cryptwalker

Old age was not a kind mistress, and Deion was beginning to be well acquainted with the aches and pains of arthritis. It had isolated him for the summer, and most of the autum, after he'd finally moved into the ranks of what would come to be his final home. Today, he was still sore, but there was a bit of whiskey on his breath and some herbs wadded up in the side of his mouth to idly chew when the pains flared up. He'd returned to the familiar crypt as soon as it was available to him, finding the tiny space where he'd been so violently accosted with the consequences of his actions that chilly evening nearly two years ago. It was easy to dust off the surfaces, to refit the fire pit, and make the space his again.

So to step out into the light and be greeted by a familiar face, suddenly so broad and mature and.. grown up. He was shocked, bewildered. Perhaps a little bit teary-eyed. When had his children become adults? It seemed such a short while ago when he'd been tossing them out into the snow to enjoy the soft drifts, freshly fallen in the night and blocking them from leaving the crypt. And now, here stood his daughter with a furrowed brow and a familiar glint in her eye. He knew sadness when he saw it in his children's faces, though he suspected this time she was not upset because her brother called her a shithead while they were wrestling. Taking a few slow strides forward, the aging titan offered a small smile to his midnight child. "What's the matter? You look the part of a lost lamb, мала ѕвезда."

There was no regard for the boundaries of the pack as he stepped over them thoughtlessly, carelessly. He sought only to comfort Henbane, and doing that would involve dragging her at least part way into the pack's lands, he was certain. A father's love, especially such a bastard father as he was, should not be questioned. So he would close the distance between them, heedless of his sore knees, so that he could wrap one hefty foreleg around hers, and place his head against her neck and breathe in the comforting scent. No longer bearing the subtle aroma of milk, or the stink of mud after a long day out and about with her siblings, she smelled wild. A creature of the woods and mountains, and perhaps a little bit like whiskey. "Come inside, let's get out of the cold. You can tell me what's the matter, and I can warm some food for you." yet again there was a complete disregard for propriety, and instead only a father's love moving the world-weary giant towards the darkened entry of the crypt. If he were intercepted, the man would argue, would make demands, would fight for his gods' given right to have his daughter rest in the cave where she'd been born.