Sometimes it was hard to know what time of day it was, underground. Valerian had spent the good part of the last day tending to his garden of mushrooms, having found a particularly damp and gently-lit part of the caverns to cultivate them. All they needed was a few rotting tree branches and maybe a ball of wet moss here and there and they had exploded into life. Most were toxic. He’d been careful to keep them away from the youth of the Hollow.

Now though, he felt like he needed some fresh air. With cramps in his paws and neck from stooping in that small space, Valerian steps out from one of the entrances and is surprised to see it is dark. The hum of summer crickets and distant frogs greets his ears and he sucks in a great lungful of warm night air as he works the stiffness from his neck with a leaning motion. First to one side, then the next.

— for @Mircea

art © yumpy

There are nights where sleep is slow to come to the dappled beast. It crumbles like soil between his ink-stained toe, eluding him through twists and turns until the walls of his cavernous den seemed far too constricting to tolerate the way he tosses on his nest of furs. The air too heavy for its embrace to be endured.

He cannot say what causes such insomnia, when it happens. It is not as if he is plagued with nightmares. Not anymore. Not that he remembers.

So in these moments, Mircea naturally turns his focus towards what he's best at it - ensuring that his family was kept safe, massive paws plodding out of the tunnels and into the warm night. Pale face glowing subtly in the moonlight as if he is nothing more than an apparition, a melancholic wraith drifting alongside their borders. But his eyes are sharp past the apathetic droop of his posture, awake and watchful and waiting.

He even has attention to spare towards the very caves he's guarding, and the familiar coat of rust and ivory he spies through the darkness. "Késő estig tartasz, unokaöcsém." His paws drift to pause before the stretching @Valerian, his heavy skull tilting up to properly soak in the pleasant night that his nephew was so enjoying. Though his nose wrinkles slightly at the musty scent of dampness clinging to the other's coat. "Egy kis nap jót tehet neked." He suggests dryly, as if mold might start sprouting from Valerian's fur at any moment, becoming a creature half-plant and half-lion.

As if Mircea didn't always look the part of the ghoul who'd not seen daylight in years.

---

1. You keep late hours, nephew.
2. Some sun might do you good.

ART BY MOOGLE, CODE BY DEE

It is humid, and the air heavy. Valerian lets his eyes unfocus, looking past the horizon as he works feeling back into his aching neck and shoulders. The Savante man knew he needed to take better care of himself. He often forgot.

Through the gloom his gaze lifts to settle upon a familiar white-splashed form. Valerian squints sage eyes to acknowledge his uncle’s approach, a dry-throated rumble of greeting rising. Despite the warmth of the evening, the close air only made him feel thirstier. He felt as if awaking from a far place; though not rested.

“Nem is tudtam, hogy beállt.” I didn’t even know it had set. he admitted with a smile twitching to his dark lips. “De… a projektem jól halad.” But… my project is going well. he sounded pleased. It felt good to have one’s hard work pay off, even if he was not yet sure where it would lead to.

“Mi tart fenn ilyen későn, bácsi?” What keeps you up so late, Uncle? he questions - it smelt as if @Mircea had just come from beyond the caves. “Csendben, remélem.” All quiet, I hope.

art © yumpy

There's a rough, dry quality to @Valerian's voice that makes Mircea's lips twitch with the barest hint of amusement. He's tempted to jest that his nephew is simply too young to be starting to sound like him, creaking voice and joints and all.

But time is passing for all of them, isn't it? And Valerian has doubtlessly grown since coming to settle in these lands, in ways beyond just the physical.

It summons up a strange and distant sense of regret, to think of all that Mircea must have missed. He shouldn't keep letting these opportunities to catch up with his kin pass him by. "Ez az? És meg merem kérdezni, hogy milyen projekt lehet ez?" He inquires with a slight tilt of his skull in interest. Just what sort of work was it that was capable of holding the other man's attentions past the setting of the sun?

