The pack was starting to flourish despite winter refusing to loosen its hold on Relic Lore. There were some new faces in their ranks, strengthening their numbers and lending more teeth to fell prey for the expecting mothers. Three mother-to-be’s. The thought made Lachesis’ head spin. Last year they had struggled even more, for he and Naia—a long-standing member of Hearthwood—bred in hopes of breathing new life into the sullen river pack. It had worked, temporarily, until the birth of Lachesis’ twins had cost the tawny scout her life. His son, who had taken the Aegina’s surname, had fled in hopes of finding his milk-mother and -sister, chasing fables spun by the one-eyed dragon. Atropos, his aspiring medic, had followed after promising her father that she would bring Kyrios home. That they would return to Hearthwood—together.
As the days passed he begun to doubt their return. He frequented the base of the mountains, hoping he would stumble upon a trail that would lead him to the twins. Every time he came up empty pawed. Like a white-hot blade, agony twisted deep inside his gut at the thought. He worried that he would disappoint the children that Lilya carried around inside her swollen belly just like he had disappointed the litter prior. Perhaps he wasn’t cut out for fatherhood…
Perhaps he should have thought about that before allowing himself to be seduced by the blue-eyed sparrow (while seducing her in return).
Lachesis could not help but fret over Kisla, despite this being her third litter. He knew that if he voiced his concerns to his co-lead she would rip the fur clean off his back, so he kept his distance, observing from afar unless he was bringing her food.
Just like Lilya, the raven Baranski—his sidekick—was expecting her first litter. An unexpected litter, but it was still welcome nonetheless. He dared not mention the raven around Kisla unless her daughter's name rolled off her tongue, first, for he knew how sensitive the topic was. She had broken pack law and was carrying pups who would have no father. His ears twitched at the thought as a frown tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“Inna?” He called out from the edge of the pack dens once he returned from his patrol, his white fur still damp from the morning snowfall. The clouds were dry, now, as they started to part for the golden orb in the sky. A glimmer of hope—maybe spring was finally on its way after all.
stick with those who stick with you