Noctisardor Bypass believe in me and I'll believe in you

What kind of place was Rivenwood anyway? Glaukos asked of @Javelina as they shared a lunch: rabbit for him, fish for her, and frozen berries they'd found among nearby brambles.

He was stripping the rabbit of its fur as he asked this, not caring if the pelt could be salvaged. The ground was red with blood and turning muddy, but he didn't mind.

Would be a good place for an outpost or a barracks. Easily defended. As if he knew what he was talking about.

Her mind strayed to the coast as she peeled off the scales and fed on the flesh of her catch. Glaukos’s voice quickly brought her back to the here and now, her two-toned eyes blinking at his question. She mulled on it as she chewed, gaze dropping to trace over the bloodied ground until he said something that made her look up quickly.

What? she thought, though she pressed her teeth together, remaining contemplatively silent for a beat before saying, It was small but tightly-knit, wonderful… until it wasn’t.

She sighed, though she didn’t want to dwell on thoughts of the raid and how everything had fallen apart, leading to her eventual exodus. She didn’t want to dwell on the bad parts of the past, at least not yet. She was still enjoying immersing herself in all the good memories.

That reminds me, she said after taking a breath, I’d like to go by the name my mother gave me, the one I grew up with: Druid.

She didn't share much. That was fine for now, thought Glaukos, but he felt a little cheated at the same time. He had shared bits and pieces of his own past and somehow expected the same from her. They had time, he reasoned.

Her desire to change her name earned a brief look, but he only grunted and began to eat. Halfway through his meal he took a break and commented, What were your parents like?

He could have told her about his own parents, if he remembered them. The face of Merrick was all that his mind summoned up and he felt a sudden ache, missing some aspect of Ursus even if it had been hellish.

He didn’t acknowledge her statement. She didn’t fault him. Glaukos couldn’t possibly understand what a momentous change she was going through even now. She’d buried Rivenwood a long time ago. Unearthing it was a bittersweet process.

He posed another question. Druid balked: a knee-jerk reaction. She quickly overcame it, however, and smiled softly as she thought of Sequoia. When her mind inevitably flicked to the only father figure she’d ever really known—Mahler—her eyes grew flinty as her lips pulled into a thin line.

You could never find someone more loyal than my mother. When we first began looking around here, I was a little surprised she wasn’t still here. Even after all this time, I can’t imagine her leaving Rivenwood. Nor my sister, Witch.

Yet they had, obviously. She pondered that for the nth time, though only for a moment. Druid drew in a deep, steadying breath through her nose.

I didn’t have a father in my life. The closest I came to it was a man named Mahler. He turned his back on us. One day, he just walked out of our lives without a word, much less a goodbye.

Again, she didn’t want to dwell. He hadn’t asked her about her family, just her parents, yet Druid’s thoughts ventured westward. That was where Heda had gone, wasn’t it? Was she still there? Or had she moved on with her life too? She should go look for her, like she had looked for Mireille.

What about you? Tell me about your family, Druid said, returning her attention to Glaukos.

She didn't appear eager to share. Glaukos couldn't fault her for that, and was patient as he ate, not expecting much beyond some pleasant lies. Instead he got a glimpse in to Druid's past which he appreciated and could, to some extent, commiserate with.

Being loyal was not a bad thing, he would have pointed out if it had mattered.

She asked about him, next.

I never knew them. He couldn't remember them at all, and only knew his father had been loyal to Merrick before his death. When he tried to think of his mother he wouldn't see anything in his minds eye, but there'd always be a strange metallic taste in his mouth that was unsettling.

I was fed by a family that lived there, but I wouldn't say raised. We weren't close. Except they had been, in that diabolical sense, because they were cultists and he was meant to serve and protect Avicus; really, that had been Glaukos' first duty in life. He did not want to think about it.

You sound like you had it good, for a while anyway.

His remark made her think of a saying she’d heard: “It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” Druid wasn’t so certain. Glaukos had never had anything to lose, though of course that was terrible in its own way. Her lips pursed before parting.

Do you know what happened to them? she asked quietly, not sure what to say about those who’d evidently taken him in and fed him without necessarily caring for him otherwise.

Neither one of them had had ideal upbringings, so what kind of parents were they going to make? Druid could look to her memories of Sequoia and try to model her mother, she supposed. Even now, she didn’t feel any particularly maternal instincts, though she decided she would at the very least be there for her offspring.

I had a mother but neither one of us had a father. I guess that means we—you, more specifically—get to make it up as you go along. What kind of dad will you choose to be, do you think? Druid asked, pointedly referencing their previous conversation.

Her question made him pause and think, swallowing a mouthful of food. He gave a roll of his shoulder in a shrug, because in truth he had no idea. There was a vague memory of someone leaving; he had forgotten that he'd had a brother, once, and presumed the sentiment was from a mother or father instead. But he remembered what Merrick had told him, suddenly — that he had been fed the same milk as the man's daughter. He could not picture his mother's face, and such a time was too long ago to dredge through.

