it is like a flower blooming in the injury,

"@Valtyr?"

she somehow finds him, in that way all mothers seem to manage to; her riddled brow drawn, a little more than worried, whittled away by apprehension. what would he think, with her scent melded with another male's — folded over the old one always kept in her hurting heart and in his? with her ribs not yet gentled by that foretold swelling but nonetheless blooming so fragile and new between them? the nightingale quests for her growing, gangly son, stepping through their shared mists; her own features as clouded. it's when the shadow of his creature edges its way through the gloamtide that her stout ears fall back, and the shroud of sotaherra is cast away as the burn of shame takes its stead. she had asked for his blessing, and that of his siblings, and yet ...

and yet ... her lone silver eye goes to her paws;
bracing for what words he might bring from his mind.

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asriel —

he turns to face his mother as the last syllables of his name are swallowed by the wind; words lost as his mother stands before him, bearing upon her pelage the stench of a man. black, leathery nose twitches, tempering the urge to curl his upper lip. he had, after all, given his blessing. still, a part of him had very selfishly hoped that she would not seek the embrace of a stranger in the thick of night. yet, she had. soon, if strangers seed took, he would have newborn siblings.

❝is it done?❞ asriel asks simply; stonily. ❝the man who gave his seed,❞ the childish part of asriel wanted to die of embarrassment right then and there. this was not a conversation he wanted to have with his mother again. ❝...he is not one of ours, right? he is not going to storm into our lives and act like he belongs here, is he?❞ because that asriel would have a problem with; unaware ( blissfully, ignorantly ) that he was so very wrong on this arrogant assumption.

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the fury of youth burned bright within him; his assumptions misguided, his words scathing, scalding into her skin beneath her hide but his mother remains patient with what little will she has left. a furrow snags in her brow, though, as he snaps onto the tail-end of his short tirade; a cant of her head given as she dares a step or two nearer. "it is not uncommon for those of my sex to seek out ...strangers, no, but ...i chose @Eira, if only for this. he is the one who tended to your brother upon our return, moons ago." after the bear; after she had bled in banesteppe. nevermind how he had lifted some charnal shroud from her newly uncovered soul ( or perhaps it's only a remembering? ); her lone eye takes in how great her first has grown already, before she looks aside rather than into his dear face. "it would be better, i think, if ...if pups were to come from this, it would be by one of our own. one who you might have become familiar with. if, however, nothing comes at all from this ..."

training her attention on her paws once more, before finally meeting the glacial gaze of his with her own hacksilver. "there would be no further need for worry, i suppose. worry or ...wanting." yes; if she was as barren as she oft believed since her burial at sea, then she would smother her own selfish hope. the children of her first and last whoever-love ought to be enough — were enough, damn all hel.

she should have no room in her to want; not when her heart is always ever away in another world and her soul seeks for any hint of hymn of asriel's father amongst the stars. he, who is as frustratingly faceless, formless as ever.

"you are all that i could ever ask for, my son. if it comes to such in the end, i ...only ask that i might be forgiven."

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it is not the answer that asriel wants.

black, leathery nostrils flare like an angered bull; despite that the rational and maturing part of his brain sees the good in that decision. the childish, selfish part of his brain sees only the possibilities that eira might not become his step-father and it is not something he wants ( though, truly, it is not his choice ). he could not speak for his siblings, but he'd done fine without any sort of father figure in his life and the instinct to reject any possibility of it happening is strong. ❝a stranger would've been better.❞ if only because of the things asriel struggles with internally: there was no connection. a one night stand.

salmon tongue drawling across his jowls. ❝i only hope he does not think that this means he means anything to me.❞ cruel words; words that sounded more like his father than him; the apple, it seemed, did not fall far from the tree. ❝i will love my siblings because they are half of you — if siblings come of it — but he is just another pack mate to me.❞ spoke the haughty princeling; a mirror to wintersbane the older he grew.

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for a moment, horrid and dishonorable, she hopes that whatever has taken root within her goes to ash — if only to stay the upswell of her son's words, however rash and ran through with vindictive chagrin as they are. they hurt, as they ought to; but she moves nearer if he lets her, stout ears drawn low and tucked away in moonshed ruff. "that is all he will be in your life, if that is what you choose. i will not force your paw in this," the nightingale wisps to the regal, proud lift of her tundrian boy's head, "but it is not my intention to ...put another in the stead of your father. you are mine, asriel. my own. and, ukko-willing, if he could be called to where we are, if ..." — if he knew her still, loved her still; claimed what had sprung from thought and shadow and soul and that last wish as his own; if she had never been summoned beyond her godsdamned bones ...if all had been as it should be, they would want for nothing.

... if.

nothing was ever certain; and perhaps she might have reached up to him to press the pale velveteen of her snout against the strong column of his throat. but her own had swelled shut, and a hot film of tears tembled on the cusp of dark lashes. although she fails to master herself enough to attempt this once more, she remains as close to her child as he would allow her to be ...lest he decides to respond with fangs, or words even more fierce than the last.

"you and yours are who i love, asriel," even if it isn't an answer he does not take kindly to, it is the only truth she has left at the present. he is a living legacy; what love they'd had in far too little time, come to life. all she has left.

everything turns to ash in her throat.

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