Hearthwood River come, let the revolution take its toll

for daddy dragon @Kjors <3

She chewed happily on the twig, laid out on her back between two large sturdy forelegs. The wisp of wood, once rough and flavourful, was now smoothed and bland in the middle where she munched on it, tasting only like her saliva. The moisture had softened its thin bark, which had weakened it and let her slowly gnaw the layer away. Her ministrations were applied with no kind of finesse or deliberation, only the repeated and stubborn behaviour she exhibited often. There was a quiet, content 'nyang' in the back of her throat with every chomp, her satisfaction unhidden as she held the twig in place with curled paws and slobbered all over it.

Her bright blue eyes stared straight upwards, unwavering, at the single yellow orb which gazed back, lost in a sea of blackness which reminded her of her own fur, and the similarity pleased her just as much as her chew toy. He had fallen silent for a moment, and she'd been waiting expectantly, but when a few too many heartbeats passed with no more words, she paused in her nyanging, tiny ears pushing forward in curious and displeased acknowledgement of the fact he'd stopped. Why would he stop? Bennet loved the sound of his voice.

With a squawk, muffled and distorted as the twig pressed down on her pink tongue, she demanded he continue.

   

Kjors had wandered off into his own thoughts, the warm weight of his daughter pressed against his forepaws the only thing keeping him from floating off completely.  The muffled demand drew his attention back to the presence – the wolf made a low noise, leaning down to press his nose into the child’s rough.  “Yer demandin’, huh?”

He didn’t remember being so pushy as a child – but then, those circumstances were entirely differently, and that was so many winters ago.  Idly, he wondered if Karina was a wee princess herself, when she was her daughter’s age, but he did not linger on the thought.  Instead, he paused for a moment, offering Bennet a few swipes of his tongue, grooming the girl in consulation as he tried to gather his thoughts.

“What do ya wanna hear, lil’ dragon?” he hummed, tipping his head to one side as he watched the pup attack her chew toy with single-minded determination.  He’d have to find the girl something more sturdy, and quickly.  “Should Ah tell ya ‘bout the sky?  ‘bout yer granda?  ‘bout th’ dragons?”

Kjors was aware, on some level, she was far too young to be able to answer such questions, but asked the young girl all the same, watching her with a soft eye as she splintered her stick.

The particular way in which he replied (that being of playful accusation) was completely irrelevant to Bennet, who just gurgled happily at the fact that he obeyed and said anything at all. Resuming her content chewing, she stared up at @Kjors with her wide blue eyes as he posed what she understood to be question after question. The girl was slowly growing to recognise certain words - despite her refusal to parrot any back - but she had been far more interested to learn the meaning behind tone. Her mother was always saying all sorts of things in all sorts of ways, different largely because of how they were said.

She didn't understand the words in his question, and as such couldn't know the best way to respond. He was using that commanding voice that mother did, the voice which said 'stop chewing on Kyrios' or 'stop chewing on Atropos' or 'stop chewing on me', that sort of thing. Nor was he using the 'are you hungry?' or 'are you full?' or 'are you tired?' kind of voice which accompanied the questions Bennet was most familiar with. She frowned as she considered them, still chewing, and in her distraction her mind fixated on his very last word. Even if she hadn't had the stick in her mouth, her tongue and lips would not have wrapped themselves around the word properly, but in every other way she quietly mimicked his enunciation of 'dragons', her throat opening and tightening as she copied the pitch with which he had spoken those two syllables.

Then her eyes refocused and snapped back on his face once she realised what she'd done (in her limited capacity) and fell silent once more. He'd gotten his answer.

Bennet continued to chomp away with single-minded determination, and the proud father could not help his wry smile.  It was clear she was thinking from the distant expression, even if words were beyond a pup of her age.  That she was considering at all made his heart swell and he leaned down to drag a wet tongue across her crown, grooming the pup as she thought.  His tail thumped behind him, content with the silence – but alas, his daughter was not.  Briefly pausing from her task, she gurgled back at him.

Not words, but had the same cadence as ‘dragons’, and he gave a mighty grin.

“Alright,” he rumbled in response, tail giving a twitch.  What was there to say?  What did his father tell him when he was still a boy?  Kjors gave a thoughtful hum as he watched his daughter, and then he continued.  “Dragons ‘re still born o’ men,” he murmured, “naw always dragons.  So y’gotta look fer th’ others, too.”  @Orren sprung to mind – he never was able to determine if the boy was truly a dragon or otherwise, but the youth had dispersed from his family’s pack.  That would have to wait.  “Dragons ‘re strong, inherently.  Aren’ afraid t’ take wha’ they want.  Ain’t afraid a’ bein’ alone, not like most wolves.  Dragons aren’t meant t’ serve.” He paused, leaning down to nudge his daughter’s ruff.  “Ye’ll never serve ‘nyone, darlin’, not long as Ah live.”

to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you

KJORS SØRENSON

to feel your weight in arms I'd never use

Though not old enough to fully grasp at words and sentences, Bennet was plenty developed enough to recognise the more subtle communications behind facial expressions and tone of voice. Her baby-like enunciation of that singularly important word rewarded her with a wide and toothy grin on that dark face she loved staring at, and though outwardly her delight did not show, inside she soared.