I think my dad left. I don't remember my mother, though. Probably both dead by now either way. He said this passively, with little to no feeling behind the statement. It was a truth Glaukos could accept. They had left him somehow, and what could it change now if he knew the truth? He was a grown man. He had survived.

As Druid went on to speak of their similarities (at least in what they lacked), Glaukos huffed over his meal and murmured, I had Germanicus — the general, who taught me to be a soldier. I guess he's the closest I've got to a parent of any kind. But it felt wrong to put that sentiment upon the man.

What kind of dad will you choose to be?

His meal was finished. He licked the blood from his lips now.

Guess we'll find out. They'll be kept safe and fed, so... What else is there? He gave another shrug, although a stern expression settled across his face that Glaukos could not see upon himself, giving him a similar vibe to the Imperator that he hadn't seen in months.

He had promised to stay. Now he vowed to keep any pups safe and fed. Druid’s lips pulled back into a smile. What else was there, indeed?

Love, I guess, she said lightly. I loved my mother. I still do. I know she loved me too. Druid paused, then continued thoughtfully, She was my friend too. I’m not sure how loving I’ll be, to tell you the truth, but I can definitely be a friend.

She realized this could apply to their relationship too. Druid blinked and gazed off into the bypass. They liked one another, that much they’d established. But they hadn’t coupled since her heat had waned, by her choice. It no longer interested her, simply put, but what about the other aspects of a partnership—romance, for instance?

We’ll be their role models too, she continued after her ponderous silence, making no mention of what else was on her mind, so I’ll do my best to make sure they learn to be self-sufficient. I hope to teach them how to fish, for instance.

At the reminder, she pinned a paw on her half-eaten trout and began to gnaw on it again. She kept her charcoal ears pricked for Glaukos’s next words.

Love was an amorphous thing that Glaukos had no experience with. He gave a small huff out of his nose at the mention of it, but kept any further thoughts to himself. Sentimentality was not something he was known for — not that he was known for much — but it was squarely opposite to his lived experience, and as such, he did not place much weight in the suggestion.

They'd discuss division of labour even before they knew if she was carrying, which suited Glaukos. It would be good to have a plan if they were destined to be parents; and if not, at least they'd be prepared. You handle that, I'll teach them how to defend themselves when they're big enough. Maybe hunting, but that'll come naturally. It had to; they were wolves, there was no other way to be.

As she ate, he fell in to his thoughts.

He embellished his intentions for their children. Druid’s smile grew, though the thought of what he’d said earlier tempered it. His only parental figure had been Germanicus, a general. And he thought the bypass would make a good barracks. She was definitely onboard to raise a litter of survivalists, not soldiers.

Once again keeping her thoughts to herself for now, Druid swallowed, smacked her lips and wondered aloud, Which one of us is going to tell them bedtime stories?

The thought amused her. Her mismatched eyes danced as she bent for another bite of Oncorhynchus mykiss.

He snorted a small laugh through suddenly clenched teeth.

That's a you job.

What good were bedtime stories? He had never heard one before. If he was to tell any story it would be a disaster, and he knew it. They'd never get any sleep if he told them anything. He wasn't an inventive creature, and any truths that would be imparted in those liminal moments would surely scar them for life. What kind of dad did that to a kid?

She snorted but said nothing. Druid could always tell them about her early days in Rivenwood. Especially after all this time, they even had a fairy-like quality to them, particularly any that involved her beloved sisters.

I wish we had found them here, she murmured almost too quietly for Glaukos to hear, then raised her voice a little to elaborate, My mother and sister, I mean. They—our children I mean—could’ve had a grandmother and an aunt. Witch would’ve told them the best stories.

She sighed, pushing away the fish’s remains. One dark paw came up to rub over her muzzle, removing a stray scale stuck and tickling there. When she flopped her leg back on the ground, she saw that Glaukos had finished eating too.

Sitting up and stretching simultaneously, Druid’s nose pointed straight upward for a moment before her eyes found his face and she asked, Do you have any thoughts about names for them?

Do we need to decide that now? He said in reference to names; what if she wasn't even pregnant? Although there was little doubt given what they'd been doing together.

Glaukos moved to gather the remains of their meal so it could be buried, to keep pests out of the area. Once he had collected them and buried them some ways off, he returned and settled near to Druid.

I've had many names. You've had some too, by the sound of it. I'm sure it won't be hard to name them. But he had nothing to suggest otherwise.

He seemed rather dismissive about the topic. Druid watched him bury the rinds of their meal, tail swishing thoughtfully. She didn’t take offense. It was very early. But she would be lying if she said some ideas hadn’t already crossed her mind.

There was no reason to press it, nor say that out loud. She shook her head and flashed him a smile, keeping that thought to herself like many others. It came naturally, after living in solitude for so long, though Druid made a little mental note to try and open up more, if only so he might do the same.

Divide and conquer? she echoed words from another day, only this time, it was finally safe for them to detach as they attended to their respective duties.