Kingsfall Purple Hyacinth

Boo! ♥ @Kisla @Lachesis, though I have no idea if Kisla is going to be here because of her trip.

How many times would he fuck up like this again?

Aleksei swallowed as he stood at the border of his parents' home. His home, too. You wouldn't think it from all the times I've left though, would you? One had been bad enough, but to have disappeared twice? It was disgraceful. He knew he couldn't claim childish ignorance, and he had no desire to. The boy was now a man, and it was his duty to own his mistakes, accept the punishments. If he wasn't taken back into Hearthwood, Aleksei couldn't fault them. He had made his foolish choice to wander off and get lost, an act he would have chastised Orren for, back when they were pups. Funny, that. Orren had been the one to stay, after all. Or so he thought.

The first born had hesitated, of course. Coming home when he knew he had done wrong was always going to be difficult. His father's hopes were riding on his shoulders, and he had let him down. His mother's love had always pushed him forward, but he had cast it aside. Karina's need for protection, Orren's need for someone to ground him. How many others had he let down? Too many. He had to fix it.

But he had left some things too late. A tragedy he would find out soon, no doubt.

He frowned at the lack of scent at the border, inhaling deeply. Something was wrong, it was missing something. Concern spurred him on -- what had happened in the time he had been gone? Aleksei tipped his head back and howled up to the grey sky. Mother, father. And then, he fell silent, waiting for the response he would receive as snow drifted down from the heavens, and settled in a light dusting along his spine.

@Aleksei @Kisla 
<3 keeping it vague about Kisla unless she pops in :3

Things had been quiet in Kingsfall since the departure of the dragon and his followers. While it pleased him, it also worried him. Their borders had been unusually dry lately, and he worried that perhaps it was the dragon’s doing. No. Thinking negatively was not going to help anything. It was his pack, he needed to be doing some scouting for new members. It seemed, though, that wolves were not fond of the north. They migrated south, seeking warmth in the packs that claimed territories south of the expanse. A frown creased his lips at the thought. They would survive — they always did. He would not disappoint his fallen friend and allow his legacy to crumble.

The ghost maneuvered through the trees with ease, his pace slow as he kept his nose low to the ground in hopes of stumbling upon a medicinal plant. XIX’s infirmary had not seen many patients in the recent months, but he liked to keep a fresh stock. Atropos had also taken a liking to the trade and was constantly asking him questions, so he wanted to ensure he was prepared for all of their lessons. It was nice to have another apprentice; Karina had showed so much promise before her mind had been poisoned by the dragon. He hoped that Atty’s interest would remain — healing was not very glamorous. Not many pursued the role unless they had a natural talent for it, or enjoyed helping others. Lachesis had chosen it because it was one of the few things he was good at (aside from fishing), and he still preferred to work on his own.

A call sounded, disturbing his thoughts. He frowned, confused by who the stranger was calling for. Without any further hesitation, the Stark lurched forward, his long legs carrying him quickly through the forest. As he neared the stranger a familiar scent hit his nostrils, but he could not put a name to it. Despite being familiar, it was different than he had remembered… It smelt… aged? He slowed as he approached the border, a flash of tawny fur catching his attention. No, it couldn’t be. Lachesis almost stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening as if he had seen a ghost. While he desperately wished that it was Maksim on his doorstep, he knew that the wolf standing before him wasn’t his dearly departed friend. But they did share the same name. “A-Aleksei,” he greeted, dumbfounded by the Baranski’s presence.

(This post was last modified: Nov 08, 2016, 03:46 AM by Lachesis.)

stick with those who stick with you

It was not Aleksei's mother or father that came to the border to greet him, but a family friend. Lachesis. Almost immediately, a smile eased onto the tawny wolf's face. The medicinal male had always been seen as an uncle by Alek, someone who had watched him grow from fumbling lad to ... to ... god, how old had he been when Lachesis had last seen him?

The Baranski waited for the older male to come closer, the fumbled greeting offered causing a flash of confusion across his face. He studied the medic's face for a moment before clearing his throat to push away the anxiety that rose at his discovery -- something had shaken the ghostly wolf. "Lachesis," Aleksei began, a soft whine of submission in his throat, tail tucked between his legs. "I know I've been gone far too long, and I know I have no excuse, but this is -- I know something's wrong, I can smell it, I can feel it -- I have to ...!"

A sharp inhale, followed by a soft sigh. A coin of emotions with flipped, suspended in the air; angry and anxious, guilty and apologetic. "Lachesis," he paused for a moment, tilting his head, "I'm sorry. But what's happened? Is everything okay? Where are my mother and father? And Karina? Orren? The girls, Inna and Lekalta?" Another whine, different from the last. It was desperate. It was tense.

