Lavender Ethos Switzerland

Aleksei settled into the lavender, a heavy sigh in his chest. It was strange to be back here again, but he’d be damned before he let them stop him. It had taken him a while to muster the courage to drag himself this far from Wild Rye Fields—grief had a funny way of tangling him up in its vines, probing between his ribs with thorny fingers, digging deep into flesh and muscle, as if searching for empty holes in his heart to nestle in.

In his worst moments since learning of his mother’s murder, Aleksei had wanted to die. He had wanted to dig a hole and lie in it. Just let the wind push soil and seeds over him, let his body be the foundations for life anew. @Askan had tried to help, somewhat, but he was so Askan that it was hard to get anything beyond a gruff “sorry man”. It was all right though—Wild Rye’s second was far from an emotional kind of guy, and Aleksei hadn’t expected anything more. He wasn’t disappointed. Honestly, he was sort of glad. With Askan, you got what you got; honesty, in a blunt and grumpy sort of way, that beat all false sympathies that Aleksei would have gotten elsewhere.

Yeah. It was all right.

Resting in the Ethos, he felt a quiet sort of calmness wash over him. He had time to think. Sure, Aleksei had regrets. If he could turn back time, fix the mistakes he had made, he would. But no, he was firmly within the present, and there was no force that could turn back the clock. He shifted, laying on his side, and closed his eyes. For a brief moment, he’d lay with his family. He wondered if his mother was buried here, too—he hoped so. Kisla wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. In a morbid sort of way, he imagined he was nestled between the two, as if a cub once more, and smiled weakly to himself. You’re weird, he chastised himself, opting to take  in the sounds and the smells around him instead of indulging in the oddity that was the Baranski’s own thoughts.

Lavender and damp soil, redwood and pine needles. The chattering of a squirrel, the distant tac-tac-tac of a woodpecker. It was familiar and foreign all at the same time. He inhaled deeply, let it settle in his lungs, and then released it out in a deep sigh. He wouldn’t blame himself for his mother’s death. He couldn’t go through the pain and the pressure again. No, this was just an accident. A freak accident. Another strike of bad luck against his family.

If he wasn’t before, Aleksei was now convinced that his was a cursed heritage.

(This post was last modified: Sep 01, 2017, 10:18 PM by Aleksei.)

It’s okay, Aleksei.  We weren’t the only cured member of Kisla’s family.
 
Not that Matheo had any idea who the strange man was, or why he was visiting the dead.  It was very rare for the young boy to visit the Ethos at all, finding the notion of his family laying there to be quite strange.  Painful.  Death was hard to understand, especially at that age.  His sister had run off and come back again, but Matheo stayed, steady, constant, like a shadow.  Like a darkness.  And he was a shadow just now, watching the strange man sit amongst the dead wolves until it was too much, and Matheo Tainn finally padded out to where he sat, just outside of Hearthwood River’s reaches, and woofed softly.
 
“Uh, hello,” he greeted the stranger softly, green eyes searching his form.  “Are you lost?”
 
Surely, he wouldn’t be sitting in a veritable graveyard if he’d known.  He knew his mama (and others) were there, and he didn’t really want to spend much time there.  Not at all.  It was sad (like all of the adults), and it was something he just didn’t understand.  It was so tiring.  “You’re…you’re very close to the borders, is all.”

There is a deer that was killed by a lynx nearby. +10 Health

Aleksei hadn’t expected anyone to pop his melancholy bubble, much less a child. He forced himself to sit upright at the lad’s soft voice, chartreuse gaze settling on the rusty pup. Ah—his voice caught in his throat. The boy had his mother’s eyes, and Aleksei felt his chest tighten. Could this be another younger sibling? He swallowed thickly, and forced up a weary smile so that he didn’t look so odd and sad. There was probably far too much sorrow drowning the River territory for a boy so young to endure.

“No, no. Not lost at all.” Aleksei paused, glanced around the Ethos with a slight furrowing of his brow. “I’m sorry for coming so close to your home, little guardian,” he replied quietly, “But I’m just ... visiting, I suppose.” He wasn’t sure if he should go into too much detail. It would be a hard, tricky topic to approach, if his suspicions were, indeed, correct. What would he even say to the young wolf? Hello, I’m your eldest brother, just visiting our dead mother, as well as my also dead father. The Baranski gave another slight smile, barely touching the corners of his lips.

