Dead Empress Backwater I wave goodbye to the end of beginning

The end of Rochus, my old grumpy man <3 Open to any DEB members who would like to say goodbye!!

The illness had taken hold of him quite viciously at first. Creeping slowly, and then bringing forth a spell of fever, snot, and a thick cough that he couldn’t shake. But he appeared to have been getting better. Both him and his grandson.

While Khalon had fully recovered Rochus could never fully shake the heaviness in his chest, and some days even breathing made him tired. His energy waned as the weeks dragged on, the cough and phlegm a constant reminder that he no longer had youthful vigor on his side. His health turned for the worse, a slow decline as Clover fretted to and fro. She did her best to hide it, but he could tell when she thought he wasn’t looking.

To make matters worse Tuwile decided one day to simply not leave him alone. Whenever he opened his eyes the boy was there, and no amount of complaining could get the boy to go further than a visible range from him. But not once did his grandson even utter a sound, though he did offer food and water. As time passed Rochus felt hunger and thirst less, and spent most of his days just trying to keep the air in his lungs.

It was a smoky night when he opened his eyes again, seeing the moon’s glow reflecting off Tuwile’s unblinking gaze not far from the mouth of the infirmary. Something felt different this night, and Rochus had enough energy to rise to his paws and stumble out of the den into the temperate outside. He picked a direction and hobbled along, the smoky air making the rattling breath in his chest even worse.

And the boy followed silently, like a spectre in the night.

Rochus was not sure how far or for how long he trudged along, but eventually he collapsed amongst an overgrowth of flora on the edge of the territory. Washed in moonlight he looked up at the night sky, filled with regret and desires unfulfilled, and with no time remaining to fix them.

The unbearable heaviness in his chest seemed to ease for a few moments, and he let his eyes close as a wave of tiredness washed over him, sinking deep into his bones. An ear twitched as for the first time Tuwile spoke, but the words did not register in his head beyond letting the raspy low tones lull him into a sleep far deeper than he had ever experienced before.

To help ease his mother’s efforts Tuwile had taken it upon himself to care for his grandfather so she could rest. Khalon had gotten better, but the older wolf just couldn’t seem to shake off the pneumonia. While he wasn’t a savant of medicine by any means, he could follow her orders well enough. But it soon became clear that Rochus would not be getting better, and so he endeavoured to spend the remaining time his grandfather had by keeping him company.

Tuwile had been half-dozing peacefully one night when a rustling from inside the infirmary woke him up, and he watched as Rochus emerged. The older wolf had a bit more pep in his step, but immediately he knew from his mother’s teachings that this meant the end was near.

He followed silently, allowing his grandfather some distance as they slowly walked to the edge of the territory. It was quiet out here. The fauna had long gone to sleep, and all that remained was the soft hum of the wind as it blew through the leaves up above. If not for the smoky tang in the air Tuwile would have called it a perfect night.

Tuwile continued to watch as Rochus settled himself beside one of the large trees that had a rather impressive growth of shrubs and plant life around its base. The older wolf looked up into the sky, but Tuwile kept his fiery gaze on his grandfather. The rise and fall of his chest was slowing, and the boy knew without a doubt that his end was near.

His voice was hoarse as he spoke, like sliding one dull rock against another. "All lives lived long are well-lived, and the end of one is the birth of something new. Life is precious and fragile, and it all ends the same way. But the end does not have to be sad. Memories and stories of past lives bring smiles to those who are told about them, and in doing so we keep them alive within us."

By the time he finished speaking Rochus’ chest had stopped moving. Tuwile tipped his head back and let out a husky and drawn-out howl, letting the rest of the pack know that they had lost one of their members. It was an open invitation for any who were still awake or prowling around in the night to stop by and pay their respects. Even if no one showed up Tuwile would stick around until it was time to bury his body. It was the least he could do.

The howl sounded. Another missing? No - another dead.

Rochus. Another man Ozark's mother hated. Weaseling his way into the family as though he ever had himself the right to call himself Valle. Modesto had seen right through the falsehood of the man, who didn't truly have love in his heart for his mate, Modesto's sister.

Ozark only heard about him. She had never particularly held any conversation with him, despite the time that ticked on of her being here. Time seemed to melt away, like the summer heat at the height of the day.

Soon, she would see the old man, felled at the outskirts of the territory claim. His young kin at his side. She rounded, keeping her distance though came to pay her respects. By the time her howl called and others had drawn near, Ozark held back to leave room for those who knew the man in a far better light. She would join them in the dig, if she must.

Viorel had been laying on his favourite log near the pack’s water source, eyes trained on the moon through the hazy smoke. It was not as bad as last year, and he had come to expect it to fill the air during the warmest months of the year. It stirred the cough in his chest, but as always did his best to smother it. Especially since Khalon and Rochus seemed to be suffering so much more. The yearling had turned a corner and Clover had allowed him to rejoin the rest of the pack - though he knew the woman would be keeping a close eye on him.

Rochus had not. He himself had not been in to visit, instead choosing to leave meals that went untouched at the entrance to the infirmary. When the howl went up, a voice that he somehow knew was Tuwile and yet didn’t recognize from lack of use, he felt the pit in his stomach stir. He could only assume why the teen would be calling for them to gather..