It was pleading. "Lachesis, please. What have I missed?"

Let the roots & soil drink of me
Whispering leaves & pointing branches will tell them where I'm lying

sorry for the short post & wait <33 :c

Lachesis really did not like being the bearer of bad news. It was not his place, but there did not seem to be any other option. A lump formed in the back of his throat as the green-eyed Baranski spoke, his words jumbled together and frantic. He did not know where to start—so much had happened in the wolf’s absence. A hurried string of questions tumbled off his cherry tongue as he asked about his family, blissfully unaware of the trauma Hearthwood had endured. Oh, how he wished that Kisla had been the one to answer the boy’s call…

“So much,” he answered softly, almost to himself, as his chartreuse gaze fell away from the tawny wolf. “I’m sorry, Aleksei,” he started as he struggled to compose himself, his chest heaving as he inhaled deeply. “Your mother is here—she’s doing better. B-but, your father—” words failed him, his throat growing tight “—A-Aleksei, I’m so s-sorry. Maksim… he passed away, before the s-summer.” The ghost did not want to answer the rest of the Baranski’s questions until he digested the news. He took a hesitant step forward, as he was unsure of whether to comfort the agouti or not. It had been quite some time since they had last seen each other—how much had Aleksei changed? Where had he gone? What had he seen? The questions waited, impatiently, on the tip of his tongue. “I’m so sorry.” He offered instead, his ears falling back against his skull as he focused his gaze on the agouti once more. 

stick with those who stick with you

Aleksei knew he had been reckless. He knew he had been an idiot. He even knew that things would be different when he finally came back home, but the response Lachesis gave was something the tawny wolf barely managed to register. His eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat, everything suddenly feeling very dead and still around them.

My father is dead. My father is dead and I wasn't here. My father.

Horror and sorrow crept up Aleksei's legs, as if a devils from below seeking to take control, and it seeped into his bones. He couldn't move, couldn't find something to say; it was if he was petrified. Lachesis was stuttering, stammering over his words almost worriedly. He was apologising as if it were his fault, as if he could have stopped the passing of Hearthwood's first king. But death happened, and death could be decidedly cruel -- Aleksei had learnt that in his travels, had learnt as he traveled from pine forests to open tundra to mountain ranges that stretched on and on. He had seen life given and taken from the same family in mere moments.

But he had no idea how badly it would hurt, had no idea how it would rock him when it was his own family, not someone elses.

God, did it hurt!

"Was he buried," he finally spoke, his tone muted and icy like the world around him, like the feelings creeping along his body. "was my father buried?" Can I grieve near him? Aleksei swallowed bile and a sob, clearing his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut to steady himself, but he couldn't. He couldn't muster any emotion. The emptiness he felt was engulfing him. "Lachesis." He strained to speak now, taking shaky steps forward. "My father is dead." He whined and then, finally, he sobbed. "He's dead." No more words escaped him -- none could. The sorrow and the pain and the self loathing was suffocating him, crushing his windpipe, shattering his ribs against his heart.

He could never make his father proud now. He could never show much he loved his family. How much he missed them. How much he regretted leaving. He could do nothing with the wolf who had made Aleksei the man he was today. He. Could do. Nothing.

Emptiness, fringed by anger and sadness. "Lachesis -- Uncle -- My father -- my father! --"

Aleksei cried. He snarled and whined and stepped forward once more, for reassurance, for acceptance, for forgiveness from his uncle. He craned his neck forward desperately before his knees buckled.

"Uncle --"

He was falling. Down to the ground; down to the emptiness in his heart. Catch me.

Let the roots & soil drink of me
Whispering leaves & pointing branches will tell them where I'm lying

i am so sorry for this awful post, i just wanted to get something up for you so i didn't keep you waiting :c @Aleksei

Oh, how he wished he hadn’t been the one to tell Aleksei—it wasn’t his place. While he had been part of Maksim’s family for many years, it still did not feel right. He felt like an outsider, for he had already grieved—and grieved hard. Watching the whirlwind of emotions hit the tawny wolf before him brought Lachesis to the day he had found Kisla crumpled up against her fallen mate, and the tears threatened to spill once more. No, he thought bitterly to himself, his teeth clenched. He needed to be strong for Aleksei; now was not the time to be selfish.

