the fantastic four, the once lively band, was broken in half. the nanruan blood had bled out into moladion soil and left the darker of the brothers to survive without them.
he looks on, his golden leader dragging in ragged breaths as his body was lopped like only so much ragdoll over the shoulders of the beast, only seeming able to move his neck -- and even that, only with great pain. but there is peace in his last moments. he looks to where the first prince of moladion stared out across the plains and he can see church there, church and ragnarok, with four pups heading towards the wreckage of their miniature satellite pack.
only one of the pups breaks away from the group, dodging restraining attempts to come nose to nose with the fallen prince in his last breaths. he can see it in neirin’s eyes, in the eyes of the pup, and not only because of their color. they know one another in an instant. neirin that he has an heir and the pup that he has a father who dies for the sake of those in his care.
and then the howl.
it starts with the tricolored male, when everlyse seemed too weak to sing the song with strength. he can see, though, that haziel and reich tend to her and does not fret overmuch beyond the howls that now rise. it is not this moment that the wolves of the fantastic four’s remnants would mourn. it is as the moon hides her face that they will send the souls past the doting Mother of the sky and into the cosmos to race down the river of stars and hunt among the cosmos.
the mother would only keep the souls here, for she loved them too dearly, and the sun would blind them from their trek.
no, this was not the time to howl and mourn. it was a time to tend to the dead, to set neirin to lay in his den while everlyse lingered to mourn. he nods to delya, knowing her keen enough to watch a no-longer-conscious seamus, and when he reaches neirin’s body, he grasps at the golden scruff and drags him down from the bear and into his den, ignoring Greer’s presence entirely should she have remained. they would bury him later.
from there he turns to alice as she looks on and over the assembly. “will you make it a bed?” comes a small voice, an unfamiliar one excepting how it promises to grow into one so like it’s sire’s, and fenrir turns to look on the lad with a curiously comforted face. “yes, i think. i think that would be perfect.” he keeps his head steady, keeps himself calm and even. he will weep and rail at the sky soon enough, but for now, preparations need to be made.
“i will start where the healer has already torn the skin from the muscle.” he says to no one in particular and works with claw and teeth before at last a vast swath of bear hide is stripped from neck to tail-dock. He looks to natu then, seeing her with their children and with the look of pain plain on her face. “i will return. this needs seawater.” he says, soft and ghostly once more of voice.
FENRIR
the dragonborn ; of scotavia
male | 18 years | 37 inches | 150 pounds
vagabond residing in asteraia | mate of natu
father of : arthfael, alistair, alexander, ankh (x natu)
sire of : weylin (x charlemagne), taliesin (x doe)
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