“I - I knew the wolves who rest here. I’ve come to pay my respects. To think.” He paused, and his voice softened, delicately touching on what would most certainly be a painful subject for the little guardian. “I suppose you know them too, don’t you?” Or at least one of them. Aleksei frowned, closing his eyes. Gods, how heartless of him to say such a thing. He shook his head, feeling a pang of regret (it mattered little how soft he spoke with a topic so sharp), before his gaze once again settled on the lad before him. “My apologies—I shouldn’t be so careless as to probe.”

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

“Oh.  That’s okay.”
 
Whether it was because Aleksei was ‘just visting’ or that he was sorry for being so close, the boy wasn’t sure – he wasn’t really sure he cared, either.  It was hard to muster up the effort for such frivolous things.  Frankly, it was often hard to muster the effort to eat, or do much else; it was possible Matheo was a bit thin underneath his puppy fuzz and puppy rolls, but it would be a bit hard to tell.  His fluffy tail gave a tentative wiggle, as if encouraging the older man for a moment or two.  Or trying.
 
All the adults around here were sad.  It was okay.  He was getting used to it.
 
“Oh…oh.  Yeah.  Uhm, yeah…my mama is here.”  He sighed softly.  There were other wolves under the trees, with the lavender plants, but…  “I don’t know the others.  But they were Lack’s…friends.  Family.”  The pup wasn’t entirely sure, couldn’t quite remember – it was hard to say.  There was so much that happened all at once, and Matheo might not have listened as well as he should have.  As well as his Mama had taught him.  But rules didn’t keep his younger sister, rules didn’t apply to Inna, and most importantly, rules didn’t keep his Mama safe, so…
 
“Who’re you?”

The little guardian continued, after a small waggle of his tail (there was a purity in being selflessly comforted by a child, even from afar), and Aleksei hung his head, ears falling flat. Whether out of shame, or understanding, he couldn’t really say. It was just a horrible feeling, like being plunged into a pool of icy water. At the least, he found comfort in the knowledge that his mother—no, their mother—was indeed buried here. “I’m very sorry,” he breathed out quietly. “My father is buried here, too. I’m sure they’ll be happy to be resting together.” Stars above, the tentative tip-toeing hurt. Aleksei wanted to cry, he wanted to tell his sibling that it was okay to share his pain, that he shouldn’t bottle it up. Gods, he wanted to tell him so bad, but it was also so difficult. How could he drop yet another moose atop the head of the youngster and feel no guilt over it?

“Who’re you?”

Aleksei inhaled deeply. He wasn’t sure how to approach the topic in a sensible manner, so he did what he knew how to do best; he took the direct-but-still-slightly-curved approach. “I’m Aleksei. Is that a name you know?” In all honesty, he wouldn’t be surprised if the River wolves wiped him from the family—he had ‘deserted’ them after all (or so they liked to tell it that way). “And what is your name?” Aleksei felt more than a little guilty for having forgotten the names of his younger siblings—he had been there when they were newborns, after all—but life had a funny way of rushing far too much information at him this last year, and it was sickeningly difficult to keep up with it all. At least he had met Risaela during her stay with Wild Rye Fields. That was a blessing he would be eternally thankful for.

(This post was last modified: Sep 02, 2017, 01:24 AM by Aleksei.)

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

His father…
 
It was like the cogs were physically turning between the young boy’s ears, brows furrowed slightly as he took Aleksei in, seeing the man for the first time.  The name was only confirmation, one he heard in passing, from his Mama, from Inna.  It was a brother, which was something he didn’t have, which was something no one else at Hearthwood River had.  (Not amongst her agemates, anyways.  He was the only one, the only boy this year.)
 
His tail gave another thump, indicative as his thought, until his visitor kept talking.  Asked his name.  And Mama had taught him manners, too.  Not the same as rules.  (Hadn’t failed to save his mother the way the rules had, either.)  “Mmm.  I think so.  Mama had an Alek..s.  An Aleksei.”  He paused, stumbling over the name, if only briefly.  “I’m Mathéo.  Théo is good, though.”
 
