Stone Circle Sleep, pretty darlin’

”Bjarna?” 

Skáld had spent some time resting since his return, but had not once been visited by his sister. She was busy, perhaps- the pack was small, and her role had likely grown since he’d seen her last. He imagined his dutiful sister tending to the pack with the very same care that she’d tended to him.

And he had gone, but returned- only to find her scent faded day by day. Along the borders, it fell away in the Spring rain. At her usual haunts, new grasses grew, covering up her well-worn paths. Little was left behind. 

But perhaps she was hiding; perhaps she did not want to see him yet, and perhaps she was angry with him for having disappeared. 

He did not scent his mother in Kvarsheim, either; the only familiar scent belonged to Gunnar, who was the pack’s anchor. 

”Bjarna? Please, don’t hide from me?” He called out as he roved. ”Bjarna? Please? I am sorry I was gone, please- I want to see you?”

The breeze rose and fell- and only silence followed.

Gunnar was limping through the pack lands when he heard the cries of young Skald. His heart hurt so badly for him.

He followed the sound and gently chuffed at the boy. A knowing look in his eyes. His siblings had l3ft him and then he'd left them.

sorry on phone shorty post

The voice that caught his attention did not belong to Bjarna, but nevertheless elicited a positive response. Tail wriggling at his ankles, Skáld lowered his head, and greeted the pack’s leader with affection and reverence; in his eyes shone a sadness, though.

”I can not find Bjarna…Is she angry with me for being away? I want to apologize, but I can’t find her anywhere,” There was a fey, pleading tone to his trembling voice; doubt crept in.

His chest tightened at the boys sad words. He sighed and shook his head.

she could never be angry at you, Skald. No Bjarna juat needed a small break herself. She went exploring.

He knew it didnt mean much and it probably wouldn't make him feel much better. But at least he knew she wasn't angry.

He was relieved to hear that Gunnar seemed to know why Bjarna had left, and while he was discouraged still, he could accept the fact that perhaps his sister had seen some sort of adventure was to be had. He would never have held her back from it, had he been there to know- though her absence left a space in his heart. 

He felt needy, and unsure of how exactly to exist without her; he’d failed so badly on his own, it didn’t seem likely he would manage very well even if he was in a pack. 

Fortunately, he felt he could rely on Tauris- though he still wished he could be a bit more self-reliant. 

”You won’t leave, will you? Gunnar?” The boy asked, pleading.

Gunnar smiled at the youth and realized he didn't know much about him. And he hadn't taught him as he should have. This he felt guilty for. He decided then he'd teach the boy better. Starting with perhaps a hunt?

Gunnar's heart twisted at the boys question and he wished he could promise him this, so much. But Gunnar was not young anymore. He was old and his time would come, hopefully not for at least another year or so, but you could never know. Instead he smiled and he nodded.

I will not leave. It was all he could offer. He wouldn't leave of his own free will, but if death took him there wasn't much he could do.

Skald, would you like to to hunt with me? I'm pretty slow now that I'm older and I often need help.

That wasn't the truth, well it was a bit, but he wanted to teach the boy without him feeling as if he were teaching him. So he didn't feel embarrassed or anything.

Skáld did not factor in death. He did not see Gunnar as a man aging, slowing, and whatever hitch there might have been in his step Skáld thought surely must simply be a unique little charm, or reminiscent of some old injury.

”I will hold you to this promise; it means…A lot, Gunnar,” He said, ears flattening and eyes squinting. He did not want yet another one of the wolves he loved wandering off.

The concern about his age did make the boy fret. ”Oh- I, uh, oh, I—-I am not…Not a very good hunter, Gunnar,” He admitted, feeling a bit like a coward.

Gunnar was fine that the boy didn't see his age. He preferred it even. He wouldn't fret so much then. Gunnar would act as spry as a spring chicken for the boy until he absolutely couldn't.

Gunnar grinned. Well then I can teach you? Would you like me to teach you?

Gunnar was not a great hunter, but he could get the job done. He briefly thought of assigning skald to the young man Ikaros to train, but didn't know if they could work together with the language barrier.

Gunnar was encouraging, though the boy lacked a great deal of nerve. He fawned lightly, turning his face away- the offer was kind, but he sincerely doubted that he would be any good, even at learning the basics. He was quiet for a moment as he tried to think of a polite way to reject the offer- but nothing came to mind. Full of reservation, and timid about the idea altogether, he eventually nodded. "Yes, okay," He said, with a guilty, weak smile. 

He stood awkwardly, then, ears flicking back and forth, and his gaze flicking about. What exactly did Gunnar expect him to do? Where were they even supposed to start? His mind raced with doubts and questions- so he turned his doleful, cheerless gaze to the leader, hoping for as much direction as he could possibly be given.

