Mountain of Dire It's time I checked in

I need fired! I'm so sorry @Cyril I so totally thought that I posted this this morning and realized that I hadn't. Sorry it took me sooo long.

Now that they seemed to have found a place that they were going to call home. Cheedo thought it was the perfect place for them, she liked the quiet of it. There was something that had been bothering her for some time and that was the fact that she and Cyril hadn't really talked. He'd never been much of a talker and his silence had only gotten worse since his father's death. It was understandable, he was grieving. That didn't stop her from worrying about him but she'd given him space in hopes he would get better.

She was done with that though, it was time that she sought the boy out and talked with him. Even if she did all the talking. It was Midmorning when she went looking for him. When she finally caught up with his dark form she called out to him, “Cyril, can I have a few moments of your time,” she didn't know what he had planned for the day. If nothing else she felt he needed to know that she was there for him just as much as she was for Piety.

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While the boy didn’t mind spending time atop the rugged mountain, exploring the areas surrounding the tarn, he was still intrigued by the forests below. He was a little wary, especially when it came to the neighbouring packs, but Cyril was cautious. He knew where he was allowed to step and where he wasn’t. The moody youth was not interested in starting beef with the locals, especially when he was still new to the land himself.

Today, however, a familiar voice pulled him away from his patrol. Her voice called out through the cold air, requesting his presence. At first he considered ignoring her and continuing along his way, but Cyril knew he couldn’t. He hadn’t spent much time with her since his father’s death; he dared not avoid her longer. It wasn’t that he disliked her—he had been avoiding everyone since they left the lowlands. Except for his mother.

He stopped, his shoulders sagging as he turned to meet her icy gaze. His nose tipped to the side, inviting her to speak. This was her conversation; he was just along for the ride.

There is a family of deer nearby. Hunt Opportunity

The tawny woman was glad that she had found him in the forest and rather quickly. It would give them plenty of time to talk before they would need to be back or darkness fell. She hadn't really like the idea of being in the wood at night but they had stayed there long enough, she still wasn't used to it.

For a moment she worried that he wouldn't want to talk to her at all since he hadn't seemed to want to talk to her. Her tail swished behind her when he didn't take off running. She saw the sag of his shoulders as he turned toward her which caused her to frown. She wished she could take away all of his pain but she unfortunately couldn't.

“I've been worried about you Cyril. Are you doing any better?” She was sure he was in a bad place but she didn't know if he was coping or getting worse. She hoped he would tell her something.

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His nose wrinkled as she spoke. A single, dark brow arched high into his forehead, his lips still drawn tight into a thin line. Was he doing any better? His father was dead—because of him—how was he supposed to be doing better? If he hadn’t opened up to his mother, or even Adeltra, why did Cheedo think he was going to open up to her? He wasn’t in the mood to discuss his feelings. Not now. Eventually he would move forward, but he was still grieving. Cyril  had made sure his self-loathing and sorrow was kept to a minimum around his mother and the blue-eyed agouti, for he did not want to bring them down with him. Especially his mother. She deserved so much more.

But he was doing fine. He was still here, wasn’t he?

So he shrugged, his expression neutral as he kept his yellow gaze fixated on her tawny frame. There was no need to be worried. The wounds were still fresh. So much had changed in the recent weeks. Not only had his father died but his birth pack—the only home he’d ever known—had crumbled around him. They had left the north, to move on or whatever. It was kind of working. 

She saw the wrinkle of his nose as she spoke asking him how he was doing. She knew he wasn't doing well, how could he be after everything that had happened. He'd been through so much in just a short amount of time. She knew that it was ridiculous to expect him to get over it or move on so soon. She wouldn't be surprised if it didn't haunt him the rest of his life and the things he must be thinking. It hurt to imagine what might have gone through his mind in the time since his father's death.

It wasn't like she didn't have some experience in all the things that could be thought after losing someone that meant so much. While she hadn't lost her father, she had lost her children and for a very long time she grieved them. It wasn't until Cyril had come along that she'd actually started to heal. She sighed at his shrug as it told her nothing of how he was feeling. “I’m sorry Cyril that your having to go through this and I wish there was something I could say or do to help you in some way.” She looked away through the trees for a moment before resting her gaze on him once more, “So many times in the past you've helped me and you didn't even know it,” she admitted, “You know that I'm here for you right?”

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He knew he was saying—or wasn’t saying—all the wrong things. Was he supposed to let her coddle him and tell him everything was going to get better? That the grief would pass, eventually, and he would become a better wolf because of it, blah, blah, blah… Cyril knew. He knew he’d move forward, one day, and resume his life. It was what his father would have wanted. But he wasn’t done blaming himself—not yet. If it had not been for his idiotic actions his father would not have felt the need to swoop in and shield him from the stag. It was still his fault. Nothing would change that. No amount of soothing words and it’s going to be okay’s. His father was dead because of him. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—be convinced otherwise.

