Artur sat atop the wall, seemingly calm and at ease, but his paws flexed and relaxed rhythmically without conscious thought, scraping his claws against the stone, and his jaw was clenched as he glared out over the lands outside of the pack. Though he might have looked like he was on sentry duty, his blue eyes were unseeing as his unfocused gaze drifted.

His mother had died in the night.

It hadn't been unexpected. She'd told them all repeatedly to expect it. She was old, and the disease that had set in after she'd been injured had burned up what strength she had left. She'd been living on borrowed time, but she had seen them into adulthood.

And now she was gone.

He'd taken charge easily enough, taking a great deal of the heaviest work of digging a grave for her in the circle of stones and burying her there. He left the little rituals of grieving to his gentler siblings - she was dead and had no need of the words spoken over the grave, and he certainly didn't need to share his feelings. But now that he was alone, without anyone else to bolster and bully, he felt... lost. What now? Where did they go from here? Gwenevere had been his hero as much as his mother, and now he had to take up stewardship of their family and their family name when he was scarcely a yearling. She'd promised them all that she would see them trained, but fate had taken her before she could arrange for it. That left it to him to do. He was the oldest, it was his responsibility.

The weight of it all crushed down on him, and he drew in a sharp breath that wasn't a sob, but was probably the closest his self-control had come to slipping into crying. He'd been clutching his iron self-discipline like a lifeline, refusing to relax even the slightest bit even now that he was alone, because he was afraid that if he did let go, if he cried, he wouldn't stop. He needed to be strong so he damn well would be.

Gwenevere was gone. It wasn't a surprise, especially given the last conversation she'd had with her mother - accompanied by how her health had been steadily declining for some time now - but that didn't make it hurt any less. All it did was lessen the shock and awe of finding her the morning after she'd passed, lifeless and though far less stiff than she'd expected. She'd laid with her for a short while, but the comfort was short-lived and before long she simply felt uncomfortable. Burying her came next, a task she assisted in, despite Artur willingly taking on the bulk of the work. It wasn't an easy feat but it was weirdly cathartic, and towards the end of the task she realized with a start that she'd been crying. The tears weren't falling freely, but instead she was trying to hold them back and her vision clouded quite annoyingly. Once they were finished Caelia slipped away from the rest of them to spend a short while on her own. She wasn't prone to crying anyway and letting her siblings see her like that wasn't ideal. When she was alone, the tears came much more freely, but she struggled to compose herself and return to where she'd seen them last. She had no doubt her eyes would be puffy and red still but she didn't want to spend the rest of the night on her own. She was quiet as she slunk over, noting only Artur remained, sitting upon the wall. The female heaved a soft sigh as she approached, moving to lean against the wall as if for support. After a moment she lifted her head, arching it high to get a better view of Artur. "What do we do now?" Her voice wasn't as quiet as she feared it might be, though it lacked its normal conviction. She couldn't help but feel as though they'd been completely thrown off course and her mind was scrambling for ideas as to how they might find their way now, without their mother.

Geoffrey bumped Caelia's shoulder with his own as he arrived on the scene although the gesture lacked the warmth it should have possessed had the situation been different. He was uncharacteristically solemn. In truth he was still feeling a bit numb. It was hard to process your feelings when you couldn't even wrap your head around what had happened. Even though he'd known time was short with his mother Geoffrey hadn't really grasped what life would be like without her.

Was it weird that he had yet to cry? He felt guilty for his lack of tears, but it felt strange to cry over something that still felt so surreal. In a way, the distance between himself and tears that would come with true mourning was comforting. Almost like if he didn't acknowledge the grief the reason for it would remain distant and untrue. He couldn't cry; it was all a mistake. She would come back eventually.

That was a lie and hew knew it - he'd just helped bury her for heaven's sake - but it felt more plausible than the truth.

Caelia asked a question and naturally she asked it of Artur, the most leaderly of their litter. Geoffrey raised hollow eyes up to look at his brother as he too waited for an answer. It was a good question - one he himself had no answer for.

Cairo Lanze Adravendi

It hurt. So very, truly, and deeply. He touched his nose to the mound of earth that covered their mother and drew in a breath, as if by doing so he could smell her, warm and alive and well. But he couldn’t. All that remained was earth on his paws and the scent of death and loss. Finally, he pulled himself away and found his siblings, glancing up at Artur before he took his place beside his sister and Geoff, leaning gently into them and sharing warmth as he tried to process the loss. His eyes closed briefly before Caelia’s question, heartbroken, sounded on the breeze. Wat would they do? He wasn’t entirely certain. At least, he didn’t know what his sibs would do. He knew for certain what he should do. “We live our lives and make our mother proud. Together or apart, we all have a legacy to continue. I’m staying here. Our family has been a part of these lands since… since great grandfather brought his pack to the Plains so long ago. This land, this pack, this is where I am home.” His voice was sure, firmly calm as he glanced at his littermates before looking up at Artur. However much his elder brother might view himself as leader, Cai didn’t agree with him. Good leaders didn’t bully their siblings or drag them into dangerous situations. Viviane hadn’t set one paw beyond even the border between the Moor and the Plains since his littermates had returned from the Battlefield. He loved his brother – always would – but the self-centered eldest hadn’t won himself any favors from Cai with his actions. He knew later he would be weeping, but he didn’t care. If he forced that down, he may well be hurting even worse, and he might never find closure. Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Hear" ---- Think

