Noctisardor Bypass How would it ever get the guy?

dated for 5/21/2024, evening

It was true. Etienne's scent was faded. Anselm wanted to believe Druid was being hyperbolic, but as he rounded the garden they'd built together, and saw it was empty -- all hope withered in his chest.

He sat by the bank while glistening yellow blades of evening sun cut through the trees. Windsong and the chatter of birds marked it as another happy conclusion to a productive day -- but to Anselm, it was anything but.

He gripped the damp soil between his claws, distraught. If Etienne left, it showed he never really knew Anselm at all. Or if he did, he didn't care how that abandonment would rock Anselm to his core. Realizing this caused a chill to seize Anselm's gut, to be so completely disregarded and misunderstood.

No more. Not another fucking person would he let into his circle -- not one other soul. He'd already been left by everyone he'd loved, and now --

-- gone.

He wanted to destroy the garden -- to raze every minute detail that reminded him Etienne had ever been here at all. Yet, as he raised his fist to undo the first delicate row of seedlings, he paused -- and the anger that had been held so tightly in his chest his that eyes stung, dissipated into a dry, choked sob.

Anselm slowly lowered his paws, feeling as that familiar cold ran around his throat like a torc.

Vague about whoever is watching him

It was supposed to be his bedtime, but little Gideon had slept too late into the morning and napped too long in the afternoon. After bouncing off the den walls for an hour straight and riling up Ezra and his cousins alike, someone finally agreed to take him for a walk to try and burn some of his energy off.

Now Gideon was bouncing along in pursuit of bugs, snapping his jaws and squealing gleefully whenever a cloud of mosquitoes or midges rose up from the grass. They headed toward the water, his escort hanging back some distance but still within eyesight to allow Gideon a little independence. He knew better than to get too close to the edge, anyway.

His bounding came to a sudden halt as he realized there was another wolf dead ahead. He stood up straighter and his two tails grew rigid for a moment while he assessed the situation. The wind was in his favour; he realized he knew this scent from time spent in the den, although not as well as Heda's or Druid's or Fiona's. Still, familiarity was all it took to relax him.

All the drama and angst of Rivenwood truly had missed him.

With a little grin, Gideon scurried toward Anselm's backside with his eyes trained on the man's tail. He was by no means quiet about it, what with the mischievous giggling under his breath, but surely Anselm would not notice. He couldn't see Gideon, therefore, Gideon was both invisible and silent. He didn't even bother to stifle an anticipatory shriek as he pounced for Anselm's tail tip.

Anselm preoccupied enough with his own problems he didn’t hear Ava’s approach — but he sure heard Gideon’s. With one ear turned back, he realized a puppy was lurking behind him. The loud footsteps and clumsy giggles gave it away. 

He assumed that Ava would have the good sense to steer the puppy away — he was not in the mood to entertain anyone.  

Suddenly something pounced upon his tail. 

He sat up immediately, whirling around with a hiss and a snap of his teeth aimed in the air between them. Realizing his overreaction too late, Anselm stepped back, scowling at the two tailed demon at his feet. Vhere are your manners?

Gideon took the fearlessness of youth for granted. When the large grey wolf swung around and snapped large teeth, producing a cracking sound that was almost thunderous in his small ears, it failed him for the first time. His eyes widened to show the whites and he stumbled back several ungainly steps, those tails curling neatly under his hindquarters as he shrank away from Anselm.

He licked his lips once, twice, and glanced back at Ava. It should have been a lesson learned, but inside of Gideon there lived a mischievous imp. The imp would not be cowed by a big man flashing big teeth at him, and it set to work slowing the hammering of his heart. Upon realizing he was not in immediate danger, Gideon gave in to the urge to do what toddlers did best: mocking adults.

Ver mana? came his poor mimicry, complete with a scowl to match Anselm's.

The moment he realized what he’d done, Anselm’s chest seized with guilt. For a few split seconds, the boy looked scared — his wide eyes communicating a familial betrayal that tore at Anselm’s conscience. 

Thankfully, Gideon’s confidence returned in short order. He glanced to Ava, then back to Anselm — a scowl growing on his face that could be called comical if his father had a sense of humor. 

Your manners. Anselm corrected, relenting his stiff body language partially. He was not so confident in fatherhood to be open and vulnerable, but he dialed back his demeanor in light of Gideon being so small. He hovered a paw in the air before Gideon’s face, wondering what the boy would do with this novel object.

Mana, he repeated again, features unfurling into a broad grin only for his brows to bunch with confusion once more. Ordinarily, the adults made their requests quite plain. They often wished for him to repeat the words they said to practice his articulation, or wanted him to follow them, or were telling him to stop biting the other puppies, or ordering him away from danger. He could not make sense of any directive in Anselm's words and was left dumbfounded for what the man wanted him to do besides mimicking what he said.

Gideon didn't have to dwell on that long, though. Anselm's tantalizingly dangled toes soon caught his attention, and with no more thought to the consequences than a shark might have for the feelings of its prey, Gideon snapped his teeth toward them with the goal of latching on.

Gideon looked happy, but then confused. Anselm was not Father of the Year, so he didn't connect his gruff exterior would have profound consequences until he saw them writ across the boy's face. He relented a little more, trying to be soft --how he remembered his parents were to him.

He'd been so very loved. It was hard for him to channel this, given how that love had in turn wounded him deeper than any fang.

The boy's attention span was mercifully short - Anselm did not have to feel bad for long. In any event, any remorse he had for being Pricklish evaporated the moment Gideon's little teeth pierced his skin. Fuck! Anselm exclaimed, retracting his paw and instantly standing up. It'd been instinctual how quickly he rose and snarled -- but he realized seconds after this wasn't appropriate behavior for a father, either.

Jesus Christ, parenting was hard. Anselm figured he was done offering toes to the children -- at least for the day. That hurt, you little sh---- Remembering he was the parent, and not a child himself, Anselm caught himself mid-swear. Perfect... little.. child. Thing.