Creepin' around like no one knows,

Only a few hours have passed since their birth. Names were still within the air, even though thoughts came to be. She looked down within the order of so ; the first two being touched within winter, for their mixture of cold-browns and whites in-between. Tipped, slowly and surely with neither genes that she could tell where was from ; and surely from this mysterious father. Celnes could only imagine the third-born was also from him, so mixed with colors that it brought even greater questions.. At least, the crown jewel of the litter was the only one that was relatively alright. The youngest, of them all — and most likely the one she would dot on.

Yet it was already determined her connection to this 2nd litter was relatively thin. The despair that came with it ruined any sort of love and desire that was brought to them, especially as they were more bastardly then the first. A disgust, and even a shame crawled through her pelt as she shivered lightly to the sounds of them mewling and crying. Giving only the shortest amount of needs, as Celnes curled around them.

As if she was trying to hide them within the Royal Den, but their crying would not stop.

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He returned from his morning ritual. Taking a moment to pass their cache to ensure their stock was still ample amount for the pack's desires. Grabbing his own share of fill, before grabbing two of the most recently slain rabbits, fitting both easily within the clasp of his jaws.

Making his way back to his mother's den, he cleared his throat at the entrance to allow her time to acknowledge his presence and disturb her peace. Although that had already been done by the picture painted before him. 

He walked cautiously toward, but not near enough to cause any distress to the new mother again. And dropped the meal he brought lovingly for her.

'Mother?...', a call to her, but a question held within that singular word. Was she okay?

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The young, currently nameless child was startled by the movement. Where the cold was there and then the sudden warmth ; they screamed. Endlessly so, almost as if toying with the unknown thought that the silence the Queen wanted — but they wouldn't give. Wailing and struggling to gain a freedom, and another sense of hunger as it slowly would die once they found a nipple.

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She flinched, both by the voice of a screaming child and the softness that was brought to her son's voice. One without a contempt, one without a judgement she was so expecting from others within Elkshire. Her eyes felt sore, from the crying and misfits of the disaster that was brought to the land and the oh-so wanting to give it all up — but stubbornness and pride refused to call a wanting of help and need. Who though, would even want to help such a bastard Queen who scorn so many, and left poison within her steps?

Meekly, Celnes lifted her head and gazed out to see her son. Eyes of yellow, she could see, cautiously looking and addressing her properly and yet.. How she wished to hold and coddle him, confess to her own sins and even beg for a forgiveness, but.. All she could muster was his name back, "Warwick.."

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Maral, curious still for her mother's wellbeing, turned her attention toward the Queen's chambers. She moved quietly and carefully, unknowingly along the trail her brother had just taken; the scent of a kill hung faintly in the air. On drawing nearer to her destination, however, the aroma of something unfamiliar drew her dark ears forward.

And that sound! It was unlike anything she'd ever heard, yet it roused something unknown within her. Maral quickened her stride.

She inhaled deep, and rumbled a low note to Warwick as she carried on to pause alongside him. Mahogany eyes sought the side of her brother's face to seek his in silent question: what's going on here?

There was a tension in the area she couldn't explain, but it pricked uncomfortably at her hide.


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His younger sister joined them, and he stood silently once their shared mother addressed him. Numerous questions triggered throughout his mind, as though a pinball machine had setup shop temporarily. His voice croaked, finding words fitting to one of them. 

But when none came, he stepped forward, looking down to scrutinise the squirming young, finding but one that suited the desired description for their High Elk. Justifiably, did a frown crease upon his forehead when blemishes were found and stained two of them. Not dissimilar to the princess that stood beside him.

'Has our father sired these too?', trying to jigsaw the pieces together, this was his first question, perhaps his sister had another to quiz the queen.

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She hesitated to answer, mouth open without a sound before closing once more. She looked at the squirming young, crying and desiring milk as the fluttering smell of even Maral, joining the fray of onlookers. At the very least it wasn't all the young — and she wondered.. How @Edith and @Calhoun would react to this predicament. She knew out of those two there was harsh words to be said, just alongside of @Rohesia as well but her daughter has been keeping to herself ; assuming to prayers to the High Elk throughout. 

A minor blessing it was these two that came, and Celnes shook her head. The man they called 'father,' was not the same as these young. She would remember sleeping with him once more, something not to repeat as it wasn't the most pleasant of experiences ; at least, not for a first time. The smell was not something to desire. With one litter from him that seemed enough to tie something together at the very least ; she.. She wasn't expecting another.

Shamefully did she look away with a head shake, not wanting to admit that she didn't know. Especially since most if not all — were tainted in some way. Who knew what the father looked like to gain so much of.. A variety.

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She stared ahead, silent and apprehensive, though undoubtedly curious of the tiny beings that cried out within her mother's chamber. Maral lingered by her brother's side, closer than she normally would, though did not step forward with him to further investigate. A surge of panic spiked within the shadow and she sucked in a breath; they had not been invited forward, and Warwick was sure to face reprimand.

