Supremacy

Dreams came readily to the young boy, manifesting upon his features as twitching whiskers and flexing toes as he slept through the early hours of the morning. With the breaking of dawn came the gentle pressure of a large muzzle against his downy-soft flank, an utterance of his name accompanied by a beckoning. Never one to ignore his mother's whims, the young male roused himself as quickly as he could. Blinking sleep from bleary, glazed eyes and fighting to regain the control of his stumpy little legs, he followed the pale fae away from the den. The frigid climes of the north were hardly welcoming to a little boy, but he was strong and so he bore the harsh sting of the air without a word of complaint. The tremble of his legs or the odd sniffle was inescapable, of course. They betrayed his youthful weakness. He accepted the quiet that fell between himself and his mother, and dared not break it. Only the ravens overhead permeated the silence, their croaks and craws and cries filtering through the canopy. Amidst their cacophony, the subtle creak of branches in the late winter breeze, the rustle of undergrowth as little, unseen creatures stirred in the early morning light.

When they stopped in the small clearing, mist clinging low to the ground and frost forming a solid layer over the snow that they broke through with each step, he understood that there was some type of lesson today. Just for him, not for anyone else. In a small way, it made him feel special. His mama wanted to teach something to just Inky. So he stepped up close, just close enough to steal some of the heat that radiated through her pelage. Held her gaze with a brimming curiosity that burned in his not-yet-sage eyes. Heard her speak, addressing the masses of feathered harbingers that gathered in vast number throughout the Sound. She asked what these creatures were to them, were they pets- things to be tended to, things to own- or were they allies- closely tied, willing to provide aid and assistance when called upon.

Perhaps it was some dim recollection from gestation, memories that faded more and more with the days that passed since his birth. Muffled croaking, a distant series of raucous cries audible in a world that was entirely blind. To Indica, neither word was appropriate. Had the query been offered in the coming weeks or months, perhaps he would have more words with which to articulate his sense of the relationship between the wolves and the ravens. Allies they were not, for the term was too distant, impersonal, detached. But in his young mind, the boy was more limited. He knew that there was not enough love in the word for what the ravens meant to him, lingering on the fringes of his every living, breathing moment. So he frowned, a small furrow in his brow. He thought on it for a few more moments, before he decided on what word he liked better. "Um," he hesitated, sleep still making his voice a little hoarse. "they're my friends." he said, though there wasn't the authority and decisiveness clinging to his vocals that his mother carried. Not yet. He still had much to learn. Blue-green eyes drifted away from his mother, tracking the motions of the corvids as they moved through the air far above him.