Mortis was a recluse these days. While he forced himself to hunt, and contribute to the pack where he could, he didn’t leave the woods. He hunted in them, he brought his prey to the edges to be sorted. He returned home to his empty healers hut, with its dying herbs, and sat in in the darkness at night and failed to find sleep. Halo had been the light of his life, and he had lost her. He didn’t want… he didn’t want to go on without her. He didn’t want to go through the motions of living. But he had no choice, because he had children. They were a painful tether.

News reached him slowly, and he didn’t go out looking for it. But finally, it trickled down to him that Oleander had taken his mothers job in the pack. Bittersweet, joyful pain. Replaced. But he was proud of Ollie, even as he helped to erase her from this pack.

But that wasn’t all he heard. Oleander had gone and gotten himself a slave. It was an Armada practice that neither he nor Halo had ever agreed with. They weren’t the type to rock the boat, but they had silently disagreed. To hear that Ollie… what would his mother think?

He pulled himself out of the den, and made his way to the Col. leaving the words for the first time since the last Raid. He found Oleander's clinic, and made his way inside. The scent of fresh, living herbs assaulted his sensors. “Ollie, kiddo, do you have a minute?” his voice was scratchy from disuse


"Mortis Fatalis"

Ollie felt changed. He had a new rank. He had a new... helper, a headache as she was. He had a new lease on life! He wasn't feeling a hundred percent on it though. Was this really the direction he wanted to go?

He was just about to head into his room in the back of the clinic when he heard a familiar voice and the rustle of avian wings in the doorway. He turned with bright surprise over his features!

"Dad!" His tail immediately wagged and his muscles relaxed, "Of course!" He replied with a bright smile. "Want to take a step into my office?" he asked brightly with a mischievous tone mixed with pride. He felt like a kid showing his dad his first kill.

"What's going on?" He asked as they settled into his private quarters.

"Speech"

He smiled at the sight of his son, though he was looking more and more like his mother every day. Filling out, looking healthier and more adult. He’d always remember the little runt huddled in their den. Needing the most care, and hating to be coddled. So little, so cute and helpless that Mort’s heart had hurt. It hurt now, too, for entirely different reasons.

“Your own office, eh?” He asked, pride in his voice as he followed after his growing son. He settled in across from Oleander, and looked at the boy carefully. There was no judgement in his features, just love. “I hear you have a new helper. Do you want to tell me about her?”


"Mortis Fatalis"

It was great to see his dad up and out of the woods. Did Bas ever reach out to him? He settled himself expectantly across from Mort and leaned in for what his dad came to say.

The words that came out of his mouth made Ollie sit back with his head tilted. Vesper? He wanted to talk about Vesper? He took a moment to consider where Vesper was at currently and made sure his door was closed.

"Ah... Well...Her name's Vesper. I found her out in the snow getting half eaten by a bear, turns out she was a runaway slave. I rescued her from the bear and regretted it ever since!" He replied with his own snark, "She's nothing like Ignita, she's..." He blew air through his mouth as he remembered their first real conversation after she woke up. "Well, she taught me more about the word fuck than I've ever learned before!" He said with a tilt to his head the other way and wide animated eyes that portrayed his overwhelm at the subject.

"She has no respect for ranks, and she's..." He didn't have any other way of saying this, "She's been... a thorn in my backside since she woke up." He finally said with a half chuckle, he wanted to say broken but he didn't want to say that. He was trying to hide how much pity he felt for her.

"Speech"

Mortis sat there and listened, his expression carefully neutral, letting his son get it all out. The frustration, the unexpected turns. It was almost more like he was speaking about fatherhood than training a wolf. But Oleander wasn’t a father, and this wolf wasn’t a healer’s assistance. She was a slave, and his son was trying to mould her to fit his image.

When Oleander finished speaking, Mortis leaned forward, cupping a paw gently over that of his son. He didn’t speak immediately, trying to be careful with his words. He did not want to chase Oleander away, and he was a little afraid that he wanted his image of Halo, and his image of Oleander to overlamp more than they were now. That would… make him a hypocrite.

“I bet you that this girl has never had a moment of kindness directed at her her entire life. That kind of life… it does something to a person. But no ones the same, and people break in different ways. Sometimes they become meak and afraid, jumping at their own shadows. Sometimes they lash out, because all they know is hurt or be hurt.” he kept his paw over Oleander’s, there was no judgement in his voice. “The Warlord, and the Warlord before him believe in slavery. Do you know why your mother became a healer?” perhaps it would feel like the question came out of the left field, but he kept on. “Because she was the most compassionate wolf I have ever met, and she never met a wolf she didn’t want to help. It sounds to me like Basilisk demands you look at this wolf as a slave. Are you a slave master, Oleander, or are you a healer? Because the way you approach a broken patient is so much different to how you would approach a slave that needs… moulding.” Halo was gone, and Mortis was halfway to being gone himself. Their kids were growing up in this world with a broken family. He had never wanted that for them. Did Oleander look at Basilisk like a father figure now? A leader to look up to? His heart ached for his child, his baby boy. He had missed so many milestones, he had missed being there to answer Oleanders questions, to show him the world the way he saw it.