His own voice joined Ozark’s as he approached the scene. His was one of mourning and respect, while also calling expectantly for the rest of the pack to join them. One of their own had fallen and gone to join the other souls before him. He remained standing next to his cousin, not close with his uncle, and not feeling it was his place to interrupt Tuwile’s mourning. Eventually he murmured under his breath, ”We can bury him with the others.” He assumed she knew where Katna was buried, Modesto would have stressed how important this was.

from charming to alarming in seconds

Khalon had been avoiding the medical den with a wide berth ever since his mother had allowed him his freedom again. Worried that she might change her mind, or that he might get sick again and start the process over again. He knew his grandfather had not been released at the same time he had, but it had never even crossed his mind that he wouldn’t get better at all. It made sense that it would take longer for him to get healthy - he was old - but no part of him thought he was going to die. They had the same illness after all.

When all the calls began to ring through the night, he raised his head sleepily. Ignoring it as long as he could until Viorel’s became more of a demand. He couldn’t process what he was going to be walking into, why everyone sounded so mournful. It was weird that everyone needed to gather so late at night, but mostly he just felt annoyed at being woken up.

Coming in from a different angle than Viorel and Ozark, he didn’t see the body until he was practically standing next to Tuwile. Gold eyes stared at the corpse for a long time, his mind blank. Fully dissociated he said nothing at all, just standing stalk still. Then everything shattered and he just whispered, ”no.” How could his mother let this happen? She was supposed to be making him better! How could she let him die!?

WELL, I'VE BEEN AFRAID OF CHANGING

Eros moved silently along the outskirts, dull eyes observing Rochus' still body past the others gathered. He did not need to go any closer until it was time to help carry him to his grave. Better that space go to those more capable of feeling than he was. The leader settled onto his stomach, and contemplated the emptiness inside of himself. How grotesquely ironic, that all life seemed to entail was death. They had each done so much to try and help Rochus, from gifts of food or medicine or company, and yet all their efforts came to the same end. Eros couldn't even be surprised about it. He was not the first elder they had lost. Still it was so fucking unfair. No matter how hard they tried, it was always futile in the end. What was the point?

'CAUSE I'VE BUILT MY LIFE AROUND YOU

the night comes down like heaven

She heard the call and for a moment thought about not answering. She hadn't known the man, but knew he was family, and in the end she wanted to be there for her grandfather and uncle, if nothing else. She'd withdrawn mostly to herself since learning about her father's death, but that didn't mean she had to leave everyone else alone for it.

Ally crept in at the edge, gaze flicking around nervously. Most of the pack had yet to arrive. She hesitantly stepped in next to Eros and leaned against his side, not putting her full weight on him but enough for him to know she was there, if he needed. If he wanted. She wanted to be useful. She wanted to leave this grief that had take over her.

Jacy had spent time in the den with Rochus and the other couple sick pack members. The yearling himself had been lucky, only suffering a minor cough that had cleared up after a couple days rest and he could go about his quiet pack duties. Not that he was doing much good with any of them. He felt more like a burden, and extra mouth, the last of a family who had long since abandoned the pack and sometimes he wondered if he ought to follow them... he stayed only for Clover, who had already lost so much, but would she really notice if he disappeared too?

But still, he heeded the call to respect Rochus and send the man off, quietly gliding up to the group. He stepped up beside his adoptive brother, offering Tuwile a gentle bump of the nose in the hopes of offering some comfort, some solidarity.

"Speech" Thought

Kalysta had no idea who Rochus was or who he was to her father and she didn't particularly care, but her dad had called and it meant she would be allowed to wander further from the den. And see more family! She wanted to meet more family, learn what she could get away with and with whom. So, with full confidence, Kal wandered through the territory until she reached where she was pretty sure the call had come from. She could smell the others nearby, anyway, and followed her nose to the correct spot. If she tripped a couple times along the way and bumped her nose into the dust, that was her business.

She wove through the slowly gathering crowd until she bumped into her dad and wriggled to make it seem intentional. She blinked and looked around her, taking in the shapes of her pack gathered around. She wondered which dark blob was the one they'd called about.

She was a failure. It was her one job to keep everyone alive and healthy, and she couldn't even do that these days.

The moment Clover had heard the death rattle in Rochus' chest as he breathed a few days ago she knew there was nothing more she could do. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard to her ears, and she found herself unable to stay close to him for too long before becoming overwhelmed with the realisation that he was going to die under her care. But it brought some comfort that one of her sons was willing to take on some of the burden in Rochus' final days, when she had to step away to re-center herself.

Unable to sleep, she was still awake when the howl sounded out, announcing the death of one of the Backwater members. Clover allowed herself some time to reign in her emotions, even after Viorel's voice called out, his one more of a demand for everyone to join him. It was with a resigned walk that Clover made her way to the edge of the territory where others had already begun to converge.

She felt out of place, but moved past the wolves that remained on the outskirts of the group until she stood beside her two sons and Jacynth, who she considered to be a son of her own though they shared no blood relation.

"I'm sorry," was all Clover could whisper out. She didn't know herself if it was meant for Rochus or everyone else, but it was the only thing she could say in that moment.