Through the Fire and the Flame we Carry On

Rhyme’s pale paws carried him over the borders of Abaven, his morning patrol finishing with no excitement to report. He couldn’t complain about the quiet, but he hadn’t felt at ease since before Epitaph had appeared at their border. He felt better without having Vlad to look after, but he knew the next wave would be right around the corner. Unless they struck first. Valentine would be calling the seven nation army together any day now, and he felt ready to be rid of the threat.

He also knew that he could likely not return from the war. Nothing was certain in life or battle, he’d seen too many experienced fighters go down when they thought they would continue on. He tried to accept those facts, and had spent as much time with his young children as possible. They were growing just as fast as he as warned they would. As soon as they left the den for the first time it seemed like they were well on their way to adulthood. Their innocence still remained, but he could see how quickly they might lose that quality.

Already he worried about Noir, while at first he was sure the boy just needed attention it seemed more… he couldn’t find the right words for it. Like he needed to be the center of attention. He was pushy, and didn’t balk at running over his sisters for that goal.

Poem was blossoming into a beautiful young lady, though she was head strong at times. She seemed to have inherited the stubborn gene, and he could only guess at the trouble she would get herself and her siblings into. Motif didn’t hesitate in following her lead either. He made note to keep an eye on both of them just in case.

Rhyme smiled as his thoughts lingered on his kids. They were barely out of the den but he couldn’t have been more proud. He still felt his heart ache for Darilnor, and he wondered who the tiny pup might have become if he’d survived birth. The slate alpha grit his teeth as the familiar pain washed over him and he found himself stopping near the boy’s grave. Snow covered the tomb, but the sharpened antler he’d placed there marked it well. In the spring the bits of plant Tana had placed with him would bloom and further mark his presence. Rhyme lowered his head as he mourned silently over the much too small grave and sighed softly while thoughts of what might have been swirled in his mind.