It was clear that Skald was nervous about it, but that was alright. Everyone had to learn somewhere. And for a moment Tveir was afraid he would turn away the offer. But he didn't.

Gunnar smiled. Well first things first is remember everyone starts somewhere and it doesn't matter where. And ask questions if you have them. There's no such thing as a stupid question in my opinion. It's how you learn. Now then.

Gunnar shifted. We want to find a scent trail. You can do that by nose to the ground or scenting the air. I'm an old man so I prefer nose to the ground.

So Gunnar showed him the proper stance and then position for smell. Most prey animals smell musty, but as you begin to recognize them they have other smells. Squirrels for instance sometimes smell like nuts, rabbits smell like dust. Etc.

Gunnar took Skáld inexperience in his stride and gracefully, in a manner both gentle and reassuring, he coached the boy, simultaneously teaching him and coaxing him a bit of out his shell. A playful child, Skáld was eager to please the patriarch of the pack, and summoned up whatever courage he had which amplified when combined with the affection he had for the fatherly figure.

He followed Gunnar’s instruction smilingly, and began to roam around, his nose held low. He hummed softly to himself as he sniffed this way and that, until he caught the scent of wild mountain thyme. He buried his nose in the bush and inhaled deeply, exhaling happily. It always made him feel soothed and happy. 

The prey animals, it seemed, would smell more earthy. So he abandoned the flowers, and roved along hoping to find something that might smell more musky.

Skald though reluctant, began to listen. Gunnar felt pride beat at his chest. The boy wasn't his own by blood, he didn't think. He very well may could be, but what he did know was he loved him regardless and he held such pride in the young gentle man he was growing into.

Gunnar chuckled Mountain Thyme. Helps with breathing ailments, stomach ailments, and joints. Do you have an interest in plants, Skald?

Gunnar followed the youth. His own nose searching out. He caught a scent, but waited a beat of a minute to see if Skald would catch it too.

The boy startled, and blushed as soon as he realized he'd become distracted, and that his flower-sniffing had not gone unnoticed. His ears flicked apprehensively, as he took in the information and regarded the plants once more. He knew he was supposed to be hunting...But if Gunnar could teach him about plants- then why not do that instead? 

"Yes! I like flowers, very much," He said. Noticing that Gunnar had begun to scent again, he moved along as well, though the plants had become much more interesting to him than hunting prey...And as such, he found himself willfully searching instead for more fragrant plants. "Do they all help?" He asked, hoping they might continue on his preferred topic.

Gunnar saw the flick and he wondered if the boy would ask about flowers. He could handle that topic too at least a little if he preferred to learn of healing and the like. He hadn't meant to embarrass the young man. He had only remarked, because he saw him enjoying them.

Gunnar stopped his search and settled down to his haunches knowing this was going to change to a different lesson. He shook his head. No some help, some hurt and some just smell nice. My mother was a healer you know. She loved it.

Gunnar looked around trying to figure out what was lying that he could remember. He pointed out a nettle nearby and spoke softly. This is nettle there are different kinds. Some stinking nettle they have white hairs on them they sting, but can heal if you use them right. Nettle can help your muscles and your joints, skin rashes.

He'd forgotten that flowers could hurt- but he knew the feeling of a thorn, and the pain of foxtail barley. He did not know the name of the plants, but he recognized them easily enough, and avoided them when he could. The one mentioned was not one Skáld had ever truly investigated- and it was with reasonable caution that he approached the leafy green plant to study it more closely. 

His ears flattened at the thought of being stung, though it did not have long, obvious thorns like the wild rose bushes. He was tempted to touch it with his nose to see what Gunnar was talking about, since it wasn't immediately obvious how fine white hairs could sting...but he trusted Gunnar, and withdrew slightly. "How do you use them without getting stung?" He asked.

Gunnar was always cautious when it came to plants. His mother had instilled that in him in the most deepest of ways. He wouldn't allow someone to go unlearned when it came to them. And if Skald truly wanted to learn of them. Perhaps he needed to seek out Riverclan and see if they would teach or even Ash Paw she may.

My mother used to use a wet leaf and wrap it around it. But also if you get them when they first start to unfurl. They don't sting.

He hated stinging nettles, because not only did they sting, but then the nettles stayed in until they worked themselves out and on fur it was not a fun time.

Part of the trick, it seemed, was simply plucking the leaf from the plant. Not terribly difficult for most plants, Skáld thought, but for this one it seemed there would have to be some amount of care taken to avoid getting sticky prickles in his lips or tongue. A new leaf, or perhaps using one as a shield might work. 

"Then what?" He asked. "How do you use the leaf? Eat it?" He asked. It didn't seem very appetizing, given the fact that the leaf was all green and smelled like it would taste just like grass.

Gunnar shook his head. Mother used to steep it in water.

