Fever found herself in the company of her mother on a bright, sunny afternoon. The young fae was shielded beneath an overhang of stone, lest her dark coat absorb too much of the spring suns heat. It was always easy to find Fever. Unlike her siblings and other wolves of the pack, the girl had no desire to leave Elysium lands. Everything that she needed and wanted was right here, either in front of her or just behind her sleeping eyelids.

It was evident that the smoke and fire child would never grow to be a large, imposing figure. Her baby fat had melted away for the most part, leaving her dainty and lean. An interesting thing, considering how larger her mother and father were. Thyrus was rather small as well. Somewhere in their lineage there were little wolves. There had to be.

"Grandpa Moros was telling me stories about Papa Alastor," the girl informed her mother. "He was telling me about the strength of our bloodline. I'm not strong though. I'll never be able to fight like you or father." The girl's brow furrowed. "How am I supposed to make our bloodline proud?"

"Fever Mendacium"

Avacyn scraped the edge of a dagger in smooth, steady motions across the back side of a hide as she prepared it for tanning, doing a bit of idle work while she enjoyed this quiet time with her daughter. They spoke about various things and enjoyed each other's company while she worked until Fever brought up her "Grandpa Moros" and what he had said about Papa Alastor, making Avacyn pause in the middle of a stroke of her blade. It wasn't the first time that Fever had made a mention of her great-grandfather and when she was younger Avacyn had written it off as the weird babblings of a pup and that maybe she had asked Alastor about his parents at some point so maybe that's where she had heard the name. Now though, Fever and her siblings were on the brink of being a full two seasons old and were all beginning to mature to a point where she expected them to speak sensibly for the most part. She still spoke of Moros as if he was real and as if he was truly telling her these things and it left Avacyn unsettled.

Still, outside of the strangeness that was the quotes she had from a man she never could have met–that Avacyn herself had never met–there was a deeper issue that she felt like she had to address first. She put down the dagger and looked to Fever with a bit of a frown. "Strength means so much more than just physical brawn. You don't need to be able to fight to make our family or the Ancestors proud." She slid the half-finished hide away, giving Fever her full attention. "In truth, I have fought for our family and pack far less than I have worked on diplomacy, rebuilt strained ties and offered advice to our family members, and given care to you and your siblings and my own younger siblings. Emotional strength and intelligence is just as valuable and sometimes even more valuable for a Matriarch than physical prowess."

"Avacyn Medacium"

Fever listened as her mother shared her beliefs on strength and usefulness. It seemed as though Ava didn't fight much for the pack, but she was able to use her skills in other ways. Fever considered, her brow furrowing as she thought about it. Then she gave her head a tilt to the side. "But what can I do? I don't have any cool skills. I talk to people that aren't there. Other wolves in the pack think I'm creepy." A frown formed on the girl's face and she looked up into Avacyn's eyes with her own gold and black orbs. "Do you think I'm creepy?" There was uncharacteristic vulnerability in the child's gaze as she questioned her mother. Others had told her that she was scary. That she was crazy. Would anyone ever respect or give fealty to someone crazy?

"Speech!"

Code © Skelle/Witchdogtor DO NOT USE WITHOUT PERMISSION