The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool.

Tags for reference but I'd really love a @Hieronymous

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The days since his last encounter with @Reiko had been wrought with a tense uncertainty. Quicksilver had returned home to Vanderfell immediately, too exhausted to carry on and too ashamed to seek the comforting embrace of @Izumi. The crane would've welcomed him to her with arms wide open, he knew, but it wasn't fair to rely on her so heavily after all the stress and heartache he'd caused.

She would find him when she was ready.

Eager to distract himself from the great weight of his anxiety, the druid threw himself into his work. He tended his garden for many hours, ridding it of ailing plants and those claimed by frost, and set up a new patch close by to separate his Winter herbs. Quicksilver did his best to organise the stores, separating those freshly dried to be stocked with older product, but he tired quickly and the scent of lavender often overwhelmed him.

As dawn broke, the silverwhite stepped from the hollow where he kept his cache for a much-needed breather and was greeted by a morning sky littered with crimson clouds. His pale eyes regarded them briefly, curious, though his interest was short-lived. He sank to his haunches with a sigh and set about grooming the ruffled white furs of his chest.


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With careful fangs he preened the longer furs of his ruff, ridding himself of knots and fine twigs that'd manage to work their way among the tresses. The arrival of another interrupted his grooming session, and the silverwhite lifted his muzzle to acknowledge the sound of approaching paws. The sight of Hieronymous brought him to his paws and he greeted the new High King fondly, with a downward sweeping tail. Quicksilver was glad to see him, always glad to accept his company, and he fretted over how his friend might already have noticed how distracted he'd been of late.

“Hiero, hi,” he returned, pastel gaze lowering as the painted leader commented on his recent absences. Since his brief and desperate trip to Reiko's tundra in pursuit of her, Quicksilver had felt rather disconnected from the pack. He'd kept mostly to himself, worked his share of the borders and focused on his stores - there was a strong need to focus on his own wellbeing. “Ah, sorry, I... there's so much to do. You know, with the pups to prepare for.”

Despite his own heartache, the druid anticipated the arrival of the royal litter greatly. As Ira's pregnancy progressed swiftly he could not delay in making sure he had the appropriate herbs in place to ease the Queen's whelping. “Are you excited?”


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“Not at all,” the druid assured when his friend suggested he might be interrupting, “I was just stopping for a breath of fresh air. It is, uh... rather fragrant, inside.”

Quicksilver pointed his pale muzzle toward the hollow on their mountainside where he kept his cache. It was a small cave, well-stocked now that Summer was coming to an end and he'd been in need of distraction. He found many of his herbs to overwhelm the senses even though well dried, even more so in such a snug space.

Hieronymous' feelings on the matter of fast approaching parenthood were understandable, the silverwhite mused. So many things could go wrong that he didn't dare speak of, not wanting to dampen his spirit of further fuel anxiety. Quicksilver, though inexperienced still when it came to practicing medicine, was nervous too - these babes would be the first newborns for him to tend as aspiring doctor. To make things more terrifying, the litter was a royal one!

“Instinct will come to you when they arrive.” Quicksilver pricked a sterling ear, hopeful that he might be able to ease the High King's concerns, “what else worries you?”


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Hope, sometimes, was all that a wolf had. In Quicksilver's case, he'd been holding onto such since his arrival to this place: for survival, for stability, for love. It was what kept him going through the rough times, especially now that he felt more alone than ever before. Grateful for the constants in his life, however, he plodded along to the best of his ability; there was a lot he had to thank Ira and Hieronymous for.

“Your...” the druid, puzzled by the High King's question, “affliction?” His ears splayed backward, confused. He was unaware that Hiero had ever had any health concerns, and he was a little anxious that this one might be especially private to have been kept so quiet.


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Incapable of feeling pleasure or pain? Oh, what he would give for that "affliction" as he thought sorely of lost love.

Quicksilver blinked at Hieronymous, his eyes swift to locate the wounds he'd suffered on the day they'd felled the great Tundrian stag in preparation of the Vanderfell wedding feast. Those cuts were long healed and scarred over, but the druid recalled how his friend had managed to throw himself back into the hunt with barely a yelp. He'd been too distracted by all the commotion, by the cloven hooves aimed at his head, and guiltily he thought how the whole experience had slipped his mind.

“Oh,” he swallowed, wondering if Hieronymous mother might've sought a physician when this insensitivity in her son presented itself. “Did... did either of your parents have this?” It would be helpful to know, to perhaps figure out if it was a genetic condition - only then could they decipher the chances of cubs carrying the gene.


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Quicksilver listened quietly, allowing the High King to answer his question thoroughly and at length. The more he knew, he supposed, the better he could help him figure out the chances of his condition presented itself in the royal cubs. It was interesting that Hieronymous was the only babe born to unaffected parents, which made it clear to him that the condition was rare - that perhaps both his mother and father carried the gene, but did not show symptoms themselves.

“If it is genetic, it'll likely be recessive condition. That means,” the druid explained, “that, maybe, your parents had relatives who might've had the same condition. If no one in Ira's family suffered from anything similar, then it's unlikely that your children will present with the same symptoms.” But, like all things: “there is a chance, but it is a very small one.”

He felt great sympathy for his friend, for the very really worry he had that his babes would suffer as he did. It would be a shame to isolate one child above its siblings as Hiero had been treated in youth, but he understood the fear that they might seriously injure themselves. “We are all here for you, and them,” the silverwhite assured with a smile for his mottled companion, and reached to butt his head fondly to the side of his neck, “let's try not to worry until we have to. Enjoy them while they are so little - they won't stay small for long.”


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