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Description

[Suggested Music]

CW: Grief and death
--
In hindsight, he's seen much. The best and worst of Fellfang's struggles. Valda's manipulation of Jarl Fable, and the new life that had come with her exile; the son that would grow into a strong, capable wolf to succeed him. Things were alright for a while then.

But then they'd come. Almost birthed straight from the ice. They heralded the death, pain, and fear soon to be inflicted on so many... and the first time he'd tasted the blood of another wolf in years.

Gods, he must have thrown up more than he ever had in his life after that.

Injuries and close calls had continued rolling in after that... but he'd managed. He knew his nerve was being eroded away every time the words "white wolf" and "hurt" and other words like them had passed his ears, but had pushed it aside because Fellfang was more important.

And then there was General Carrion and the loss of the mainland. How helpless he felt then, and how terrified he'd been to leave a member of his skuld, a member of his family, behind. But in the blink of an eye, there was the great battle that had broken the Hive's hold over Fellfang once and for all.

And then, of course, there was the final battle. He'd never seen so many wolves in one place, never smelled as much blood and death before. But he'd hardened himself to it, at least in a visceral sense. Blood wasn't a bitter thing in his mouth now. Screaming wasn't an unwelcome stranger to his ears. And the Domain's victory was deserved and well-fought.

But so many had still died for it. Lincoln had still died for it.

Death was a part of life, yes. And he knew Lincoln's time would someday come... but Chaell hoped that he'd have been claimed by time before that would happen. He'd always been, at the very least, aware of Lincoln's presence in the pack since the day he was old enough to wander the den site as a tiny, curious thing. Him being there was as integral and normal as the glowworms in Starheim. And when he'd ascended the throne, it had become even more important.

And now he was gone. That anchor point had vanished. The sense of normalcy broken. Valera was a worthy successor, and he had no doubt in her abilities. He would follow her straight to the bottom of the sea, and up mountains so high it meant suffocating in the constrictive air if she asked him to. Fellfang would be just fine in the end, but whether or not he would be fine was a question he was less certain of at the moment.

He's already felt the pinpricks of it. Glimpses of white from rushing water in nearby creeks, and the pale foam on the waves when they'd come closer to home, had made his hackles stand on end more than once. He'd looked over his shoulder once and noticed the creamy-white fur on his back, and felt his gut twist in... disgust.

And as for his dreams... well, The Maw could stay, if that’s what his shaken mind truly wanted. It wasn't truly Her, certainly not. Neither was it a sign of his faith in Fellfang's gods wavering. He'd simply seen too much decay, smelled too much of it, and stared off into the sea too many times... the weight of that had broken something in him that was beyond repair, shown him things beyond imagination, echoes of his past. And in the end, it guided him through the final leg of this war.

Many wolves carried the ghosts of their pasts with them, things that never truly faded away. He’s certain he’ll be carrying many of them himself in the coming months. Who was he to question his thoughts now, after what the Domain had been through? After what he’d been through?

But on that long road back, it's difficult to let himself feel hope. There was a light at the end of every dark tunnel, something to be learned in every hardship, absolutely.

Yet he'd cried for days. Went to sleep crying. Dreamt of the Hive ripping him and his skuld apart. Woke up with tightness in his throat and panic in his chest. He'd have to duck into nearby bushes under the guise of having to answer the call of nature or pick up some useful plant. But in truth, it was to swallow back sobs. He'd return from those absences with a new trick every time.

He'd rub some dirt on his face, and pretend he'd accidentally kicked up some earth into his eyes while digging up a root. He'd let nettles cling to his cheek fur, and say that he'd just taken a wrong turn and walked facefirst into a prickly bush. His nose was running because he'd sniffed the wrong flower and discovered a new allergy. His voice was shaking because he was cold.

Explaining that he was falling apart at the seams because of his own clumsiness was the only thing he could think to do. He'd never freely admit that he was taking this in all the wrong ways. It wouldn't be shameful to speak the truth of his pains, all things considered, but Fellfang had lost so much. And after everything that'd happened, he couldn't really afford to fall behind.

Hope was a distant thing that he wasn't allowed to reach out and touch. Not right now. Because to do so would mean letting it all flow out of him, it would mean weakening him and in turn weakening the pack. But one early morning, he thinks he can spot a sign that he's allowed to start reaching for it, up in the sky.

Maybe it's a message from Koma, or maybe it's the ghost of his departed Jarl coming to give a last goodbye to his pack. Maybe it's the last gasp of the Hive Queen, or the collective spirit of the Domain spat up into the heavens.

He's not a sage; interpreting nature in that way isn't in his realm of expertise.

So maybe it's just him seeing things, but he keeps the idea of it being something more close to chest. It eases the ache in his bones and his heart a little. The wolflike cloud hangs in the sky for only a short time before being carried off by the breeze.

"Now we are free. I will see you again, but not yet... not yet..."

