How strange this new world was from outside the warmth of her mother's womb. Demetra had been rather comfortable inside, there had hardly been any effort into existing. But now that she and her siblings had abruptly arrived into this strange new world she was hardly impressed. And she certainly wasn't impressed with how small she was in comparison to everything else. In the same breath her paws felt far too big and ill-proportioned. Couple that with her impatience towards the light and you had one unhappy daughter. Her life would have seemed so futile had it not been for her happy accident she came across on this warm summer morning. She had toddled not far from the family den, her multifaceted gaze sharp as she followed the birds that took flight in the trees. Demetra had been walking clumsily along and with that clumsiness she had managed to slice her paw pad on a rather sharp rock. It took her breath away, her hackles rising naturally and a low hiss echoing between her teeth. But when she glanced down at her paw and saw the delicate rivulets of blood trickling between her toes she was delighted. She was intrigued. Of course it hurt at first, but afterwards? That strange stinging sensation only made her even more curious. She would plop her haunches down on the ground, her gaze settled on the blood that pumped from the laceration on the underside of her right forepaw. She would pull the limb in closer for further inspection, a dainty tongue escaping once to lick at the copper liquid. So, this body of hers was weak, that was to be expected. But the pain, it was exhilarating.

code by cala

midnight mass
a crimson pool so warm and deep
lulls me to an endless sleep

Gauthier had never wanted to be a father. Had never expected the mewling of cubs to fill his ears once more – to watch them worm at a mother’s belly, whimpering and shuffling and kicking, learning the world through snuffling nose and milk-teeth. He had always avoided younglings at a far distance, they too fragile, too crushable, teetering and bumbling with questions of the universe he didn’t care to answer. Of his siblings he tended too briefly. Their little faces turned with horror as they watched their father crumple to the floor of their safe, cozy den forever imprinted in his mind.

Run, his mother asked of him. He, also too young and foolish to know the way of the world, ran.

From duty. From responsibility. From death. From youth.

There were times in which he watched them at Ludivine’s side and imagined their faces churned with that equal dread. He imagined the den soaked in blood, heard his father’s laughter fill the den with disgust and enlightened fury. But Gauthier could not be him. He would never be a Vicario.

Still, his love came in reluctant, fleeting moments of tenderness and adamant concern. The protectiveness grew with each day, the paranoia seeped into every waking dream, and the hunger writhed hot and furious in his belly. To achieve, to nurture in what ways he knew – cold, resolute but fair. Their children were born beneath a fortunate moon and a tapestry of the dancing cosmos. Into the merciless cold, just as he had been. They had a power unto themselves. Even when they seemed so vulnerable.

The smell of blood woke him to the attention of one that had wandered. Gauthier lingered outside the den, keeping watch from a cold slab of rock engroved by broadleaf. He moved smoothly to assess what came of it - worry blooming at his core, twisting into curiosity upon the sight of @Demetra. His head tilted slightly as he observed the small ball of fur, his senses flared with the scent of her pain, his eyes honed on the slit that marred her paw. Some small fester of pride blossomed softly in his chest that she did not whimper, not charge into the den crying for the world that had hurt her so young.

Sânge. the word flooded his mouth, pooled in the corners with decadence. A small grin tipped a corner of his lips as she lapped it. Waste not. Are you hurt? But it comes with a testing lilt, devoid of fright. She would not die from a cut, after all. Many of the fledglings he had seen of Amaryllis were terrified of their own shadow. Not his.

Romanian: Blood.

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"Blood. Are you hurt?" So transfixed by the ruby liquid was the young girl that she hadn't heard the approach of her own father. Her dual-toned gaze would reluctantly shift from the appendage to turn her gaze onto him, a small smile curving her delicate features upward. "Nu. No. She would reply simply to him, despite the sting that continued to ripple outward from the wound. It was a deep enough laceration that the blood continued to pump outward, but Demetra couldn't help her own fascination towards it. "Este frumos." It is pretty. She says simply to him before she'd shift slightly, turning before sticking her paw out right before him so he could get a better look. Her eyes are large and round, excited to show her father what she had discovered. She waited expectantly for his reaction, perhaps even praise since she was not blubbering over the wound. She was proud, enough that her little chest jutted out slightly. Look at me, look at how brave I am. She wished to say but refrained, staying quiet.