“Yes, he was buried,” the Stark answered weakly, his chartreuse gaze never once wavering from the agouti. The ghost flinched, inwardly, as he watched the Baranski’s features shift with the abundance of emotion surging through his body. The ghost did not speak; instead, he listened. Listened to the agouti sob and choke out words as he registered what the Stark had told him. His throat was tight and his eyes stung. He did not know what to say; what to do. Comfort and sympathy was something Lachesis had never been good at, ever since he was just a smudge of white fur…

As the agouti buckled and fell to the ground, Lachesis lunged forward, his own gangly body falling down beside the boy. “I’m so sorry,” he managed, finally, as he tried to pull the tawny wolf into his chest with his chin. There was nothing more he could say, nothing more he could do… None of it would bring Maksim back or ease Aleksei’s pain.

stick with those who stick with you

A lynx has left behind the remains of a deer. +5 Health

The snow that raced up to meet Aleksei's body compacted beneath his weight. He didn't feel the cold against his legs, cutting through the shorter fur on his limbs. What he did feel though was Lachesis try to pull him into an embrace, and Aleksei folded into his uncle's chest without hesitation. Like a pup, he was tucked beneath Lachesis' chin and allowed to cry. He did so without hesitation.

God, when was the last time he had wept?

He sobbed. He felt no shame over doing so. As far as Aleksei was concerned, Lachesis was his family. There was no need for him to pretend. In his presence, Aleksei could drop the façade of being a wolf who was constantly strong, capable, and in control. The medic had been there the moment Aleksei had taken his first breath, had guarded and fed them, watched over them and protected them. Yes, Lachesis was definitely his family.

“Why him?” The words were choked out. It was as if there were cold hands around his neck, suffocating him. Aleksei kept his eyes squeezed shut – if he looked out, to Hearthwood, he was sure he'd feel his stomach lurch out of his mouth. “Why, why, why?”

What had killed his father? Or who? Lachesis had said Maksim simply passed away, but what if there was foul play? A conspiracy against him? A thirst for power that turned into a gross rebellion against the king? No. No, Aleksei refused to think like that. His father had to have passed peacefully, it was what he deserved. He shivered against Lachesis, trembling as he hiccuped through his crying. Had he known Maksim was so unwell, he would have never left.

Let the roots & soil drink of me
Whispering leaves & pointing branches will tell them where I'm lying

It pained the ghost to see the Baranski like this and not be able to do anything about it. There was nothing he could do, aside from comfort the younger wolf. The boy needed his mother—his family—but Lachesis was the closest thing he had right now. XIX could not abandon him.

“He was s-sick,” the medic started, his voice so soft he wasn’t even sure if he was actually speaking aloud, “for a long time. Every time he got better, it would get w-worse—I did ev-verything I could.” He paused again, his hold tightening on the sparrow-coloured wolf. “He went p-p-peacefully. I
 think… I think it was j-just t-too much.” Yearling Lachesis was back; his stuttering had returned with a vengeance as his emotions took hold. As much as the ghost did not want to talk about Maksim’s death, the son of the fallen king deserved to know. He had missed so much in his absence; it was not fair of Nineteen to hold anything back from him.

He pulled back, slightly, his chartreuse gaze fixated on the younger wolf. “W-would you…” another pause, his words catching on his tongue, “like to go see him?” Grieving was the only remedy. 

stick with those who stick with you

Crying was all Aleksei could do. Lachesis told him that Maksim had been sick for a while, but the illness came back with a vengeance each time. A reoccurring weakness that came time and time again. It was a horrible way to go – to have the strength sapped from your flesh and bones, finding yourself well again, only to have the vile thing back to sipping from your veins.

It was a terrifying reality, and a sharp reminder that mother nature could be vicious and cruel.

But, at least Aleksei's father had indeed passed peacefully, as he deserved. The young man could find some slight comfort in that. In his sleep, he imagined – that was the most peaceful a wolf could get. If Maksim had died in pain, then such news would have broken Aleksei completely. Perhaps that was simply because of his current instability, the festering wound in his head; his own kind of sickness.

Like a child who scraped their knee, he sniffled at Lachesis' invitation to visit his father's resting place. Watery eyes opened, if only a fraction, so that he could look his uncle in the eye. Did he want to? Could he really bring himself to sit where his father lay, cold and breathless? And yet … it would be closure – or, at least, a step closer to having it. It would take time to process and accept, it would take even longer to function without ghosting thoughts of Maksim (what would he do here, what would he say?). Finally, the eldest Baranski son croaked his answer.

“Y—yes. Please.”

Let the roots & soil drink of me
Whispering leaves & pointing branches will tell them where I'm lying