His expression tightened as she spoke, his yellow gaze still fixated on her tawny features. She claimed she wanted to help him, to say the right things, but there was nothing she could say. He had accepted the fact that his father was dead and that life would never be the same, and he was okay, but he was still bitter about the whole ordeal. Then, she went on to say that he had helped her in the past. Huh. His maw fell to one side, his ears cupped forward. He hadn’t known that, but he did know that she would always be there for him, even if he didn’t want her aid. Cheedo was good like that. She had pledged her loyalty to his mother time and time again; he knew she spoke the truth.

So he nodded, the right corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly in a half smile. He knew. 

Cheedo remembered all of the different emotions she felt when her children had died, even when she had thought Craw to be dead. Though she now disliked the man very much she had been a different woman back then. She knew she could never begin to imagine what Cyril was going through but she wished he would talk to her. She worried that he may never overcome the loss of his father. Especially a father like Wraith who had been so attentive to his son even giving up his life so that his son could live. She was glad to have had the chance to get to know him and she was glad that Cyril’d had him for a father.

Something she'd never told the boy in all the time she'd known him was just how much he'd helped her. She'd kept it to herself though she now suspected that Piety knew so why she hadn't yet told Cyril she didn't know. Since he wouldn't talk to her she thought maybe it was time she told him. “Before I came here Cyril I had a husband. Maybe you've heard him mentioned? His name was Craw and he and I had children but they didn't make it. I was really sad for a long time, I can't even begin to describe everything that I felt but then I met you mom and helped her while she was pregnant with you. Then after you were born I have to admit I was hesitant to he around you because you reminded me so much of my children. I couldn't stay away though. I don't know if you remember but that day with the fish. It was everything I had not to laugh at your antics. From then on I have wanted to show you so many things. The way you helped me is being you Cyril and you helped me to accept the deaths of my children and to move on from that day but never forget them.” She didn't know if that would help him but maybe hearing her own story could help him in some way big or small. That she too had suffered a great loss and as time had passed and with the right wolves in her life she'd been able to find some peace with what had happened.

In that moment it seemed all she could do for him was to make sure he knew she was there for him. She did let a small smile cross her features as he did.

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He would have been content if the conversation had ended there. The ebony youth knew that she cared about him and was concerned about his well-being. He was trying; he did not need to be doted on or consoled. It was something he needed to come to terms with on his own. He did not need the reassurance that everything was going to be okay. Cyril knew that, eventually, everything would return to normal. Or, as normal as it could be.

But the conversation didn’t end. Instead, Cheedo began telling him about her previous husband. Craw. A name he’d heard whispered atop the monadnock a few times, but he’d never inquired about the elusive male. From what he understood this Craw had left Whitestone; therefore, he wasn’t important. So Cyril never asked. But, once upon a time ago, he’d been important to the tawny woman before him. Important enough that she’d had children with him. The corners of his mouth drooped as she mentioned that she had lost said children and grown sad—which was completely understandable. He could only imagine how devastated his mother would be if the stag had struck Cyril instead. The older woman went on to say that Cyril had helped her overcome her grief, even though he hadn’t known it (or tired to). He understood what she was trying to do—make him feel better. That he wasn’t alone. Or whatever. Risaela had done the same, as she had lost her mother at a young age too.

It made him feel a littler better, but not enough to speak. Instead, he nodded once more before pressing his nose to her cheek for a moment. Once he pulled away his brows knitted together, his dark plume swaying behind him. Was that all she had to say? The silence of the forest was calling—he wanted nothing more than to be alone. 

She hoped that she had picked a good time to tell him about her past. Her reason for telling him was one gmit was time that he knew, he was old enough and she didn't want to keep it from him. Mostly though she wanted him to see that she did understand a little of what he might be feeling. Not everything obviously because the circumstances were different but the sense of loss she imagined was the same.

Cheedo also wanted him to know how important he was to her and how he'd helped her. She didn't know if it would help him to know but it was was better that he did. The last thing she wanted was for him to go through his life not knowing. It was even more important now knowing how fast a life could be taken. The truth was they never knew how long they actually had so it was best to tell those you cared about the important things. She looked at her paws for a moment as she thought about never having the chance to tell Wraith how much he'd helped her and how grateful she was for it.

Cyril didn't say anything once she'd finished and while it was a little disappointing she hoped that one day he would talk to her again. He did however press his nose to her cheek. She smiled before gently nibbling the base of his ear affectionately. As his tail swayed she spoke, “When your ready,” she said with a small nod. She wouldn't push him to talk to her, she could only hope that some good had come from their meeting.

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