@Gauthier

code by cala

midnight mass
a crimson pool so warm and deep
lulls me to an endless sleep

Nu. As the blood dripped, dribbled, that small paw gathered with delicate digits, upturned to him with welcome brass. Brave indeed, to not shy or mewl her complaints, come padding to he or her mother with cries of exaggerated agony. He appraised her with the twitch of a mirrored grin, crooked and cragged. Pretty as it welled in the cleft, glistening in the pass of light. Its jagged wound bloomed as his brows knit and he nodded to consider her discovery. Da, he agreed, watching the small patter of droplets drank into the soft ground. It blackened in the chill of the frost, rooted its way to the waiting earth.

As insufferable as mortal confines were, they did have their particular beauties – and the heat of their veins opened to the air had never ceased to entertain him. But of his children there stirred more concern than obsession or thirst, some uncomfortable thing that coiled in his gut. It brought the smallest wince to his features as her cut continued to sap. Dar nu-l irosiți. Sângele tău este prețios. He sat back on his haunches and inspected the scratch closer, the smallness of her paw and the fine little toes that darkened with ichor. Păstrați-l curat, altfel vă va durea.

@Demetra

Romanian: Yes, / But do not waste it. Your blood is precious. / Keep it clean, or else it will hurt.

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She watched as her papa would recline back on his haunches, his form still looming above hers in the process. Her gaze would shift back to the laceration on her paw, and yes this blood was certainly a glorious discovery. Yes, But do not waste it. Your blood is precious. Keep it clean, or else it will hurt. An ear would cock at papa's instructions and she would lean in closer to him, offering the appendage outward. "Comment puis-je y remédier?" "How do I fix it?" She wondered then, because her own little mind couldn't process such a thing as healing wounds. Not yet. All she had discovered was the sharpest hint of pain, as fleeting as it was. And she wasn't sure she wanted to let go of the sensation just yet. But if papa insisted, she would oblige. "Avez-vous de la magie?" "Do you have magic?" She would counter, staring upward at him curiously as she waited for him to reveal his answers.

@Gauthier

code by cala

midnight mass
a crimson pool so warm and deep
lulls me to an endless sleep

It was not too deep, nothing that warranted calling a healer to supervise the efforts of her fixing the little cut. But enough of what the cub could not know or fathom past the trickling pain that would resonate from its gape, the stinging warmth that would sprawl across her palm and little digits. Gauthier chuckled at her question of magic – pondered it considerately as he swung a paw under her own and brought it closer to his examination. Poate, he replied amusedly, Am trăit atât de mult. It was a wonder in itself that he had survived the feralty of his nature after all, no?

Then again, he had always been careful, artful in his approach to violence. But those times in which he was prone to recklessness he had succeeded in still breathing, still bleeding, unwilling to quit. Even when the sea dragged him into their dark and heaved him salt-lunged on the shore beyond the Passage, there was life. Small miracles. How he hated that word.

Curățați-l cu limba. He lifted the small paw to @Demetra ‘s lips, allowing her the savor of the aromatic iron of its taste. Experience was the best teacher after all. It would still hurt she would find, but at least the workings of her body would seal the cut in time and prevent the dirt from worsening its condition.

Romanian: Perhaps, / I’ve lived this long. / Clean it with your tongue.

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She is quick to oblige @Gauthier as she moves her paw up to her lips. Her tongue would glide across the surface quickly, the taste of iron and rust lingering. She licks the paw pad once more, noticing that already the bleeding had begun to slow significantly. Part of her felt saddened by this. But this had already brought on the realization that her body could bleed, could feel pain. What an interesting feeling it had been, one that she wasn't sure she was ready to let go of. Her gaze would slide upward then, lingering on her father's face. She had many questions for the man, but for now would settle on only one. "Ai mai multă familie undeva?" Do you have more family somewhere? It was easy to slip into the romanian tongue that her father preferred, and perhaps the question was out of left field but she was oh so curious. Her maman had a sister, but who did her papa have? She glances over him, waiting expectantly for an answer. Or was he an only child? She wondered what that might be like, to not have loads of siblings to fight with. To not have to fight for the tiniest morsel of attention. She was grateful that she had her papa to herself, in this moment. A moment in time where she could prod him without reserve. She would always keep this moment to herself, their little secret indeed. Her siblings could be a jealous lot, that she was certain of.

code by cala

midnight mass
a crimson pool so warm and deep
lulls me to an endless sleep

Gauthier appraised her acceptance of the small mission, cleansing her small paw of the inkling of decay. @Demetra did so with a meekness, a tenderness earned by quiet observation, though the workings of her growing mind were lost to his own. He could not remember his true first taste of blood, however sacrilegious the confession could possibly be. Was it so odd to expect a cub to remember when they were first struck? First cut? In truth, he hardly recalled his baptism into the world of the Wastes – there were fragments and figments, hazy ins and outs that could be dismissed for a fever dream.

