The Kingblade
male | 9 years | 40 inches | 165 pounds | mate of morrigan | taviora
He has been busy. Many plans for the happy, mated, father. Morrigan was healing well, his children had opened their eyes and begun talking and walking, and he had been able to be a part of their lives through all of it. He admires his mate for her steadfastness, really. He admires that she could do so much on her own with three other pups, his only success being Vesta. Success enough, for all that she went with Nico to Spirane.
Today was not a day to dwell on past victories or old rivalries, though. Today was a day to celebrate new assured life and proclaim their names to their pack, their people. Always, they would be Tavioran born. Always a part of the forest, yes, no matter where they roamed. They were born with a canopy over their heads and moonbeams breaking up their night skies. They were born to the sun’s rays playing peekaboo onto leaf litter.
Zelda had, in her noble way, jumped at the chance to help him realize an old part of his culture - a culture he had not thought on in quite some time.
Presenting new members to the pack, children coming of age to take their first steps outside from the place around their dens. Sure, Zeltzin knew them all by name and scent and sight - but it was time to truly belong here, to become a dedicated member. What better way than to show them all the fruits of Taviora’s sanctuary.
He sets up.
Like a busy bee, he encourages the usually shy Paisley into creating a bed of pineboughs beneath sweet spring grasses for the mothers and the puppies - not quite sure if any other mothers existed in Taviora this year - as well as two seats to either side of the long one for the Hope and the Love. Across from that, he placed another for Zelda herself for her comfort. The earth at the center is cleaned of all debris he can catch in careful teeth and his tail sweeps away any sign of his passing save for his scent.
He waits for Zelda to arrive, then, and when she has, he beams at her with a look only a parent can attain. Such joy, such exhilaration, such excitement.
Then his voice lifts, inviting all to come and join in the new tradition that Zelda had chosen to adopt from his people - and he imagined other peoples who held the same cherished notion of children. They were precious, fragile, and family - whose-ever blood they came from.
Food was provided by the keen huntress who fed them all regularly, the master of her occupation among them, Astrid. A choice spring buck, a sow who had not birthed a litter of piglets this year he had gotten for this occasion himself, a couple quail from Paisley’s limited repertoire, and an elk spike bull the four ‘brothers’ had taken down at his request. Many options, though he had wondered about providing an aquatic option until he thought of the late spring warmth.
It was a feast, one Zelda had decided to adopt, to be celebrated each year in honor of the new life given to Taviora through the labor of love all the mothers endured. Hence the seats of honor, hence the special seats for the Caretaker and Shaman, hence the high pedestal where the leader of the proceedings could sit or stand and greet those who would come.
“For all of you who chose to come and celebrate, welcome!” He is almost too silly to look at, so shining as he seems to be feeling. “I do not know many of you, but I pray that my children will not know my loneliness. Among my people, from where I come a long ways from Moladion, children are precious and in order to teach them of family beyond bone and blood, they would present them in the last days of spring when they had all begun to share in the world they were born into. I only realized today that my own Morrigan might be the only mother - but food has been gathered for your enjoyment while we introduce them. They are a testament of a strong pack, you have all made them possible.”
He nods to Morrigan, signaling her to separate their eldest son and present him to those who deserved to know his name, to know what they helped protect and care for. The pup toddles a little from the momentum of his mother’s nose, he yaps at her in dismay but seems to consider his surroundings only moments after, as though sizing up the massive giants that loom. “This is Janus, my firstborn son. He is named for the only male in my father’s line worthy to be remembered.”
Then, Rome nods again, a little grin clear at his son’s defiance. The littler brown tyke doesn’t need encouragement, but he is slow to walk himself forward, deliberate, with eyes that seem to take in too much in comparison to what a child ought to see. His brother bops him on the butt, but there is very little play in the child. “Ah, the all too-serious little boy, my secondborn son, is Cato. He is named for the man who spared me my uncle’s treachery and made these, and the love of my mate, possible...” Cato, his handsome markings are dull in comparison to his siblings - the only striking piece of him being those too-keen eyes gazing upwards.
Lastly, he grins biggest, clearly a dad meant to father daughters. There is a warmth in him that was masked by more pride than joy for boys. “And this is Aine, daughter named by my mate from her country’s tongue. She is my fifth daughter and deserves it’s meaning. Loveliness and prosperity, sometimes even kin to magical folk.” The little girl only takes a moment before her mother’s paw is lifted and she is released to skitter shyly behind her eldest brother, the boldest of the three and the least being quite bonded and similar in coloration. Cato, of course, watches her shyness with his seemingly perpetual ‘how peculiar’ expression on his face.
“I wish to thank our Goddess for her protection, our Love for their life and my mates good health, and our Hope for their continued growth under his careful watch.” He smiles at each, especially brightly towards Zeltzin, and then jumps down to stand behind his lounging mate, opening the floor for the pack to interact with the new children of the forest.
|