"Mortis Fatalis"

Oleander was quiet. He pressed his tongue against his teeth inside his mouth, feeling the incisors. Mort had come in here with rumors and wanted them confirmed. But he didn't have the whole story. And since when did Mom and Dad not agree with slaves? They didn't agree with the Warlord? You could do that?

"I tried the compassionate approach. I know enough of her story to agree with you. She hasn't had a moment of kindness. They used her, they used her in ways... " Ollie shook his head, closing his eyes, he hadn't been able to wrap his head around it properly, it felt... the whole idea felt absolutely awful to him.

"Dad, she keeps displaying her body and asking me if I'll take her, she'll insinuate that all of Armada is like her old masters who'll use her the same way. I took her to the obelisk and I read the most important rules to her, the ones that call out the respect we have for each other, the honor and dignity we have for each other, and how we make sure everyone's entitled to their necessities... and she just... Threw it in my face, as if it was some big joke. I keep telling her that Ignita had earned her place here and she was a slave once. And it's different here, but she doesn't believe me. Every time I turn around she's insulting me or the Armada and... I snapped. I tried ignoring it, I tried joking with her back, I tried getting on her level... I feel like I tried everything to get to her to at the very least show some respect. I even went so far as to swipe across her face, maybe if her old masters had gotten her to respect them that was what she needed! But no. Turns out she had the whole idea of respect completely twisted. She just believed it was to treat your superiors as superior then maybe she'll get treated as a person! Can you believe that? She didn't have any rights! She didn't have any... Dad, we're the same age... She was just..." He found his voice cracking and his eyes getting full and warm, a pressure building in his face.

Finally, it contorted enough that he couldn't hide it anymore, his breath shuddered and the tears started leaking from his eyes. His lip trembled. "I-- miss. herrr." He sniffed, his head sinking. Slowly he crumpled into his father. Just a sick little boy who never got the lessons he wanted from his mom. She would know what to do. He had tried to be tough but in actuality, his heart was breaking for what Vesper had gone through.

"Speech!"

Code © Skelle/Witchdogtor DO NOT USE WITHOUT PERMISSION

Mortis listened to what his son had to say, and he leaned forward, cupping a paw very slightly around Oleander’s shoulder. Not smothering him, not a full hug. He knew his children, and he knew that Oleander needed to be in control of touch and affection. He rocked back and forth, holding his boy like that when the tears started. His own heart was breaking, because he knew how Oleander felt. He wanted her back too. It was all he wanted, and every day without her was harder, until he found he had lost his way entirely.

He rubbed Ollie’s forehead and whispered soft noises to the boy, letting him let it out. He didn’t try to approach the Vesper conversation until his son had felt everything he needed to. When it seemed the tears would slow, he leaned back a little and looked at Oleander’s vibrant green eyes. “She doesn't believe you, Ollie. Not because she doesn't want to, but because she cant.” He didn’t know this girl. He didn’t know what she had gone through, or what it had done to her. But he could guess, and he would use those guesses to try and help to guide his son.

“Because if she does, then everything she’s been through, everything that happened to her didn’t have to happen. Because the world isn’t set in stone, there isn’t just master and slave. Even if you can convince her that she won’t be treated that way here, she’s going to be second guessing it for a long time. She’ll have moments where she regresses. She’s traumatised, Oleander. She’s been in survival mode her whole life, if you pull her out of that you don’t know what could happen. She could have panic attacks, or ptsd. And all of that is okay as well, because it’s the start to the path of healing. Taking on someone this damaged is an incredibly hard job. It’s okay if you don’t want to do it. But you have to be all in, or all out. Because your a healer, and you can’t help a patient halfway.” Patient. Not slave, because those beliefs belong to his father, to Basilisk. Not to Mortis, or Halo, and not to their children.


"Mortis Fatalis"

Crumpled and crying he let his father hold him just so, just enough until he felt like he wanted more on his own terms. He crossed the small distance between them and cried and cried into his father's fur. A prince born with a silver spoon was raised and cared for intensely throughout his childhood. Sheltered from the evils of the world. The evils of the world have caught up to him and the damage it could do - to a child even! - sat in his clinic.

Finally, the tears of overwhelm and grief abated. The skin around his eyes was rosy and puffy. He sniffed and pulled back his contact. His skin felt enflamed and prickly. He pulled away enough to give his fur a shake and then settled again opposite Mortis.

She couldn't believe him. It would ruin the world she had carefully built up for herself to survive. And it was naive of him to think she would be so easily cured when the scaffolds of her psyche were so heavily enmeshed into her sense of survival.

He nodded as his father kept going, but his brow creased in confusion, a little offended even but mostly confused, "Halfway? What do you mean? You're all my patients. I care for each member of the Armada and have to keep looking out for them too even when they're not in my clinic. I don't do anything half-assed." His father knew how hard he worked! He never started a job and left it unfinished! He was diligent and responsible!