"Valakinek fenn kell tartania az éjszakai őrséget." He answers in turn with a roll of his bony shoulders that's reminiscent of a shrug. He sees little reason to trouble another with the knowledge of his late-night bouts of restlessness. "Ez az. Egyelőre." He confirms, albeit cryptically, shifting his tan gaze to stare distantly across the stretch of land they now called now theirs, nostrils flaring against the warm, heavy air.

That hopeful promise of peace still seems too good to trust entirely.

---

1. Is it? And dare I ask what project that might be?
2. Someone must keep up the night watch.
3. It is. For now.

ART BY MOOGLE, CODE BY DEE

The past year had been flying by, and Valerian could scarcely keep up. It would not be many months more until he and Dragos - and Lucanus, wherever he may be - would be turning five. It felt like not that long ago, despite how his common sense knew it was, that he had been a yearling, training to fight for their right to live.

”Something to protect us, I am hoping.*” he is not so secretive as to keep his plans from his own blood. He respected and trusted @Mircea. “I am seeing where my luck takes me, with a particular toxic mushroom.*” He had all the intentions of it being a tool for making them more fearsome… but in his experience with deadly flora, they could equally be useful for leisure. The difference was in the dose. He just had to figure out how best to apply this one.

All the same, he grunts approvingly to the patched man’s admission. “I don’t envy you. But I appreciate your care.*” he rumbles with a smile turning the corners of his maw. “… With all this land has to offer, I wouldn’t be surprised if trouble will soon find us.*”

* denotes hungarian, im lazy

art © yumpy

Time moves by all too swiftly when one is not paying close enough attention to it, indeed. Before long, these warm summer nights would be giving way to the frigid nights of winter, and all the hardships that come with it. But there is time enough left to prepare for all of that, or so is the hope of this land. Time enough left for @Valerian to continue growing into his mantle.

Did such growth ever truly stop? There are moments where Mircea wonders.

The dappled beast tips his head forwards attentively when his nephew began his explanation, though a pale brow does raise at the mention of toxins. "Gomba, hmm?" Mushrooms, hmm? Something both amused and knowing twitches his dark lips, but the beast is quick to smooth it out into seriousness. "Nem bölcs dolog túl nagy bizalmat helyezni a szerencsébe. Mit gondolsz, hogyan védhet meg minket ez a méreganyag?"

According to some, offense was the best defense. Perhaps they were right, sometimes. But playing with poisons with a tricky game.

One that allowed no margin for error.

He rumbles in acknowledgement of the other male's appreciation, but Mircea does not allow himself to linger upon it for long. "Néha azon tűnődöm, vajon nem követ-e minket a baj." He admits ruefully, his honey-hued gaze returning to rest upon Valerian's face.

The Savante were plagued by much, even here. In truth, Mircea does not know if he was even capable of living a life with no need to look in the shadows for threats. Not now.

---

1. It is unwise to put too much trust in luck. How do you imagine this toxin might protect us?
2. Sometimes I wonder if trouble doesn't follow us.

ART BY MOOGLE, CODE BY DEE

Valerian takes in his uncle’s musing with a slow nod, hearing the solemn note in his voice. “If our enemies get too pushy,*” he explains, “I plan to leave laced prey near their lands.*” He’d had the conversation about the theoretics with Scorpius many months ago now, and the longer he pondered on it the more he considered it. “Nothing that would trace back, of course. But problem enough to keep them… distracted.*” Distracted would mean less chance of outright attack.

To hear @Mircea was in agreement to his laments though, only solidified them to Valerian. He purses his lips and nods. “It does feel like that, doesn’t it.*” he sighs, “We left for a fresh beginning, and not only have they been sighted here-*” he, of course means the Noire and their deadly bites, “But we have found enemies a-new ontoo of pasts horrors.*” Valerian settles himself heavily to a sit. “I worry it will never end.*”

* denotes hungarian

art © yumpy