And because he was not a particularly stupid child – not with Tainn and Aesir in his background – not with Kisla and Lachesis to raise him – he looked back up at Aleksei, humming thoughtfully as the deaths faded to the background, if only for a moment.  Never gone, but a brick in his pocket, and not in his hand, not held close, but a weight still present.  “You’re one of the boys?  Hers?” 

Mathéo. It seems the family tradition of having mildly pompous names had not been skipped this generation. Really, what was it about the Baranski-Tainn family bloodlines? Now that he thought about it, Aleksei noticed that every girl born from Kisla had an ‘a’ suffix—Karina, Inna, Lekalta, Risaela … huh. Weird. “It’s nice to meet you, Théo.” And it was. True, Risaela’s meeting had been far more relaxed, and natural, but that didn’t make this one any less exciting, or enjoyable. If anything, Théo was just as polite as Aleksei had been as a boy, and he’d always considered himself a delightful lad.

“I … yes. I’m her first son.” Kisla’s first, her eldest, and possibly her most disappointing. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. It’s been … difficult.” Aleksei’s brows furrowed as he glanced down to the lavender at his feet. Why was he talking so stiffly? Stupid question, really. He knew why; this wasn’t his home. It wasn’t a safe place for him to be either, and who knows what the others would think if they saw Aleksei, disgraced River prince, talking with young Mathéo? Actually, he felt a pang of smugness knowing that he’d had such a pleasant chat with Risaela, without their knowledge. Ha. Take that.

With a weary smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, Aleksei continued to attempt conversation with the young Tainn. “How have things been? I imagine everyone has been pretty upset.” Immediately, he chastised himself. Of course they’d be upset, stupid. The pack matriarch, your mother, died not long ago; murdered. Stupid.

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

“Hello,” Mathéo said, immediately feeling a bit stupid for it.  They’d already exchanged greetings, even if they’d gone without names for the first several minutes.  The boy stared down at his feet, feeling only the bubble of embarrassment instead of whatever upset the older wolf seemed to assume he might feel.  “S’okay.  Risa was gone for awhile.”  And he was still kind of upset about that – though he wasn’t sure if it were for the broken rules, or for the fear of what had happened to his missing sister, or for that fact that no one seemed to care when rules got broken and wolves got hurt – but that wasn’t Aleksei’s fault.
 
How are things?
 
Wolves had asked him that, in the beginning.  Just after it happened.  But no one had really wanted an answer, he had sensed, and they stopped asking shortly after the meeting about moving camp.  What Aleksei a wolf who wanted to know?
 
“They’re upset,” he agreed easily, because that was evident.  “Dunno for how long.  Nothing else…happens.”  
 
Was it wrong to be bored?  He was bored.  His sister had gone off on a grand adventure in the aftermath, and he’d been left with everyone moping around and walking on eggshells.  “Lack said move – but everyone else said no.  So here we are.”  He paused then, glancing at the ground.  The wolves buried there.  “With them.” 

Ah. He’d missed Risaela, had he? “Yes, Risaela seemed to enjoy her time away. She really wanted to come back home to you, though. Missed you.” Or so Aleksei would say, in the hopes that maybe it’d make the young boy before him feel a little bit better about his sister’s disappearance. Regardless, the older brother frowned at Mathéo’s words, but he nodded in understanding. Things stagnated after death—wolves got quiet, and they got sad. More than anything, though, they got distant. He knew how that felt. He’d been that wolf, after all.

Lack wanted to move? … Wait, who was Lack? Lachesis? Lorcan? The former seemed to be the more likely of the two, but it wouldn’t surprise Aleksei if that snivelling worm Lorcan wanted to jump ship out of Kingsfall. Maybe it was too hard to live next to the body of a woman who’s daughter he defiled? Boo hoo, poor him. Or maybe he was just selfish, trying to push his way into leadership? Didn’t matter in the end, and Aleksei most certainly didn’t care any more. As far as he's concerned, the day Lorcan and Inna get in charge will be the day the pack truly starts to die. He firmly believes wolves like that can’t lead; wolves like that can’t be trusted to be responsible.

Aleksei hummed, following Mathéo’s gaze with his own. “And what about you?” His attention returned to the rusty cub, head tilting curiously. “What do you want?” Briefly, he wondered if anyone cared what the children had to say. Their feelings were twice as important as any of the other’s, as far as the Baranski first-born was concerned. It was their mother’s grave that they had to live next to, after all.

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