Age had gotten the better of the once-marauder. Time had a funny way of doing that. It was strange, really. Deion knew damn well that he was not supposed to have lived a long life. A reckless, feckless beast such as he was. Prone to running headlong into danger, putting himself at risk for nothing more than entertainment. And yet. Here he was. Laid up in bed, the ache of his joints barely soothed by the heady mixture of alcohol and drugs that seemed to flow through his veins more than his own blood some days. There was some awful, rattling cough in his chest that only cropped up when the humidity got overwhelming. The crypt was a balm in itself, cool and dry most times. That stupid crow crept into view, beady eyes fixed on him in the firelight. He snarled at it, as he always did. But it was half-hearted. He was tired. The little beast flapped awkwardly out of sight, and instead the entryway to his little cavern was filled with the hulking figure of his son. Newly minted battle wounds adorned him, half scarred already. His heart swelled with pride, and he sighed to himself. "Good evening, my boy. Come in, sit with your old man for a while." he grunted, patting the space beside himself. He spoke in his mother tongue, it was so much easier and it brought him great comfort. This was half invitation, half command. As the aurora-painted man settled- and he was a man now, there was no way to deny it. Young and full of bristling energy. In some ways, he reminded Deion of his young days. Though Valerian was not nearly as sociable, he had not made the lifelong bonds that Deion had by this age. Troubling. "I'm dying," he said it. Blunt, without any of the sentiment that a weaker soul might offer with the statement. He lifted a large paw to quell the protests from his son. "None of that. It is the truth, and I am not troubled by this. I've outlived everyone I knew from the old days, almost twice their age now. I've grown older than my mother was when she died. This is not how it was meant to be, for a man like me." the words fell from dark lips easily, and the furrow in his brow was one of concern. Crimson-mauve gaze lifted to meet the pale gold of his son's. He smiled mournfully. "I am sick, I am too old to be healthy now. I do not care for living like this." he admitted, and the humour in his voice was bittersweet. He cleared his throat of the burgeoning emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. "I am glad you've visited, my boy. I wanted to see you all before I die, but I don't think I will have that chance. You must tell your siblings, if I do not see them, that I love them dearly. They are, all of them, pieces of my heart." he was thankful that his son had fallen silent, dutifully listening to the drunken ramblings of an old man. He flicked his bright eyes over to his son, waiting for him to accept this fateful task. After a beat, he took the wordless acceptance as a cue to continue. "Do not bury me. I want the warrior's pyre. When my body is ash, do what you will. Spread those ashes somewhere that makes you happy, or leave them in the pyre, it matters not to me. You should try and take that stupid bird with you, too. Give it some task, a name, whatever you wish. It has been loyal, in some odd way. It should follow my son as it followed me, I think." these were instructions, meant to be followed by the dutiful little warrior that he had raised. As willful and ornery as the boy was, he would obey his father, in the end. Always did. He waited a few moments, letting the morbid conversation dissipate as the crackle of flames and the lungs of massive wolves filled the silence. Finally, he cast a warm smile to his boy and let his plush tail beat a few times on the ground. "I'm sure you did not travel all this way to listen to your old man bore you with his final wishes, so tell me your tales. There should be something to eat on the shelves, help yourself." there was mirth in his gravelly voice, finally. Fondness in his heart. ""

He'd hauled the damned carcass for endless hours back towards the borders of the pack that his father had decided to call home, in the hopes that the bastard would still be alive to enjoy it together. Thankfully, the old man seemed to be well enough- he could smell the fire in the caves of the crypt long before he reached them. He left the young buck just inside the mouth of the crypt, and ambled inside with little regard for the borders. There was some sort of understanding between the leader and his kin, it seemed. If he wasn't a pain in the neck, he could visit his sire with little interference. It was nice, better than having to swear allegiance to some stranger and carry out their bidding just to see his family. That odd crow was lurking near his father's doorway when he sauntered up, and he worried it was preparing to pick at his corpse- he lifted a massive paw to shoo it away as he stepped into the entry. He could see his old man, curled up by the fire and half asleep by the look of it. Was his fur always that.. dull looking? Were the ridges of his spine usually sticking out like that when he laid down? Had to be, there was no way he was that sick. He flashed a toothy grin at Deion as he skulked his way into the den where he'd been born all those seasons ago, settling on his side with a great whumph that threatened to put out the fire. He sprawled out for a moment, nipping at the old man's paws as his neck extended to stretch the muscles. He accepted the light swat to his muzzle that it earned him, tongue lolling from his great jaws as he rolled onto his elbow and let the small tendrils of flame warm his belly. Hadn't even been there two minutes, and already it was back to the serious shit. He opened his mouth immediately to silence his father when he brought up the cruel reality of his age. "Not this again-" but his jaws clamped shut with a clack as he was silenced with a hard look and upheld paw. Were the joints of Deion's paws always so knobby? He frowned at his father, but remained mute. There was only ever one wolf who could boss him around, and that was his father. The cosmic giant explained that he had long since outlived all of his old friends and comrades, that he was even older than his mother had been when she died. It felt strange to hear about his grandparents in this context, as all of the stories of Caia and Ragnar were fond ones- very little about their passing had ever come up. He understood, to a certain degree, how his sire felt about growing so old. It was a huge part of how he and his siblings had been brought up- be bold, be fearless, and be strong. If that meant dying young on the battlefield, that would be a proud