Little Fiery One

Irilyth worked diligently, patching up all of his wounds to the best of her ability before deciding he was suitable enough to survive the night. She forced the dire wolf to consume some red meat jerky to help replenish some of his lost blood just to make sure he didn't slip into anemic shock during the night, and then she left the couple to rest after a parting kiss with Manea. There was quiet in their bedchambers for some time while Alastor contented himself with watching their tiny fireball pup while she slept. Eventually Manea broke the stillness by suggesting a name. Fia. Alastor pursed his lips while he mulled the name over, trying it out in his mind. It wasn't bad, but it didn't feel complete yet. When Manea suggested Fiametta, he knew. That was it. "Fiametta... Fia for short," he spoke in hushed mumbles while he gazed at the newly christened pup between them. "Fiametta Mendacium. Yes, that's it." The dire brute cast a proud smile up to his mate; she was so clever when it came to coming up with fitting names. Avacyn, Saracyn, and now Fiametta. He should really just leave all the naming up to her.

With their daughter's name decided, Manea began to gently stroke Alastor's shoulder and forehead, softly lulling him into a trancelike state as a combination of exhaustion and sedative drugs pulled him further and further away from consciousness. Manea carefully manipulated their bodies so they were snuggling around their newest daughter, with his head resting on her forelegs and her head draped across his fluffy neck. Lying here, snuggling his beloved wife and their newest child, Alastor felt complete. This was how today should have gone—not what they got. Instead of joy and happiness, they'd gotten sadness and anger. The guilt gnawed at his fading mind, and before he slipped away into slumber, he had to make amends. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his words only just barely coherent as drowsy eyes disappeared one last time behind heavy lids. Manea used him to rest for little Fia, and only moments later Alastor was fast asleep, his chest rising and falling with slow, labored breaths, as vivid dreams of colorful and gifted wolves danced around his head.

Except this time, he was dancing amongst them too.

"Alastor Mendacium"