Clearwater Tarn a slow crawl and a new wave

@Cyril @Lorcan || Late late Night, Broken Clouds, 48°F, 9°C

Something felt off that morning. Her body felt tense and uncomfortable as she padded around the front of her den. In a way, she knew what it meant but it felt worse than the year prior. The pains were strong but she tried to talk herself through it all as she took in one deep breath after the other. She did not call for anyone. Not yet. Perhaps it would all pass over with time.

She had curled up in the back of the den and somehow managed to fall asleep. The day seemed to pass her by as the sun didn't greet her when she woke. It was the surge of pain that made her move, unfolding herself to shuffle about in the den. Pale brown eyes blinked as she tried to adjust to the darkness she found herself in. A peek out of the den told her the sun wouldn't be back for some time.

The leader was forced to settle in again as the waves of pain overcame her, becoming closer together as time passed. Soon enough she would need only her instincts.

Soft sounds filled the air in the den. Just one. Another solo son. She cleaned him off and pulled him close to her side where he could nurse. Piety had not expected to go through the birth alone but if Lenae's own big day was anything to go off of, the Santoro figured she would not be alone much longer. That was if anyone was around or awake.

# C W T

Like most nights, the dark youth was restless. Sleep evaded him often, but had become a stranger to him with the impending arrival of his younger siblings. He refused the share the same den as his packmates, but had not gotten around to finding (or creating) his own. Typically he lounged at the western edge of the lake, away from the others, nestled against the base of a lone tree. It was here that he had a bundle of sweet grass just in case his mother gave birth and Lorcán was off doing whatever it was he did.

He made sure to tend to Lenae when he could—dropping a squirrel or two off at the entrance of her den or patrolling the area around it to ensure that it was a coyote-free zone. Sometimes he’d lay outside the den, his ears twitching as he listened to the soft sounds from within, but never did he disturb her. He was her silent guard, or knight. Offering both her and her daughter protection whether they wanted it or not.

The yearling also intended to do the same for his mother and his unborn siblings, even if he was still a little bothered by the fact that she was carrying another man’s children despite his father’s recent death. But there was nothing he could do about it now.

Tonight was different; he was more unsettled than usual. His permanent scowl deepened as he pulled himself away from the base of the tree, his ears flattening against the back of his crown. Instinctively he picked up the bundle of grass and made a beeline for his mother’s den. He did not know if his younger siblings were making an appearance but something just didn’t feel right. All he could think about was the disaster outside of Lenae’s den and Cyril wanted to ensure that his mother did not endure the same experience. While he doubted that his packmates would make an appearance, especially after his mother’s sharp tongue only a few days before, but Cyril would shoo them away if they did.

As he drew closer to the pale alpha’s den it appeared that the boy’s hunch had been correct. His steps grew slower, more cautious, as he approached the dark entrance of the den. He did not offer his voice—instead he dropped the bundle of grass into the darkness and shuffled backward, his hindquarters reclining against the mountain terrain. Moonlight threatened to break through the clouds as his ears swivelled forward, desperately searching for sounds of life within the den…

At first she didn't speak, craning her neck out to pull the grass closer to her. The single newborn giving a soft cry of protest at her movements. She settled back into the position and let out a soft hushing sound to soothe the boy who seemed content to go back to nursing.

It wasn't until she got the sweet grass down that she looked back towards the entrance of the den. Piety figured it wasn't Lorcan, for the wolf's arrival had been far too silent. There was only one figure she thought would be so silent at a time like now. Cyril? She asked softly, tentative like something bad would happen if she spoke too loud. Is that you? Her pale brown eyes seemed to narrow softly to try and make out his tall figure in the darkness of the world outside her den. She was obviously rather cemented to her spot at the moment but that didn't mean she couldn't try to figure out who was there.

# C W T

A soft frown creased his dark features as he remained at the edge of the den’s entrance, his expression tight with worry as he struggled to make out the (few) sounds within the darkness. He immediately recognized his mother’s laboured breathing, which causes the corners of his mouth to droop even further, but there was a second sound. One that the youth did not recognize. It was softer; meek and vulnerable. It made him think of Lenae and her secluded den, causing him to shuffle closer.

Cyril?

His ears twitched as he swallowed the lump that had formed in the back of his throat. He nodded instinctively despite his mother not being able to see him. His cheeks flushed warm beneath his dark fur as he lowered his chest to the ground, his yellow pools seeking out her pale shape against the black. Words hesitated on the tip of his tongue as he caught a glimpse of tawny fur nestled against her stomach. Just one. He sniffed, commiting the scent to memory. A brother. The frown remained but his features softened. Shit—this meant he had two cubs to watch over the summer months. At least it wasn’t more. Two he could handle… hopefully.