moment for their ancestors. To pass at the hands of time itself was unexpected, perhaps even disappointing. Valerian saw it as a testament to his father's indomitable spirit and ability to survive at all costs. Never a failing. There was a strange pang of emotion that built up in his chest as his father ordered him to burn his corpse after death. It swelled like an abscess around his heart, quickly filling the space between his lungs until he could scarcely breathe. He kept quiet, and prayed the painful sense of breathlessness would pass soon. Perhaps his own heart was giving out from all of the talk of death. He cast a sidelong look towards the doorway at the mention of the stupid bird, who had been a strange shadow of his sire's from the moment of his birth. He couldn't help but smile a little, seeing the flicker of oil-slick feathers in the shadows beyond the doorway. At the mention of his siblings, the titanic brute's heart stuttered just a little. He hadn't seen anyone in quite a while. Cos and Raka had taken to wandering as quickly as he had, though Raka had always returned to visit Deion with a greater frequency than any of them. Hen was supposedly somewhere around here, having taken up with this pack after a visit with their father. He committed the eerily gentle words to memory, just in case he needed to relay them. He prayed to all of the old gods that he wouldn't. Deion's love would feel like the ashes of a funeral pyre on his tongue, if he ever had to speak them. They would taste bitter and melancholy, he already knew it. And then there was blessed silence for a stretch. He heard the rhythm of the old man's breath, let it steady his own. He shuffled in close, laid his heavy head against his father's breast. Listened to the steady, calm beat of his heart. Timed his own breathing until he could feel their pulses synchronized. The same heart beating, perhaps until his own death. A strange way to keep one's family with them forever. And then, the soft rumble of Deion's voice, felt through the bones of his skull more than it was heard by his ears. He snorted, but didn't raise his head, not quite yet. "No, I didn't want to listen to you go on and on about it, actually." he teased, the harshness of his own emotions already softened by the proximity to his old man. "I brought us something to eat, let me go bring it in." he said, and with a great sigh of effort, heaved himself onto his paws. Lumbered out the door, made his way to the mouth of the crypt to retrieve the cold carcass of the young buck. There were no eyes in its head anymore, and the three-toed prints in the silt and dust on the edges of the entrance pointed to the culprit- the stupid bird. By the time he dragged it all the way back to his father's den, the old man had a few bottles arranged by the fire and was making himself comfortable again. So he pulled the buck into the space between the fire and the sparse pelts that covered the floor on its far side. The fire would heat it back up and make it palatable again, and they could eat together. Two pairs of tusked jaws made short work of cracking bones and shredding supple flesh, a bloody mess indeed. The two men did not speak as they ate, and the mead lay untouched- a treat for after their meal. Val couldn't shake the sense of incredible sorrow that seemed to linger in the back of his mind, the grim finality of how his father had spoken to him as he'd come in. He paused, a chunk of meat sliding down his gullet as hard as stone and settling just as heavily in his gut. He cast his gilded attention upon his father, watching his sire eat. Memories slid across the forefront of his mind, a new one with every breath. He wasn't really going to lose his father so young... was he? "Hey, dad?" he asked, and suddenly he was just a tiny pup, freshly whelped within these very walls. So very small, and so very lost in this strange new world. Deion looked up, jowls coated in gore and ichor but no less the man who had taught him everything about living. "I love you." there was a quiver in his voice as he spoke the words aloud, all at once so very afraid of what would inevitably come to pass.

He welcomed the opportunity to enjoy some fresh meat, and always cherished the chance to enjoy more time with his children. He knew his time left was short, and moments like these were all that he cared to spend energy on in his remaining hours, days, weeks, months- whatever remained. So he pulled down a few bottles of the good stuff and waited for whatever Valerian had brought for them to eat tonight. The velvet covered antlers of the young buck that his son dragged into the cave were still small, the early days of spring triggering them to start growing in again. He wondered if he could use them to carve a handle for a blade that his children might use. It would be better to get a hold of old antlers, from after the velvet was shed. They were easier to handle. The pair ate in relative silence, enjoying the warm meat as it sat close to the small fire. Congealed blood began to flow like a river of wine from parted veins and arteries as the body remained by the flickering flames. This may have been one of the best meals he'd enjoyed in quite some time, so he greedily devoured whatever he could manage. His appetite had waned somewhat in his twilight years, but tonight he found himself tearing great chunks of flesh from the carcass with youthful abandon. He was only given pause by the small, tremulous voice of his son at his side. He lifted his attention from their meal, and saw the glassy eyes of his son pinning him in place over the shared banquet. The backwards tilt of his verdant ears, the tightness around his bloodied jowls. That was a familiar face, though one he hadn't seen in many seasons. A frightened young boy, who needed his father. He remained silent, waiting for Valerian to speak up again. A few simple words, but they were enough. I love you. He smiled at his boy, reaching across the meagre space between them to wrap a heavy foreleg around Val's neck and pull him close. To press a kiss to his cheek, leaving a smear of fresh blood across the dark violet fur from cheekbone to jaw where his tongue swiped over the broad planes of the boy's face. "I love you too, Valerian." he replied quietly. Then, he released his loose grip upon the boy's neck, settled back down in his place. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he gestured towards the remains of the buck. "Let's finish eating, and we can share a few drinks. You can tell me where you have visited since I last saw you." and their quiet dinner resumed, the tension in the air vanishing with each bite of fresh meat. ""