Yet he could never forget the first time he’d tasted the blood of another. It had been nothing soft.

Do you have more family somewhere? His brows knit together at the candid inquiry, returning his own paw to the ground. A harmless curiosity, how jagged it was! He could not fault her for it, and hoped she’d never known the definition of a family of the likes he’d learned. But was it not him that pounded the first crack in that portrait? A murdered father, a traumatized mother, untrusting siblings, a horde of scrutinizing cousins that would sooner skin him than tolerate his nose level to theirs.

Nevermind that they’d cultivated him to be what he was. This lineage of monsters.

His quiet fell between the crags of her voice and the simmering drawl of the day, contemplative and withdrawn. There was no place for guilt anymore, not here. Da, he murmured just above a whisper, chasing away memories of the Wastes with the sweetness of her eager face. O familie numeroasă, dar nu mulți aici. Frați, surori, veri. It is not sadness that twists his features – it is the glimmers of dread, anger, distance, and unbelonging.

But then, the returning curl of a crooked grin. Acum sunteți familia mea. Tu, mama ta, mătușa și frații tăi.

Romanian: Yes, / A large family, but not many here. Brothers, sisters, cousins. / You are my family now. You, your mother, your aunt and siblings.

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"Yes, A large family, but not many here. Brothers, sisters, cousins. You are my family now. You, your mother, your aunt and siblings." Her gaze would move to analyze @Gauthier's features. Was that, maybe sadness behind his vigilant stare? The girl decidedly would not press matters, but her mind was buzzing with questions about all these different family members that they hadn't met on their father's side. "Voi ajunge vreodată să-i întâlnesc?" Will I ever get to meet them? She asked quietly to him then. She understood that she and her siblings were his family now, along with maman and tati Leo, but her mind still reached for those that were not within grasp. Perhaps because a part of her wanted to know those of which her father came from. "Ți-e dor de ei?" Do you miss them? She would ask him then, her head cocking slightly as she watched the planes of his face. She wondered what it must have felt like for him to be alone. He had them now, but did he sometimes yearn for the family that had been before all of them? Her paws would shuffle a bit underneath her before she would rise, moving to wind her way between her father's front legs. She would bump her head against his chest before a little purr would rumble from her throat. "Te voi împiedica să fii trist. Dacă te gândești la ei uneori, te gândești la mine. Afacere?" I will keep you from being sad. If you think of them sometimes, you think of me instead. Deal? She would glance up at him from between his legs, a small grin taking place as she waited expectantly for his answer.

artwork • coding

midnight mass
a crimson pool so warm and deep
lulls me to an endless sleep

Will I ever get to meet them? He pondered it momentarily, but considered that it was always plausible. His extended family, as much as he had known, had posted up in the Mire for as long as he could recall - and even when he held Caladan, bitterly. But Astarte had chosen to seek him out here and there, and what existed beyond that by means of their own children or wandering family otherwise meant the possibility they would meet at some time or another. Amaryllis, despite its sprawling geography, was a small world.

Before he could answer, she asks if he misses them. Gauthier bit back a laugh initially, though he supposed the answer was not so clear. He did miss a number of his siblings, certainly Cezara and Amaroq, but they had always been as much composed of wandering hearts and restless souls as he was. The solemn nod that followed was a subconscious gesture that he didn’t bother to correct. Never was a grand liar. But the loneliness came with the blood and birthright, as engrained in them as thirst and hunger.

@Demetra weaving between his forelimbs startled him slight, forever unaccustomed to any physical touch beyond the violent. Yet they were owed that, were they not? The doting embrace of a loving parent, that of which he had never truly understood or wanted himself. He relented despite his natural pull to disengage, tensing as her forehead brushed against the quickened pulse of his heart. Were he crueler, perhaps he would bat her away. How could he? He would despise himself more if he had.

I will keep you from being sad. An exasperated chuckle choked up his throat, though he didn’t doubt her ability to do so. If you think of them sometimes, you think of me instead. Deal? The rest of his laughter ebbed its way between his lips, relaxing in place. Surrendered to reason. Bine. he agreed easily.

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