Hear My Plea to the Fallen

@Hieronymous @Quicksilver @Nimueh @Loki @Ozai @Rea @Renn @Cleo @Dagr funeral not mandatory, but Ira would like everyone if possible. Location is Vangr's Gate!

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The journey home was long and cold even as the blizzard gave way to a distant rumble of storms. Dark clouds hung in the distance as she traveled with those that sought refuge in the mountains. Somewhere along the trip, she had sent the rest onwards, her own path trailing to the bottom reaches where jagged cliffs turned to the gentle slopes of the run. Though her own wounds still cracked and bled from trudging along with the warden's body, Ira would not see to her wounds until those less fortunate had been cared for. Quicksilver would certainly have his paws full anyhow without her contributing to his worries.

Ira found the crumbled ruins with ease. Already two bodies laid beneath the surface, and now another would join them. For hours she would dig at the earth, carving way a hole large enough to shelter @Orlaith's empty vessel. Only once she was satisfied with her work would she call for the pack, even her children should they wish, to gather beside the grave. In her wait, she would work the warden into the hole ensuring she looked comfortable enough, before depositing the old furs she had found in Orlaith's far too often abandoned den. Ira knew well enough the woman's view on dens, but even still, she may find comfort having the pelts once she crossed to the next life. Had the season been later she may have even offered honey, but it seemed her sweet tooth would end here.

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The call summoned him to action. Unsure if the children should join them knowing enough through the grapevine of what was to come. A burial was happening and he would leave it up to their young to decide if they wanted to participate in mourning the dead just yet. Another would be added to their graves, an unfortunate truth that came with life. Someday it all would come to an end - even here in the new world, in this new life they had made for themselves. It was inevitable no matter where they turned to.

Gathering a few spring flowers along the way, he would make quick but efficient work. Ira shouldn't have to mourn alone, especially someone who had been with them for so long. Longer than Hieronymous had been with Ira since their reawakening here. Only leaving the final three of the core founders remaining. Silently he'd make his way closer to the resting place, placing down his own gathered offering of new blossoms where the warden would lay; and without a word slid over next to Ira for a moment of silence.

They may not have seen eye to eye, nor did he agree with Orlaith on most things - but he would have never wanted such an end to come. Not at her age, so young and vibrant.

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Loki had never been to a funeral before. Well, at least that he could remember. From what he understood, gifts were accepted for those moving on from this world. He really wasn't sure what to take. Food would be a waste for the dead, wouldn't it? If there was another world after this, maybe these gifts went with them. Thinking food would be a necessity if that was true, Loki hunted down a hare, which hung from his maw. 

He approached the graveside with lowered tail and head. He had met Hieronymous here soon after his acceptance, and knew what this place was already. He hadn't exactly wanted to come back, but he would rather come than be disrespectful to his packmates. He laid the hare in the grave, next to the body of their fallen comrade, and then stepped back to give others room. 

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skippable!

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Cleo followed after her father this day, dutiful and quiet. She could tell something had changed, but she could not understand what. The mood was somber, and she could not understand why. Normally she would ask... but it did not feel like the right time. Cleo mimicked her father, ripping flowers from their roots that she did not know the name of. The taste of even simply the stem flush against her tongue almost caused her to spit the stuff out, but she collected herself with a grimace. Her father made cleaner work of it than she; dirt shook free of those roots with every step she took.

Upon arrival, Cleo smelled blood; she noted her mother, and saw it was hers. Her stomach sank, and her legs felt like lead. But no, that was not why they were here. Cleo watched her father, following him in a crouch, not at all confident in what was occurring. She knew it would be explained, though. So, she again followed the lead of her father, placing the flowers where he had. Cleo kept the silence, seeking to press between her mother and father for both comfort and solidarity. Gingerly she reached to lick at her mothers wounds as Ira had done for her so many times in her youth, as her instinct told her to do.
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The battle was over, but not without sacrifice. Orlaith had been bested by their target and while Quicksilver had forged no real bond with her he'd never wished for any harm to befall her.

He sat in silence with the others, and carried regret in his heart that they'd been unable to see beyond their differences. From the beginning and for a long time following the forming of Vanderfell Woods, it'd only been the four of them. They'd worked together to make a home for themselves, and that was something to be proud of.

When the opportunity arise for him to pay respects, the silverwhite gathered to his paws and stepped carefully toward the hollow in which the late guardian's body lay. He placed a token into the space alongside her: a thistle. The flower had always reminded him of Orlaith: prickly, but vibrant. He hoped she'd find some humour in it, wherever the afterlife took her.

Most significant, however, was his whispered apology. He was sorry for many things in his life, but in this instance he was sorry for not trying harder.

He withdrew and positioned himself away from the graveside, allowing privacy for anyone else who might wish to deliver something.