Just the one... Her voice still rather hushed. She had expected more but perhaps she should have known better. Three litters and all with one son. Had she done something to deserve this? She loved them all (even the one she hadn't been the best to) but...well, she had hoped for more. Dreams of a large litter squashed and packed up for another year. If there was another year with her luck.

For a brief moment, she was consumed with concern and worry as she stared blankly at the bundle of fur at her side. Her brown eyes perhaps would have gone glassy had she not managed to pull her gaze away. She had no one to blame for the repetition of history.

Valentin... The name dripped off of her tongue slowly as she tested how it sounded. Moore, A simple middle name after @Morganna, even if no one would know but herself. Santoro.

# C W T

Just the one. That was okay with Cyril. He could handle one—two, actually, when he considered Lenae’s little bean. A heavy sigh of relief escaped him as he remained at the edge of the den, his pointed snout tucked between his paws as he observed his mother’s tired expression. Despite wanting to help his mother hew knew there was nothing he could do. Not yet. He did not have the milk that his younger brother desperately yearned for or the comfort of her soft, silky fur. His own was coarse and mattered; uncomfortable and unwelcoming. He could offer the boy protection and another set of jaws to fell prey with, but that was all.

He just hoped that his new brother wouldn’t capture all of his mother’s attention.

Valentin Moore Santoro. The ebony boy nodded thoughtfully in response, a faint smile tugging at his dark lips. Suits him, he mused silently as he met his mother’s gaze with his soft yellow gaze. It almost took him by surprise to hear the name Santoro drop from her tongue. For a moment he had almost expected her to adorn the boy with the Kael name, but he knew that there was no point. Wraith would not have a second son with the pale queen.

Truthfully, the boy was just glad that the newest addition to the family did not share the same surname as his father.

A soft whine escaped him as he motioned to outside the den with a gentle flick of his nose. Was there anything she needed? Anything he could grab for her? He'd remain outside the den, to protect her and ward off unwelcome guests, but he wanted to know if the weary mother needed anything from him first.

Her gaze lingered on her darkest son, his whine causing a soft flick of her good ear. A gentle, airy hum escaping her.

Is...anyone else out there? She couldn't tell in the darkness outside of her den. If the clouds had been more sparse perhaps the moonlight would have been able to give away others. For now, all the mother could see was Cyril's form. Which wasn't a bad thing by any means. If this night could be silent then that was for the best. Visitors would be met with a slightly better attitude after the mother received some proper rest.

Although there was an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach at the absence of Lorcan from the event. Maybe he'd arrive soon enough.

# C W T

Is … anyone else out there?

His stomach sank at her question. Had she wanted more of an audience? Or was it a particular wolf that she was seeking the company of? The one that should have been present before Cyril’s arrival. He couldn’t keep the frown from sprawling across his dark features as he tucked his chin between his oversized forepaws. Just me, he whispered in response, as he did not want to disturb the small tuft of fur tucked against his mother’s stomach. Should he … should he go and look for Lorcán? It was his kid, after all, shouldn’t he be here? The corners of his mouth tightened at the thought. The sullen youth hadn’t seen much of the tawny leader after they'd settled into the tarn, which both worried and angered the Kael-Santoro. His mother did not deserve this—especially after opening up herself to another.

He knew that Lenae would have present if she had been able, but she was busy tending to her own daughter. Perhaps it was better that it was just him … Hungry? He asked, his voice still soft and hoarse from lack of use.

piety santoro

clair de lune

"Just me,"

And that was okay by the mother. She had two sons with here, she didn't need anyone else even if she felt a few certain someone's should be here. Perhaps it was for the best that it was just the (Kael-)Santoros. The one word question was met with an almost needful look from the mother. She was indeed hungry. Holding food down would likely be a bit hard but she would certainly need to try in order to feed her youngest son.

Yes. She finally mumbled in response softly. Her form would curl tightly around Valentin as he seemed to rotate between nursing and sleeping. If he son slipped off to get her something to eat, Piety knew she was on her own protecting the new life she had brought into this world.

# C W T

She did not react to his response, but that was to be expected. She was far too tired to deal with the absence of a particular wolf and Cyril wouldn’t allow the thought to weigh her down. Piety had always been strong; independent. Even after she had lost her mate—Cyril’s father—the pale female had persevered and continued on, taking care of both her son and the remaining monadnock wolves. It was his turn to be there for her—even though he would always be at her side, no matter the situation.

Okay, except for the whole Lorcán-situation, but that was different.

Yes came his mother’s answer and he nodded, softly, his yellow eyes lingering on her pale figure before retreating. I’ll be quick, he promised as he offered her a small smile. Without another word he turned on his heels and sprinted in the direction of one of the pack’s caches. He did not want to be gone for too long; he doubted Lorcán would make an appearance, and Cyril wanted to be there for his mother (and baby brother). To protect them from the rest of the world.