Never planned for this

All she remembered was wanting to go home. Now, it was all she felt. In her chest, her heart lurched dramatically, a searing, fiery pain spreading throughout her whole body. One minute, she was falling. Clawing desperately at the wind, her blue eyes full of tears, vision blurred, as she stared up at her brother's fleeting form. And then there had been nothing. 

Nothing until now. 

Her eyelids fluttered open, heavy lashes crusted with frozen tears. She'd died. She had died and all she could think about was what her family must have felt. What they had went through. The terrified shouting of her brother was her last memory of him.

It was her adrenaline that had her shakily rising to her paws, and yet she felt like she would collapse again. Her whole body shook, and her mind ached with flooding thoughts. 

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It was only recently that Cain was attempting to process what it meant to lose a child. What Adonis was going through. He had no idea, truly, because he doesn't have any of those kinds of connections himself. And quite frankly, he never does. To see the despair and anguish that Adonis put himself through is...it's horrible to witness. As his brother, there isn't much that he could do even if he willed it. It was up to him and his little fucked up makeshift family to work through their shit.

But Cain had to watch it happen. Idly. He had to stand by and pat his brother on the back and tell him 'it'll be okay,' when in reality, Cain doesn't know if he'll live to see tomorrow. He doesn't know any of that shit. So who was he to give Adonis advice? A brother. He was his brother. At the end of the day...he had to be there. And he would.

A break in the sky had his attention turned. He followed it, hunting it down.

What he saw was a woman in the snow. Her lashes coated with frostbitten tears. Cain approached with caution. "Ertu á lífi?" — You alive?

He didn't recognize the coat. The pelt. But it was apparent that wolves just...fell out of the sky here. What gives with that, anyways? Do the Gods like to pull cruel tricks on them? Whatever. With a huff, Cain took another step closer, inspecting the woman. He waited for her to stir, to make any kind of movement that she was more than alive. He was sure of it, judging by the way her breaths rose and fell.

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Adorre had no way of knowing the man before her was her uncle, her flesh and blood. There was no memory of him, for the last time and only time she'd ever seen him, she'd been no older than a few days. With each melting of winter and blossom of spring, he never visited. She knew nothing of Cain Crownore but bittersweet tales recited by her father--

Oh, her father. Tears sprung to her eyes. They welled up and were unable to be contained, spilling over the edges of her waterlines. How dearly she missed them all. The conscious thought that she may never see them again was enough to choke Adorre on her emotions. When she tried to speak, nothing came out but a sad sob, sapphire eyes glittering with sorrow.

But she fought through it and found the will. “You must think I'm crazy.” Her voice was sweet and yet plagued with sadness, but there was a familiar dialect riding her speech. It was nordic, through and through. “But yes I... I think I'm alive.” Adorre brought one of her forelegs upwards, wiping away the pathetic tears glistening down her dark cheeks with her arm, nares flaring as she sniffled.

And it was when she sniffled and inhaled that she caught his scent. Thick, masculine and... layered with something familiar. Ice, salt, chamomile. It was warm like a father's touch. A gasp choked in her throat and she settled confused, teary eyes on the brute before her. “I'm sorry, you just smell so familiar.” She swallowed, pushing aside the thought. Her father was not here. “Someone I miss dearly.”

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Without words his question had been answered. The girl shifted. Girl, by the sweet immaturity of her scent. She barely breached adulthood. But there was an air of familiarity around her that Cain couldn't shake. His usual tempestuous sex drive suddenly dulled, a hint of plaguing disgust curling around the edges of his mind. Who was this chick?

"Lítur út fyrir það." — Looks like it. Cain would shrug, offering her the most nonchalant response he could supply her. But he didn't think that she was crazy. Why would he think that? The only woman he thought was crazy was his brother's wife. But he may be biased in that department.

Maybe she was crazy when she said he smelled of someone familiar. Suddenly on guard, his eyes would narrow as he took a cautious step back from her. She couldn't possibly be here by coincidence, could she? Did she have it in her to murder? To betray? What kind of fucking thoughts were these— when did Cain get so paranoid? The only man he smelled like was Ragweed or his brother. But she didn't exactly seem like Ragweed's type, nor share any bearing similarities that this could be an estranged daughter.

Tsk. Cain probably had a few of those running around.

That only left...

"Adonis?" — Adonis? His brother's name slipped from his tongue.

A realization for the albeit stupid warrior clicked in his head. Could this be? No. That wouldn't make any sense. It's not possible.

Adonis' wife bore 4 children. Venaday...Vahaelarr...L...udon...

'My sweet...'

What was her name? The memory was just as vivid in his head when he walked with his brother. Dead daughter. What was her fucking name?

"Adorre?" — Adorre?

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A maelstrom of emotions came at the sound of her father's name falling from the lips of the gruff, wretched man before her. How...? The questions reared their ugly heads profusely within her mind, loud and drowning, threatening to pull her beneath the ground's surface and consume her in its mighty hearth. So came the loud and raging pitter-patter of her heart within her thin chest, bringing her to whisper in disbelief. 

“You know... my father? How can this be?” 

Her pretty eyes flickered up from where they'd glued themselves in confusion to the snowy ground beneath her dainty paws and up to the face of the behemoth before her, her lips parting from one another in utter surprise whenever her... name fell from his lips. Adorre wanted to take two steps back, but she didn't -- in fact, she did the opposite. She composed herself and did her best to present the strong appearance of a unwavering woman, despite the ruffle in her fur and the tears that stained her cheeks. 

“How do you know my name? I demand you tell me, I don't know who you are or where I am-” She cut herself off, huffing and flustered. 

Fates... was she in hell? 

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She certainly held her father's unwavering spirit as she dared another step closer to Cain. His brow cocked with curiosity, the wave of nostalgia settling in his mind. She looked so much like him and her father— wasn't stained white with any remnants of her mother. His chest couldn't help but puff with a simmering feeling of pride. Their bloodline was strong, and he was sure any remains of her blood could be swiftly removed in due time.

"Auðvitað manstu ekki eftir mér." — Of course you don't remember me. Cain's shoulders lifted in a nonchalant shrug again, this time his lip curled upwards with the impeding demand from her. Such a confused thing. Maybe she gets her paranoia from the other side of the family.

"Kain. Bróðir föður þíns." — Cain. Your father's brother. His head dipped and so did the forefront of his body into an exaggerated bow before her. "Þú varst á stærð við rottu síðast þegar ég sá þig." — You were the size of a rat the last time I saw you.

Something alike a deep, sultry laugh left his throat when he returned to his full height. Such a demanding thing! His eyes rolled at her urgency. "Slakaðu á. Þú ert í vetur...hjálmur, eða hvað sem faðir þinn kallar það." — Relax. You're in winter...helm, or whatever your father calls it.

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