He was sure there was more to it than that. But it had been so long and he hadn't paid as good attenting as he should have. He dipped his nose.

Or she would crush it between two rocks over a leaf and make a powder to then put in water for paste.

He tilted his head. Riverclan is full of healers and the wolf Tumeric that is often found with a Inkeri, he is a healer too. I love teqching you what i know, but I'm not as learned as they are.

A gentle press of his muzzle to the boy. I'm very proud of you for seeking out knowledge for something you love.

The idea of steeping something was new, but he decided that he would try it soon to see how well it worked. Of course, he might not have anything to heal- but even the process of creating a medicinal ointment might be worthy trying. He supposed such a thing couldn't hurt...And it would be better for him to be practiced in making medicines before he needed to actually do so, for an injury. 

He might try both techniques, and see which he liked better. Perhaps he would find someone with a minor cut that he could try to heal. Otherwise, he might have to make the medicines just to see how long they lasted- nettles would not have leaves in the winter, and he wondered if the paste could be stored and used throughout the winter months. 

He listened, and while the thought of going to Riverclan to learn more didn't appeal to him, he thought perhaps learning from Tumeric might be a good idea. Plus, if Tumeric was around Inkeri lots, it would mean getting to spend more time with her, too. He uttered a soft, grateful sound when Gunnar praised him. He was glad he'd not been forced to learn how to track and hunt- and that instead he'd found something he took an interest in. "Thank for teaching, Gunnar,"

Gunnar knew that it would peak his interest. Glad he could share something of his mother with the boy. A child that very well could be his own flesh and blood, but was not loved any less if he weren't.


Gunnar chuckled. I'm glad some of the knowledge from my mother wasn't lost. I wish i could share more, but i unfortunately didn't pay as close attention to the lessons as I should have.

A frown marred his greying face. He should have paid better attention. He could have taught more. Instead he could only share spare bits and pieces that he wasn't sure would help or not.

He mentioned his mother again, and this time with a tone of regret. Skáld tilted his soft ears back, knowing at least in part how it felt to miss someone. He kept memories of his own mother as close to his heart as he could, though occasionally he found them fading. The sound of her voice was a distant lullaby now, its tone shifted and changed every time he tried to recall it. 

"What was your mother's name?" He asked. Perhaps he might not recall her teachings, but he might remember what she had been called, and what she'd been like. Skáld got the sense that perhaps Gunnar did not talk much about his mother- but that perhaps he might want to, now.

Gunnar truly missed Thistle. He missed all hia family. He hadn't been close to all his siblings sadly, but the few he had been. He wondered where life had taken them.

Gunnar made a soft hmm noise. Her name was Thistle Cloud, though most everyone called her Thistle except my father who called her queen. She was this big.

He held out a paw. His mom had been tiny. How she had borne the sons she had he'd never know. She'd truly been something.

She was very kind and intelligent she could tell you about almost any plants.

Her name even sounded like a flower, and it was with fond reverence that Gunnar spoke about her. Skáld could tell that he missed her, but it sounded as though Gunnar had had some time with her. He still remembered her, and with clear detail as well. The boy's expression turned to surprise, when he learned how small Thistle Cloud had been. "You are much bigger!" He said with a soft laugh. Side by side, Gunnar would likely have been several inches taller than his mother, it seemed. The boy had to wonder, then- how tall was his own mother? Surely, she was taller than him...

"You have siblings as well? What was your father's name?" He wanted to learn more- and to believe that Gunnar had grown up with a loving, kind family.

His mother's name had fit her pefectly both in skils and personality. She was sweet nstured but had bite to her. And she knew plants so well. She had been truly great.

Gunnar chuckled I am and my father was even bigger, but all her sons were large or medium like me.

He nodded. i did. The man who raised me and i call father his name was Ragnar. I had 6 siblings from my mother. My father had other children before mom. And possibly after. Their relationship was a different one. But my litter mates were Gyda and Mercury. And my younger siblings were Floki, Kaylan, Kjalarr and Ragna.

Ragnar and Thistle Cloud- affectionately referred to as Queen which Skáld thought was absolutely adorable. The sort of stuff he expected to hear from fairytales about soulmates. He kept this in mind, hoping some day he might have someone he could fawn over and call royalty as well, though the idea of having a significant other (and counting on them to stick around) occurred to him very little. Still- he liked the idea of it, and sat listening like an eager schoolchild when he learned about other wolves' families. 

His ears fell back slightly to hear that there had been an after, and he was worried to ask what that might imply. Perhaps Gunnar too had lost his mother, and only his father had survived to have more children. "Big family," He whispered reverently. "Gunnar, you....You have your own children?" He asked cautiously. Of course, he knew Gunnar considered a few wolves to be like children to him, but Skáld was curious to know if he'd had children of his own, years ago.