The Queen did not turn fangs on her favoured son, however. Maral continued to hesitate for a time longer, reluctant to make a step until she at last dared to carefully make her way to Warwick's flank. From there she peeked around his shoulder, shielded should Célnes take offence to her presence, and simply continued to watch with wide mahogany eyes.

Warwick asked a question, probably the last thing that Maral would've considered, as she'd never felt any desire to know the sire they shared. She blinked, a dark ear twitching, but their dam did not answer vocally and she failed to see her wordless response. Maral flicked her tongue over a fang, clearly unsettled with the mystery of this situation they'd all found themselves part of.


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There was an awkwardness he could not decipher. But with the sorrowful look his mother's refined features etched, it stirred a reflex whine from him. Evident the answer was no, but was it shame or hurt that came from her silent response? Had someone forced themselves upon her? 

His sister moved back to his side, and by her proximity, he felt as though he was being used as a screen between their dam and herself. He was not savvy with how his mother would react so differently to himself, and treat other littermates in a separate manner.

The situation was certainly delicate and they had not yet been dismissed from their Queens quarters, and therefore decided it was not the time to elaborate on his questions. Besides, these were his siblings, and he adored the fact their family tree was ever-expanding.

'Do they have names?', he peered over at them again, with a smile lengthening along the velvet lines of his lips. He nudged his sister playfully, tactfully for her to move for a better view of the newborns. 'That one looks a bit like you, Maral'. 

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Like an indication she was being looked at — the youngling roared loudly, an annoyance to the feeling of her dame shift and move with each hesitance she took. Faust wanted to sleep, enjoy the comfort of the paws that laid and yet all the time was there a pulling ; like the mother didn't want to be touched but she did not know that. Only the desire to find that warmth, and feed when needed.

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Neither was turned away, and more just a hesitance to look at Maral or Warwick. The young nightwalker said nothing, just as she ever did ; and Warwick, whether to spare her feelings or not didn't continue to ask about their parentage. Though even if they did, she wouldn't know. There was no answer to give, and within the end they were in true words, bastards produced without a purpose. Even if her first litter wasn't perfect, she wanted them. 

"Faust, Weirs, Seaver, Selwyn," within the order of so — after some time to think, they had at least that right. But she said it in a lackluster way, chilled to the bone with such a disconnect toward them.. A whisper, like she didn't want to say it either.

Her own mother was horrible, but at the moment Celnes wished to be re-assured like she was a child. That everything, was alright. That she was fine.

Then maybe her true children would return.. All of them.

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Warwick seemed to take control of the unexpected situation they'd each found themselves in, and Maral's dark eyes widened in surprise as he reached to nudge at her. She flinched, having not anticipated his gesture, and blinked up at him as his attention turned away to regard the newborns once more.

She dared to poke her nose into the entrance of the Queen's hollow, the den in which she and her own littermates had been whelped. Maral flared her nostrils to draw in the scent if mother's milk and babies' breath, mahogany eyes searching for the tiny beings that Warwick claimed to resemble her.

And when she saw her, with a charcoal dorsal and kissed by whites as bright as her own, Maral swore she felt herself begin to melt. She wanted suddenly to guard this tiny, helpless, pitiful version of herself with her very life.

Cautious of Célnes' watchful gaze, however, the shadow did not stare for too long. With an anxious sweep of her tongue over a whiskered jowl, Maral shifted to seek her mother's features. She looked tired, worn down, and was likely unimpressed by the number of sinners she'd bore of her own womb.


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His mother was changed. Stirred by the unexpected whelps or were he and his sister not welcome just yet? There were buttons meant to be pushed at the correct precise time, and the ambience that should've been one of joyous celebration seemed to creep a black banner around them. 

There was no heart-felt pride with each syllable fashioning a name. He wondered if this was normal postpartum behaviour, did his mother react in the same way when crowning each of him and his siblings with names?

He lowered his head anyhow, unknowing the tight buds of their ears had not yet unfurled. 'Welcome to Elkshire, brothers and sister', a coo whisper, adoringly so. Perhaps the love he shed for them in this singular moment was more than their own dam had parted with.

The duke then moved away, his sister beside him still not vocal; he took note of this. 

'I'll leave you be, mother. I shall fetch @Cynefrid to ensure she is by should you need her'. His queen looked tired, and it was time to leave her be. He would not beckon Maral, in case she wanted to remain.

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Celnes didn't say much, nodding to her son and giving a quick glance to her daughter, before she settled her head to the ground. The bawling of the young that swam to her teats and the exhaustion she felt ; even giving them names felt like an acknowledgement of her sins itself. But she couldn't just not give them one, for appearances to keep up that she was still a Queen — as heartless and even she may be.

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