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memories for enfypickle
IP: 71.185.233.187
Posted on January 17, 2013 at 06:47:22 AM by BAB

He remembers the birthing seasons in his pack. They were ever solemn, ritualistic in ways that incorporated those pups lost to fortune’s toll. He remembers little fragments of mothers carrying their dead children as though simply asleep, taking them to a den where pups from all other years slept together. He had also been a part of the male coalition that slipped away while the women mourned to take the bodies from their cubby hole and turn them loose in the rush of the rivers. The women would return in a months time to find the little bodies gone with no creature feeding smells or signs left about the perimeter. The women had believed this meant that the realm of the dead had accepted them into the higher hunting grounds and the men had agreed never to speak of this to their mates or female companions. It was the first pact that was issued to a male reaching his majority. He wished he had such tales to tell her now, to tell his beautiful mate. She would have adored that story, he thinks, and it kills him to watch her tongue soak in the taste of her dead child. She had herded his other children into his care to see to him, though she seemed to half understand what the stink of his body meant. She hisses her answer, responding to him asking of her little bundle at her breast. Bacchus. A cheerful name for the would-be pup… but he can see where she thinks it fits. The little form is slightly pudgy, a rolly polly figure who he could imagine would have grown to great size with the food he could fit in that enormous belly.

He snaps back to reality. She still does not mention the state of Bacchus‘s being and his brows furrow, the shadows making his red fur seem more morbidly fitting than usual. He sees himself in the lost pup, the reds and whites falling delicately close to his own in markings. Staring at yourself in death is not something many people can forget, and Siegos probable wouldn’t. He feels himself draw a wall between him and his lost firstborn son. He feels nature telling him to reject what is lost so he did not find trouble with his family‘s living members. He looks to the babies crawling all about him and laughs as his only son makes a chew toy out of the tip of his claw. A handsome devil, this one would be. He sees the recognition cross their expressions, eyes still shut to the world, and this makes worry and dismay mark his. He look apologetically at Asthore as she come back down from that vicious flood of emotions when he had first entered. He thinks on that a moment as well. Why had she been so infuriated? With whom was she angry? He considers maybe she already knew what would be asked of her. “My love, my life, do not nestle with our poor lost son. He cannot feel the cold, he cannot become sick with the smell of death rotting in his nostrils. Look at these, the babies you have pushed away in favor of Bacchus.” He feels cold as he thinks of what he must say.


“These children live and breathe. Bacchus will not suckle, he will not howl with us nor hunt with us on the First Hunt. Bacchus will never say our names in love or play with his siblings in peace. He will not open his eyes to show us their true color or grow out of the fur that covers him now.” His own eyes are tearing, the gold in them suddenly seeming very much dead inside. Siegos, so vibrant and bright in his colors, and he seems as downtrodden and sooty as the roots hanging above their heads. He is defeated, knowing this is a losing battle. If he does not force her to face the truth, he may lose the rest of this precious litter. If he forces it upon her, she will either hate him or herself all the more. She already hated herself enough. “They are beyond beautiful, but they will die if they are let to breathe in the scent of death so early in life. They will cease to wriggle, they will cease to eat, they will cease to have the energy to remain with us. He will tempt them away from us and take them with him to the Higher Hunting Grounds. They will leave us, my darling mate. I cannot bear another loss.”

He feels ashamed for pushing at her so, but he cannot stand that she would be so heavily attentive to the pup that needed her least. Already he can feel the younger pups trying to suckle at male flesh and his whine announces his worry plain and clear. He nuzzles his eldest daughter first, settling a shrill whimper. He immediately must attend to his second daughter who had managed to crawl beneath his elbow. Finally he finds his son crawling towards Asthore again, nearing his dead brother. With quick jaws, the younger brother and now only son of Siegos, is snatched back and away from his mother and brother. He protects them, his children, curling about them with the look of worry crossing his face more strong than ever before. “I know that stranger that tried to steal you from me before you were mine. He has fled Litherium. I feel as though he knows I would hunt him down for this. He stole our Bacchus with the torture he set into your body. If you cannot let him go, you are giving yourself to that male, Asthore.” He stands. Forefeet block his remaining children from their mother, defensive and bristling in his anguish and defeat.

Tears finally begin to fall. The red hints on his face deepen with the wetness that trickles freely from his eyes. The deadness is replaced with utter loss and the sensation of being totally alone in this fight. “No. Your family whimpers beneath my belly while you hold to that which would steal them from us, Asthore.” His hackles raise, the first time they have risen in response to his mate in all the time he has known her. His feet brace themselves, spread for steadfast balance. “There, now. I weep for you, now. I weep as I have not done since I murdered my family for the sake of my sisters. I weep because I am in pain, as you are in pain. Can you not leave the dead to their rest and comfort the ones he left behind? Why do you still try to rouse him from his eternal sleep? Why drag him from a world of stars for this harder, harsher one. We should know the pains of this realm better than most, my sweetling.” His deep tones beg, shamelessly pleading for her understanding, for her love to be his again. For her attention to turn aside from lost causes in favor of those that survived life’s first test. “He has not woken to your kisses, my darling. He is happy in the skies with Moon Mother. Let us leave him, save our remaining children from sickness at their siblings hand, and let the nighttime take him to his home in the heavens.” He did not know if he could fight his mate for her right to mourn as a mother, but he would do so for the three crying pups beneath him in his massive shadow.


______________________

OMEGA OF SOLEVION

Mate of his Savior, Asthore.

Father to Ifrit; he who bites.
Father to Saoirse; she who fights.
Father to Piper; she who goes.


Father to a Stillborn; his first born son
And we called him Bacchus,
For he would have been jolly
and a lover of life.


Replies:
  • *part 2 - By BAB January 17, 2013 at 07:26:45 AM
    old scotavia - By BAB January 17, 2013 at 07:30:57 AM
    escene - By BAB January 17, 2013 at 07:36:08 AM
    seamus - By BAB January 17, 2013 at 07:42:28 AM

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