In some way she understood the gravity of what @Kjors was telling her, heard his sincerity and held it tight. Through all the many complex words and phrases, over and over came that one word, and silently she repeated it every single time, throat tightening and loosening and tongue flexing to mimic it even with the soggy stick in her mouth. As she grew older, his teachings and promises would mean much more, but even on this day she felt some deep significance in his voice as he reached down and nudged her, the touch prompting her to murmur happily and twist about to grasp his snout between her two inky paws, trying to manhandle him about so she could face him properly, nose to nose. Staring at that vast expanse of fur in front of her with its single yellow sun, she felt both lost and found, and for a moment began to bring their muzzles together as if to touch the tips of their noses together -

but instead at the last moment opened her saliva-heavy jaws and brought tiny short milk teeth into the shiny black end of his nose with a gleeful gurgle as vicious as could be expected from a creature her size.

Bennet Kjorson would never have to manhandle her father, not really.  Even without the ability to form proper words, she only need make vague indications of her wants, and the dragon was happy to oblige.  It was not service, he reflected, if done willingly, and with only affection and love as motivation.  In truth, the one-eyed wolf did not have a word for such a feeling, not yet, not really, but on some level, the swarthy male reasoned this must be what parenthood was about – something a wolf could not understand until they were a father or mother themselves.

Kjors twisted slightly, allowing access to his dark, wet nose – and immediately, the man was rewarded with the needling bite of sharp little puppy teeth.  The adult gave an unhappy puff, cheeks billowing out as he gave his head a gentle shake; how mighty was his daughter, to be such a sneaky, vicious little thing.

One paw came up, batting at the small girl ever so gently as she initiated the play.  Pup-rearing was not Kjors’ particular bailiwick, but he was quick to learn; working with Orren last year might have helped some.  A shame he hadn’t spent more time with Inna or Lekalta.  The dragon gave another snort as he tried to pull his mouth free and snatch up Bennet’s stick – she’d learn a thing or two about wrestling, she would.

to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you

KJORS SØRENSON

to feel your weight in arms I'd never use

Two more each? :)

What might have ended with a giggle and released nose was instead emboldened by his swift retaliation. Truth be told, Bennet just liked to bite things, a habit likely encouraged by the growing of those tiny teeth which poked at the surface of @Kjors' nose. But whether or not it had been her intention to provoke him, she recognised his intention to play immediately, wriggling about next to his remaining foreleg as she tried to both cling on to his snout and fend off the attacking paw. Her chest and throat were alight with shrieks and growls and laughter as her world focused in on this one solitary moment, this one game, and the tiny creature had nothing serious to concern herself with at all.

But wait! Kjors plucked his nose out of her admittedly puny grasp and at first she reached for him again, displeased, until she saw his jaws wrap about her stick and no! - her cries took on a far more indignant note as she thrashed about to try and right herself, because she was hardly able to do anything about this on her back, and leapt up on her backlegs to wrap her own mouth around her stick and tug backwards. He couldn't steal it like that! It was hers!

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

The game quickly morphed from a game of nibbles and paws to something much more serious.  Kjors’ single golden eye sparkled with delight as the child squawked once she realized her prize was being stolen away by the older wolf.  Remaining on his belly, he craned his neck to hoist the stick up and away from his child.  Teeth ground against the bark, the fiber of the stick, and he strained his neck to watch as Bennet struggled with the new problem.

Well.  She didn’t struggle for very long.

Up on her overly large paws when the swarthy girl, her paws stomping across the ground as she stared up at her prize for only a moment.  Bennet’s entire body seemed to squirm and coil, and then the girl was up on her hind limbs.  How long could she balance like that?  Mouth still wrapped around the stick, he rumbled softly, amused by her antics.  His tail swept across the ground behind him as she moved, and once he felt pressure on the stick he lifted away, much like a fisherman who’d hooked a prize.  Kjors gave a gentle shake, not wishing to discourage the girl, but encourage her play, her tenacity.

Come on, Bennet, you could do it.  Get the stick.

to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you

KJORS SØRENSON

to feel your weight in arms I'd never use

Barely had she grasped her possession when he moved away, and a lesser-willed child might have lost their hold. Bennet, though, was stubborn to the end, and even when she almost lost her balance and risked coming away from the ground completely - her little infant legs not letting her reach very high at all - she refused to give in that easily. Some part of her realised that it was a tease, a game, but it was completely steamrollered by the fundamental need to get her stick back. On that lower, rational level, she also knew that he would probably give it back afterwards, but that notion was barely given any thought at all, for it side-stepped the principle of the matter entirely.

He shook it softly and she growled low and quiet in response, as if to contest his teasing, and her puppy-blue eyes narrowed in stubborn displeasure. The child found herself at an impasse - her grip was not strong enough that she trusted herself to tug backwards, but if she let go she would surely fall! Giving a half-hearted wriggle so as not to accidentally fall, she tested his grip, which proved too strong for her weak efforts - and promptly decided that half-hearting anything was not in the cards.

Stiffening her back legs in some attempt to steady herself, she maintained her tenuous bite on the stick and held out her forepaws to test her balance. But then she over-reached and one of her back-leg-pillars wobbled and she almost fell, and just as suddenly inspiration struck -

All or nothing.

She let go, and fell back on her rump, all four paws back on the ground but she did not cry out or complain; her focus was still sharply held on that stick, now held aloft above her. Her body might have possessed a puny amount of strength, but she was a puny size too, and did not need much might to execute her plan. It was a simple plan, too; with a grunt, great effort and not very much grace, she leapt up, reaching with mouth and forelimbs to coil around the stick, from which she promptly hung - held by tooth and wrapped arms and one backleg which she had managed to kick up and hook her hock around the stick.

Damn him. It was hers.