"Speech"

Mortis hugged his boy to him, grateful that he clearly did not find being a slave master an easy task. But seeing him hurting was painful for Mortis, and he so wished he could put everything back together again for Oleander. Shield him from some of the harsher realities this world was capable of. He remembered the day his own dad had brought Zee home when she had been kidnapped by slavers. It had been like bringing her back from the dead, they had all thought she had passed until that moment. She was reactive, and afraid, a shadow of herself. That was the day his younger siblings' bubble had burst. Vesper was the one to break Oleanders.

He brushed the fur gently on Oleander’s forehead and smiled at his son. “You have too much of your mum to do it halfway. I’m helping you prepare yourself. The deeper in you get, the harder it will be. Lead healer of the whole pack, she’ll be so incredibly proud.” He whispered, that pain throbbing in his chest again.


"Mortis Fatalis"

He looked down, trying to puzzle out what his father was or wasn't saying with his words. He sighed. Guess he'll have to figure out what he means on his own. Mortis didn't seem able to parse the meanings clearly, or maybe he couldn't say what he meant. Deeper he got into what?

He looked up into his father's eyes as he mentioned how proud she would be.
"You think so? You think she'll come back if she finds out she doesn't have to take care of me anymore?" He asked hopefully. He knew the answer, his own dreams had told him so, but maybe... maybe that childlike hope could find the answer he wanted instead of the answer that was true. She had to leave when he was finally better, so he could take care of his siblings that also needed her... away from him.

"Speech"

Mortis felt his muzzle parting, but for a moment nothing came out. What could he say to that? What could anyone say to that? He felt like his heart was breaking anew, and he reached forward to cup a paw gently around his sons shoulders, leaning forward so he could rest his forehead against the smaller wolf.

“Ollie..” he said past the lump in his throat. “Oleander. She did not leave because of you. You are her pride and joy, and the pinnacle of her work as a healer, just look at how you recovered? She is nothing but proud of you.” he told her in a choked voice. If she left for any reason, it was because of Wylan. He loved so fiercely, so freely. Perhaps he had smothered her and she had needed the freedom. But not because of any of her beloved children, she did not leave them easily.


"Mortis Fatalis"

He closed his eyes as his father pressed his head into his. He heaved a deep and shaky sigh. Suddenly an empty yawn left his mouth and his body felt... lighter. He had been carrying the burden of his mother's leaving like that and suddenly... it was just gone.

He pressed his head back into the dark male. A deep sigh brought him a calm he didn't know he was missing.
"Thank you." He said, sincerely.
Another few breaths. His mind has cleared of the heaviness... now it returned to the reason his father had caught him out today. Vesper.

"What do I do with her? With Vesper? How can I help her be part of the pack? Like Ignita?" Yeah, it was useful to have a slave around, get some of the grueling things out of the way, or someone to tend to the menial tasks, even someone he could hopefully rely on if his illness ever cropped back up, but he ultimately knew a slave's goal would be to join the ranks proper, and he wanted to help her get there.

"Speech!"

Code © Skelle/Witchdogtor DO NOT USE WITHOUT PERMISSION

Mortis had dragged himself out of his depression for this conversation, to give Oleander advice and guidance during a vulnerable stage in his life… but he could feel it pulling back down at him again. The conversation had been emotionally exhausting. He slumped back down in front of Oleander as the white wolf brought the conversation back around to the poor slave.

“I think time is the biggest healing factor, but I am not a trained healer, and I have not met this girl. Ultimately, what you do with her will come down to who you want to be. There's a fine line to walk sometimes in a pack. Between what your alpha commands, and what you know is right. Your the lead healer now, finding that line is your responsibility to these wolves you will care for.”


"Mortis Fatalis"

He could feel his father fading gently, losing the energy to continue further. Ollie nodded sagely, with a sigh he gathered back within himself the need and drive to be the Trauma Specialist of the Armada. He sat up taller and became who he needed to be for others, as easily as if he had picked up a tincture.

As Mortis said his piece Oleander, the Trauma Specialist, looked at the larger winged wolf. A hard line creased his lips in response. Ollie is starting to understand what Mortis might be trying to get at. He didn't know if he agreed with him, but the mistreatment Vasper had at the hands of her old masters... That never should have happened. She should have had basic rights. They'll both have to grapple with the fallout of that now.
"I think I understand now. Thank you. Can I get you some more of that tincture I left you with last time? Did it help at all?" He asked, a stark white paw placed over his fathers.

"Speech"

Oleander’s attention turned almost inevitably to Mortis and his health. That was the winged wolf's que to leave. He knew the signs were there, but he was determined, trying not to let his kids see just how bad a shape he was in. They were his only reason, or he would have given up a long time ago.

But they were growing up, finding their places now. Soon, soon they wouldn’t need him at all. He just needed to hold on a little longer. He smiled, and kissed Oleander’s cheek. “You are exactly who you need to be, and I am so proud of who you've become, my Ollie. You'll always know right from wrong, it's in your blood. That tincture worked perfectly’ truth, and then lies “Why don’t you pick some up and meet me at the door? Perhaps I’ll check in on this girl of yours.” deflect, deflect, deflect.


"Mortis Fatalis"