Ghosted [Baine]

He saw the flinch, the shame as her head lowered like a pup who had done a grievous wrong, and was transported back to the night Baine had snuck out to grab a bite from the carcass their mother and he had brought down and dragged to the ravine. Granted it hadn’t been out in the open, but the pack hadn’t been founded yet. She’d been caught, and had just about melted from shame then.

He sat silently, not speaking but listening intently as the grown Baine spoke, telling her story. His features did share the emotions he felt as he listened. The reflexive, silent snarl at the very mention of Elias’ name. Did Baine know what that monster had done to their sister? From the sound of it, maybe she did. But he wanted to clarify the notion once she was done speaking.

He would be glad of a nephew living with them. Too few of their little branch remained in the pack. He was relieved that a similar fate to Zuriel’s hadn’t befallen his little albino sibling. Still, sadness had come with her birthing. A stillborn. He gave a sympathetic whine, so soft it was barely a whistle.

But the remaining son was strong, tall, apparently. He looked forward to meeting Nolan, he had to admit. He’d have to go meet Torin, too, make a point of visiting all his nieces and nephews that he could.

He was silent as Baine finished, quiet grief welling in his breast for the sister he’d never gotten to see again. Perhaps… But he would have to hope she would find a way to visit him another way some time.

The silence drew on for several long minutes as he processed everything that she’d told him, before he slowly shook his head. “She thought she could fix that monster. Begged me not to kill him for what he did to her. I assume she told you about that? He had no right ever setting a paw on one single hair of her body, no matter what manner of touch it was. Let alone getting her pregnant again.”

He straightened with a soft groan, joints creaking before he slowly lowered himself to the floor with a sigh. “Solveiga died this Spring. I suppose I have a long saga of stories to tell you, now…”

And so he did, his rich, deep and age-deep voice falling into that enthralling cadence of a natural storyteller as he started with just before her departure. Through the months of training and watching his children grow, caring for the pack, watching Solveiga be the gloriously gentle, sweet, beautiful mother and Queen he’d known she would be.

His twins’ first outing as pups. Love and yearning laced his voice as he told of those days. But that joy and beauty darkened as he spoke of the day Solveiga and Aramis had been taken. How they’d vanished when Solveiga had taken little Aramis out for a solo lesson beyond the wall about herbs. Emotion thrummed through the sonorous tale-teller’s words as he spoke of the aftermath.

He’d raised his daughter alone, hoping that the remainder of their family would return, that Solveiga had gotten a little lost but would find her way back. But as the seasons rolled on, he’d focused harder on Aurielle’s training, the care of the pack, while sending feelers out to the Nomads, who were far more able to search far and wide for the missing mother and son.

He told of his daughter’s successes, his own fatherly pride matching Baine’s as he praised the young wolf’s strengths and wit. And finally the news that had come, that the Nomads had found them, captives of slavers. Of bringing Aurielle to alphaship early, with Gwenevere at her side as a guide. His journey to battle, the battle, the death and wounds and the freeing if the slaves and his Solveiga and his Aramis. The horrible condition his mate had been in.

He was proud of Aramis for having done his best to defend his mother and stand by her, preventing her from being used as a brood-slave. Aramis’ unusual coat had been a point they wished to use as a selling ploy, and should the boy waste and die, thus their profit would die.

He told of the journey home, the joy of the return, and the budding hope that all would be well. And then his mate and son had fallen ill, in the same way of Kavdaya, but in a different way. Aramis had bounced back, but Solveiga… Solveiga.

His voice cracked slightly, but he pushed on through those months. Aramis was missing again, now, the last he’d said being about looking for a cure. And in that time, Mt Volkan erupted in the east, throwing the lands into turmoil, burying them in ash, sending the natural cycles askew.

Laisren had been missing well before that, lax in his duties even before then. And then, as Spring rolled in, his mate gave up the last thread she’d clung to, passing on in his embrace. He refused to let himself fall ill. He refused to die until he saw his daughter happy, and at least one litter of grandkids in the world. He could only hope that Aramis would come back before he was gone.

He spoke of meeting Dominus, learning what he could of the happenings. And finally, his story completed, he let the silence fall with a huff. He’d let no detail slip from the narrative, and he added, “Aurielle hopes to hold another festival this season.”