned that, she thought she recalled, but motherhood was an exhausting venture. Perhaps he had not and she was thinking wrongly, but she was too tired to think too hard on it here and now. It was something of a tribute to Arcturus, and Dirge, that name. Their words held weight to her. If she had been told, it would make all the more sense how the name came forth from her own lips. And if she had not, well, some things were simply meant. 

Her own nose reached to meet his own, and she sighed contently. She had thought so, too. Hydra humored him with stories of them; though he could not yet see them, she would let him know them as best she could. Atlas seems to be the most inquisitive of them already. Atlas the bold, she quipped. And Antares does not like to be disturbed when busy sleeping or feeding. He will growl when displeased, I think he will be fierce, perhaps. Antares the fearsome, Hydra retold Dirge of Atlas desiring to explore the world but a few feet beyond her belly, as that was all he could reach, with an amused light in her eye. Osiris is the hungriest of them. When I wake, he feeds. And when I rest, he feeds; it is as though he has never eaten. He is only fussy when Vega or his brothers get in the way of his meals, Hydra watched him, her mate, as she went onto their daughter. And Vega is perhaps the most quiet of them. She likes to scale her brothers, and myself if not them. She may have a taste for adventure, Hydra imagined, tilting her head.

He listened as she regaled him with tales of just what they did. How humoring it was to know that Antares wished not to be disturbed, or that Vega was bound and determined to explore the confines of her finite world. To know that even in their infancy that they had distinct personalities shaping already, to be bold like Atlas or opportunistic like Osiris—he wondered if he and his sisters had been so forward in their expressions.

Perhaps it was simply scripted from their birth that they would become what they were now, but he did not put much into stock about that. Nor did he wonder entirely how much different his life had been had he not been so ill-favored from the beginning.

"Best keep an eye on her then," he teased. "Can't have a daughter going astray or getting led off by some knave can we?" Or worse, he darkly considered for another time, the possibility that something else carting her away entirely. Such he did not expect however, knowing that there were constant eyes and ears kept close to watch and hear all that went on. Even now, he could have sworn he felt those eyes lingering unseen.

Hydra smirked at his response, and looked at her own knave. It was amusing to consider what might be in her future, given it seemed so far away from here and now. No, we cannot, Hydra agreed, tone light and playful. But perhaps Vega would not be so willfull as she, and susceptible to being spirited away. Hydra supposed that if it was in the name of their dynasty, why not? Her mate was wonderful, and hers alone now—she would slaughter any who sought to make it otherwise without blinking an eye. The last thing they would ever see before eternal darkness would be her teeth. 

She has her three brothers to fend off those that would seek to whisk her away too soon for our liking, and a mother and a father with a sharp eye for the sort, she quipped. Who would know a knave better than a knave, after all—and the woman who could snare one? Hydra moved to bestow an affectionate kiss to his own cheek in a rare show of the way she felt for him before resuming her former position.

She sounded very assured that nothing would befall her daughter, at least in the sense that some unfortunate creature would come to whisk her away. It humored him that she thought so, but he knew there would be a time when they thought fully for themselves. Hydra could have had any pick of suitors that could catch her attention, and yet he had won out in the end. This he wondered of from time to time, though ultimately it wasn't worth much of it.

But she wasn't wrong to think that a knave would know a knave, least of all one who had suspicions to begin with. It was not entirely in his nature to be trusting—even now, he was keenly aware of how he even held her at arm's length. Yet she never pushed for the sordid details and for all purposes in her affection, still held love for him. It was a tender moment that served to whisk him away, from ponderings and considerations, and he let a smile grace their presence.

"At least we needn't worry of such things for quite some time," he murmured. "And at least things are quiet." Strangely so, maybe, given the equally sordid past that he knew Moonspear to possess. The lull was deceptive at best and this too he did not trust, but it hardly kept him from occupying the moment he shared with Hydra.

She agreed with him, humming lowly in a show of it, ears twitching. Quiet, indeed—Hydra knew better than to trust the silence for too long. For now, though, she was grateful that life saw fit to press pause on the chaotic ongoings of late so she could devote her energies to what needed them most. Hydra was eager to wholly return to the pack, but instinct kept her here for now. They still needed her near.

Shifting her hindquarters slightly, Hydra thought to ask, any sight of @Revui? She had wondered if he had it in him to return; he had left without a word to anyone, and though she had expected such a doltish thing to be done by Korei Julia she had not expected Revui to have done it. He was simple, though, was he not? In an entirely different way, but simple nonetheless.

Revui. Admittedly, he hadn't thought much about him lately. Though his absence was a curious sort, it had long been buried beneath everything else that had occurred. His disappearance came at such a strange time. Even now, he hadn't spared a thought to where the steely Ostrega had disappeared to, at least not until Hydra had brought it back to his attention.

"No," he answered. His gaze drew out to the expanse ahead of them, picking through the timber. "I haven't any clue where he would have gone to, either." His words were hushed, the mirth in them stolen away. Perhaps he should have devoted a little time to seeking the yearling out, if only to soothe her wonder. But there was ultimately little to go on, especially now. Any trace of Revui had been washed and blown away.

"Any thoughts on that? Perhaps I haven't been looking in the right place," when really, he hadn't even looked at all.

She shook her head. No, she admitted. The last I scented of him was him following the trail of a bear. There was blood, mostly the bears... but perhaps the bear had gotten one clean swipe on her brother. It was all such beasts really needed, with the power they possessed. They would need to teach their cubs to avoid facing one alone, but Revui had always been headstrong and reckless. Usually he did not act by himself, but with the chaos of all things transpiring, surely he was not thinking straight. Surely he sought blood as the rest of them craved to in those tense and tumultuous day. 

The Ostrega looked to him, and shook her head. No. If he is alive and well and wishes to return home, he will. If you do detect any traces of him, I would like to know, she decided. Her children began to stir within the den, and Hydra knew she must return to them now. The pitch of @Osiris was enough to know he was hungry, and she sighed. Let me know if there is any trouble, she requested, moving to nip his cheek gently before withdrawing into the den. I will see you again soon, husband, an impish grin was the last he would see of her before she blended with the darkness of the whelping dens entrance. 

WE NEED A NEW 1

"Of course," he answered softly, his gaze trailing after her as she began to retreat. With no easy way to steal a glance to the mewling babes within, Dirge soon moved to resume his own meanderings. He didn't know whether or not wind of Revui would turn up, but stranger things were bound to happen. A trip about the borders would potentially stir something up, whether it was word of her absent brother, or of some tasty morsel to snare and bring back.