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Description

[Suggested Music]

CW: Grief and death
--
In hindsight, he's seen much. The best and worst of Fellfang's struggles. Valda's manipulation of Jarl Fable, and the new life that had come with her exile; the son that would grow into a strong, capable wolf to succeed him. Things were alright for a while then.

But then they'd come. Almost birthed straight from the ice. They heralded the death, pain, and fear soon to be inflicted on so many... and the first time he'd tasted the blood of another wolf in years.

Gods, he must have thrown up more than he ever had in his life after that.

Injuries and close calls had continued rolling in after that... but he'd managed. He knew his nerve was being eroded away every time the words "white wolf" and "hurt" and other words like them had passed his ears, but had pushed it aside because Fellfang was more important.

And then there was General Carrion and the loss of the mainland. How helpless he felt then, and how terrified he'd been to leave a member of his skuld, a member of his family, behind. But in the blink of an eye, there was the great battle that had broken the Hive's hold over Fellfang once and for all.

And then, of course, there was the final battle. He'd never seen so many wolves in one place, never smelled as much blood and death before. But he'd hardened himself to it, at least in a visceral sense. Blood wasn't a bitter thing in his mouth now. Screaming wasn't an unwelcome stranger to his ears. And the Domain's victory was deserved and well-fought.

But so many had still died for it. Lincoln had still died for it.

Death was a part of life, yes. And he knew Lincoln's time would someday come... but Chaell hoped that he'd have been claimed by time before that would happen. He'd always been, at the very least, aware of Lincoln's presence in the pack since the day he was old enough to wander the den site as a tiny, curious thing. Him being there was as integral and normal as the glowworms in Starheim. And when he'd ascended the throne, it had become even more important.

And now he was gone. That anchor point had vanished. The sense of normalcy broken. Valera was a worthy successor, and he had no doubt in her abilities. He would follow her straight to the bottom of the sea, and up mountains so high it meant suffocating in the constrictive air if she asked him to. Fellfang would be just fine in the end, but whether or not he would be fine was a question he was less certain of at the moment.

He's already felt the pinpricks of it. Glimpses of white from rushing water in nearby creeks, and the pale foam on the waves when they'd come closer to home, had made his hackles stand on end more than once. He'd looked over his shoulder once and noticed the creamy-white fur on his back, and felt his gut twist in... disgust.

And as for his dreams... well, The Maw could stay, if that’s what his shaken mind truly wanted. It wasn't truly Her, certainly not. Neither was it a sign of his faith in Fellfang's gods wavering. He'd simply seen too much decay, smelled too much of it, and stared off into the sea too many times... the weight of that had broken something in him that was beyond repair, shown him things beyond imagination, echoes of his past. And in the end, it guided him through the final leg of this war.

Many wolves carried the ghosts of their pasts with them, things that never truly faded away. He’s certain he’ll be carrying many of them himself in the coming months. Who was he to question his thoughts now, after what the Domain had been through? After what he’d been through?

But on that long road back, it's difficult to let himself feel hope. There was a light at the end of every dark tunnel, something to be learned in every hardship, absolutely.

Yet he'd cried for days. Went to sleep crying. Dreamt of the Hive ripping him and his skuld apart. Woke up with tightness in his throat and panic in his chest. He'd have to duck into nearby bushes under the guise of having to answer the call of nature or pick up some useful plant. But in truth, it was to swallow back sobs. He'd return from those absences with a new trick every time.

He'd rub some dirt on his face, and pretend he'd accidentally kicked up some earth into his eyes while digging up a root. He'd let nettles cling to his cheek fur, and say that he'd just taken a wrong turn and walked facefirst into a prickly bush. His nose was running because he'd sniffed the wrong flower and discovered a new allergy. His voice was shaking because he was cold.

Explaining that he was falling apart at the seams because of his own clumsiness was the only thing he could think to do. He'd never freely admit that he was taking this in all the wrong ways. It wouldn't be shameful to speak the truth of his pains, all things considered, but Fellfang had lost so much. And after everything that'd happened, he couldn't really afford to fall behind.

Hope was a distant thing that he wasn't allowed to reach out and touch. Not right now. Because to do so would mean letting it all flow out of him, it would mean weakening him and in turn weakening the pack. But one early morning, he thinks he can spot a sign that he's allowed to start reaching for it, up in the sky.

Maybe it's a message from Koma, or maybe it's the ghost of his departed Jarl coming to give a last goodbye to his pack. Maybe it's the last gasp of the Hive Queen, or the collective spirit of the Domain spat up into the heavens.

He's not a sage; interpreting nature in that way isn't in his realm of expertise.

So maybe it's just him seeing things, but he keeps the idea of it being something more close to chest. It eases the ache in his bones and his heart a little. The wolflike cloud hangs in the sky for only a short time before being carried off by the breeze.

"Now we are free. I will see you again, but not yet... not yet..."

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4