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The air hung heavier than the youth had yet experienced — he stood from his lain position, having been busy with cleaning paws from the muck he’d trekked in his minimal patrol (never leaving the lands Vanderfell Woods called home).

 With his mother’s summon, she readily gave the choice to them; come, or stay away. A tone nonetheless laid in the voice that led him towards the pack. He arrived after others had made their silent farewell — offering gifts to the woman he’d met briefly beforehand, weird, he’d thought of her.

 Her form, however, did not crack with the life that she’d once did before him. Now it lay, eerie in her stillness, as if frozen in time with marred wounds, that too scrapped along Ira. Cleo was already administering care towards her, so Dagr would not smother her right now. But nonetheless, his brow would pinch in concern and a question on the tip of his tongue.

 He might not have known Orlaith, but he preferred her how she used to be — this all felt very wrong.

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One by one, members would come to place offerings or see the warden one last time. Even two of her own would wander down the mountain with reasonable hesitance as they caught sight of the stilled body. Cleo and Dagr were old enough to catch a hare, therefore they were old enough to view their own freshly departed, though that did not stop her from covering the puncture wounds along her neck before their arrival. Death was inevitable and there would come a day that each and every one of them would lay in a similar manner. For the most part she paid no mind to the ones who brought offerings, her eyes simply dipped to the lost vessel, though she would spare a glance to her children for their own opinions.

“Mor har det bra — Mother is fine, Cleo.” Ira resisted the urge to wince at her daughter's tongue, though she knew ultimately she would be doing the same once she had finished here. Instead, she placed a kiss to the dark girl's head as her gaze shifted to Dagr. She could tell a question lingered on his mind, but it seemed he would not find the words to bring it to light. With a lowered voice she would fill his silence, “Death is just as much a part of life as living.” She had said something similar when she had introduced fresh kills to their diet. They were all one and the same, linked to the earth through its roots. It was for that reason that a meal should never be wasted and that thanks are given for its life.

Raising her head, Ira looked to those who remained after paying their dues. “Orlaith was among the first to make her home atop the mountain. If I am to be honest, Vanderfell might not exist had it not been for her suggestion, or at the very least, not here atop Fate's Summit.” Though over a year had passed she recalled that day clearly. The tales she shared of their before, where even then Orlaith had followed her. “Orlaith was among the first to climb the ranks. We all have our own memories, some perhaps, less pleasant than others...” Her gaze had drifted in her speech, soon finding Quicksilver despite his distance or her husband who sat at her side.  Even she had found the woman abrasive at times...

“But she was Vanderfell. She was a warden to us all and she gave her life so that we might have a brighter tomorrow. We stand here today to acknowledge her valiant efforts and the shield she provided. Per my homeland's tradition, she will also be among the first of ours to earn her place in Valhalla. A land of glory gated to only those with the highest honor, and those who have earned a warrior's death. Though she is no longer with us, she will live on through us, and a life of comfort welcomes her in the great beyond.” A silent sigh slipped through her lips as the roan queen stepped forward to begin shuffling dirt over what would become Orlaith's final resting place.

“For all that she has done, she shall be the first of our own to be marked amongst Vangr's Gate. A symbol of the honored and a way that she may still be connected to those she has left behind.” Sparing a glance to the large rock she had pushed over prior to her call, Ira gestured for the rest to look as well. “Should any find sorrows in this day, know that there is only joy to be had as she embarks on her forever. Should any hold final words, know that with the placement of that stone your voice shall reach her.”

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Rea attended the funeral quietly, which was out of character for her. Instead of fidgeting or getting up to mischief elsewhere, the young rogue sat and observed the comings and goings of her comrades as they moved to pay respects to the fallen: her parents, one she did not know, and the gentle Quicksilver. She shot the latter a bright smile, for he'd been a constant presence in her young life, but he seemed distracted and did not glance her way. She fixed her gaze to what he'd placed into Orlaith's grave and recognised the flower, for she'd once attempted to consume one identical - thorns and all.

She eyed it, and fancied that she might attempt it again someday when Mother and Father were not looking.

Rea blinked up at her dam as she spoke, and while it all seemed like boring adult stuff she still refrained from causing trouble. She rose only when Ira gathered herself to shove dirt into the hole in the ground, and loped forward after her to aid with her own paws.


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It all came and went as a blur, from one moment to the next all peace was disrupted and the pack became united to fight a battle that was not entirely theirs. But he did not know the politics, only snippets his parents gave before all departed. 

But all was not okay when they returned. 

And he howled in sorrow and respect when being told the news. 

He remembered their first and last encounter. Brief as it was, she made an impression on him. He thought of her to be beautiful unlike any other he had met. She seemed so sure of herself, and boasted confidence he was green-eyed over. 

Today, he sat quietly amidst the mass. Eyes cast down for the entirety of the ceremony and half-listened to all that was being said of Orlaith, only repeating the picture he first saw of her, again and again for the rest of the day.

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cameo

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