look at the stars

He'd hauled the damned carcass for endless hours back towards the borders of the pack that his father had decided to call home, in the hopes that the bastard would still be alive to enjoy it together. Thankfully, the old man seemed to be well enough- he could smell the fire in the caves of the crypt long before he reached them. He left the young buck just inside the mouth of the crypt, and ambled inside with little regard for the borders. There was some sort of understanding between the leader and his kin, it seemed. If he wasn't a pain in the neck, he could visit his sire with little interference. It was nice, better than having to swear allegiance to some stranger and carry out their bidding just to see his family.

That odd crow was lurking near his father's doorway when he sauntered up, and he worried it was preparing to pick at his corpse- he lifted a massive paw to shoo it away as he stepped into the entry. He could see his old man, curled up by the fire and half asleep by the look of it. Was his fur always that.. dull looking? Were the ridges of his spine usually sticking out like that when he laid down? Had to be, there was no way he was that sick. He flashed a toothy grin at Deion as he skulked his way into the den where he'd been born all those seasons ago, settling on his side with a great whumph that threatened to put out the fire. He sprawled out for a moment, nipping at the old man's paws as his neck extended to stretch the muscles. He accepted the light swat to his muzzle that it earned him, tongue lolling from his great jaws as he rolled onto his elbow and let the small tendrils of flame warm his belly.

Hadn't even been there two minutes, and already it was back to the serious shit. He opened his mouth immediately to silence his father when he brought up the cruel reality of his age. "Not this again-" but his jaws clamped shut with a clack as he was silenced with a hard look and upheld paw. Were the joints of Deion's paws always so knobby? He frowned at his father, but remained mute. There was only ever one wolf who could boss him around, and that was his father. The cosmic giant explained that he had long since outlived all of his old friends and comrades, that he was even older than his mother had been when she died. It felt strange to hear about his grandparents in this context, as all of the stories of Caia and Ragnar were fond ones- very little about their passing had ever come up. He understood, to a certain degree, how his sire felt about growing so old. It was a huge part of how he and his siblings had been brought up- be bold, be fearless, and be strong. If that meant dying young on the battlefield, that would be a proud moment for their ancestors. To pass at the hands of time itself was unexpected, perhaps even disappointing. Valerian saw it as a testament to his father's indomitable spirit and ability to survive at all costs. Never a failing.

There was a strange pang of emotion that built up in his chest as his father ordered him to burn his corpse after death. It swelled like an abscess around his heart, quickly filling the space between his lungs until he could scarcely breathe. He kept quiet, and prayed the painful sense of breathlessness would pass soon. Perhaps his own heart was giving out from all of the talk of death.

He cast a sidelong look towards the doorway at the mention of the stupid bird, who had been a strange shadow of his sire's from the moment of his birth. He couldn't help but smile a little, seeing the flicker of oil-slick feathers in the shadows beyond the doorway. At the mention of his siblings, the titanic brute's heart stuttered just a little. He hadn't seen anyone in quite a while. Cos and Raka had taken to wandering as quickly as he had, though Raka had always returned to visit Deion with a greater frequency than any of them. Hen was supposedly somewhere around here, having taken up with this pack after a visit with their father. He committed the eerily gentle words to memory, just in case he needed to relay them. He prayed to all of the old gods that he wouldn't. Deion's love would feel like the ashes of a funeral pyre on his tongue, if he ever had to speak them. They would taste bitter and melancholy, he already knew it.

And then there was blessed silence for a stretch. He heard the rhythm of the old man's breath, let it steady his own. He shuffled in close, laid his heavy head against his father's breast. Listened to the steady, calm beat of his heart. Timed his own breathing until he could feel their pulses synchronized. The same heart beating, perhaps until his own death. A strange way to keep one's family with them forever. And then, the soft rumble of Deion's voice, felt through the bones of his skull more than it was heard by his ears. He snorted, but didn't raise his head, not quite yet. "No, I didn't want to listen to you go on and on about it, actually." he teased, the harshness of his own emotions already softened by the proximity to his old man. "I brought us something to eat, let me go bring it in." he said, and with a great sigh of effort, heaved himself onto his paws. Lumbered out the door, made his way to the mouth of the crypt to retrieve the cold carcass of the young buck. There were no eyes in its head anymore, and the three-toed prints in the silt and dust on the edges of the entrance pointed to the culprit- the stupid bird.

By the time he dragged it all the way back to his father's den, the old man had a few bottles arranged by the fire and was making himself comfortable again. So he pulled the buck into the space between the fire and the sparse pelts that covered the floor on its far side. The fire would heat it back up and make it palatable again, and they could eat together.

Two pairs of tusked jaws made short work of cracking bones and shredding supple flesh, a bloody mess indeed. The two men did not speak as they ate, and the mead lay untouched- a treat for after their meal. Val couldn't shake the sense of incredible sorrow that seemed to linger in the back of his mind, the grim finality of how his father had spoken to him as he'd come in. He paused, a chunk of meat sliding down his gullet as hard as stone and settling just as heavily in his gut. He cast his gilded attention upon his father, watching his sire eat. Memories slid across the forefront of his mind, a new one with every breath. He wasn't really going to lose his father so young... was he? "Hey, dad?" he asked, and suddenly he was just a tiny pup, freshly whelped within these very walls. So very small, and so very lost in this strange new world. Deion looked up, jowls coated in gore and ichor but no less the man who had taught him everything about living. "I love you." there was a quiver in his voice as he spoke the words aloud, all at once so very afraid of what would inevitably come to pass.