Viviane crept up to the rest of her siblings in an uncharacteristic silence, her usually-animated, bouncy self drooping from her ears to her tail as she slunk up like a beaten cur. She'd cried herself out on their mother's grave, but rather than making her feel better it simply made her feel numb. One by one her siblings had left the grave, and her, behind, until she was the only one left. She didn't, she realized, want to be alone. So she'd dragged herself to her feet and forced herself to take step after apathetic step until she reached where her siblings had gathered. Seeing them, she felt a soul-deep longing for physical contact. More than that, she wanted to help the pain that she saw stamped on each face. She plodded up to each of them, pressing herself against each sibling's shoulder and rubbing her cheek to theirs, though she didn't have the energy to climb the wall to do the same for Artur and settled for pressing her cheek to his tail where it hung down the wall, then lowered herself to the ground to lay silently in their midst, her chin on her forepaws and her woeful green eyes blinking somewhat dazedly up at them.

Slowly his siblings trickled over to where he held vigil on the wall, first Caelia, then Geoffrey, then Cairo. Viviane arrived last, making him aware of their presence as she brushed her cheek against his tail tip. He glanced down at the faces gathered around him, coming into focus as he pulled himself back. "What do we do now?" Caelia asked aloud, sounding as lost as he himself had felt just moments ago. "We live our lives and make our mother proud. Together or apart, we all have a legacy to continue. I’m staying here. Our family has been a part of these lands since… since great grandfather brought his pack to the Plains so long ago. This land, this pack, this is where I am home."

"That's a pretty speech," he drawled coolly, eyeing his oft-absent brother. "Did Aurielle teach you that? He made as if to turn his attention back to the horizon, irritated by his brother, but his attention lingered on their other three siblings and he relented, instead leaping down among them. "We take care of ourselves, and we take care of each other," he said in answer to Caelia's original question. "Because no one else is going to. It's just us now," he rumbled, seeking to meet each of his siblings' eyes, then repeated, "If we don't take care of each other no one else will." His eyes narrowed in thought as his gaze drifted back and forth over them. The expression pulled at still-tender scars, but he ignored them. If his separate encounters with the cougar and the tournament had taught him anything, it was to value the ability to set aside pain for your goals. The scars hurt - he acknowledged it, then continued on despite it.

His siblings pain drew him from his own and gave him focus, as though he'd been drowning in the dark with no idea which way was up or down and now suddenly he could see the way forward. The relief of going from blind flailing to purpose was a nearly physical sensation, and he looked over them with all the watchfulness of a shepherd dog with his flock. Yes, it was his responsibility now to make sure they all had what they needed, not to let neglect set them back from who and what they should be. His mom had talked of them all reaching their full potential, of how they were capable of so much. Without someone actively seeking out opportunities for them and showing them how to better themselves, how would they ever reach that potential? "They already failed us when Mom was sick and no one came to help us or train us when she couldn't. Why should we expect any differently now that she's gone?" he said quietly, half to himself.

The silence that engulfed her felt daunting, even as Geoffrey slowly appeared and bumped her lightly with his shoulder. It was hard to shake the feeling of being alone, even in the company of her siblings. She wasn't surprised when Cairo appeared, followed by Viviane, but she hadn't expected him to answer her question. She turned her head to eye him curiously, blinking slowly as she reclined backwards onto unsteady haunches. He spoke up quickly, though she'd been directing the question to Artur, and though she hadn't known what to expect... she felt no less helpless by the end of his words. Of course they had to carry on their family's legacy. Of course they could stay together or not. Cairo, quite unsurprisingly, said he was going to stay. Leaving had never really crossed her mind. Not that she was steadfast set on staying, either - her grief was too fresh and raw to dwell on things quite like this yet. Was she the only one feeling this way? Briefly she eyed Artur, her brow furrowing, before her gaze fell to the earth below them. He spoke up not long after, and the icy cold in his tones surprised her and made her breath hitch in her throat. The way he spoke of Aurielle made her shift uncomfortably, though she maintained her steady silence. Her gaze only lifted when he spoke an answer to her question. They'd look out for one another, because no one else would. She nodded grimly, dwelling on his words as he added a few last quiet sentiments. He spoke more honestly than she would have, but he didn't disagree. She didn't disagree with Cairo though, either. Slowly she lifted her own voice, speaking to no one in particular either. "Mother gave these lands, and this pack, everything," she started quietly. "Sometimes I wonder if she gave too much, and if she hadn't been so selfless if she'd still be here." In her final days Gwenevere had lamented on not spending more time with her children and rightfully preparing them for adulthood. She didn't blame her mother, but instead the circumstances. Caelia's voice cracked as she spoke, but she didn't cry. She hardly processed their loss yet, and saying it out loud felt like she was speaking some foreign tongue. "If we give everything we have to give, will the same happen to us eventually?" Caelia honestly had no clue, but the thought of working effortlessly toward death seemed equally as terrifying and stepping foot into the unknown.