+- Vivarium (https://vivariumrpg.com)
+-- Forum: Vivarium (https://vivariumrpg.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=3)
+--- Forum: Smoldering Wastes (https://vivariumrpg.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=28)
+--- Thread: AW slug (/showthread.php?tid=11868)
slug - Solda - 5/27/2026
Not much was permanent at his young age. The child slept, ate, shit, and slept. The child wasn't aware of much more, aside from the warmth coming and going, being snuffled at, and the food laying still long enough for him to sniff and feel his way towards it. It was a simple life, one he enjoyed greatly, or as much as he could for being so young. His home of familiar smells, sensations and dull sounds was enough to lull him into a sleep, even when he wasn't being warmed by the only thing that gave him all he needed.
When he woke, however, he knew something was wrong. When he sniffed, he could not smell the warmth. He could not smell food, excrement, dirt, or anything. He was cold, terribly so, and while his brain was too little to feel scared, he was extremely uncomfortable. The horrible ground beneath him gave way as he squirmed, all wrong and not at all what he was used to. All at once, it was too much, and he began to shriek, because that was all he could do.
He was growing weak, however. His thin fur was mostly just for show, barely even long enough to protect his pink skin from the sun.
RE: slug - Häti - 5/30/2026
motherhood approaches as a whetstone.
day by day it drags her headlong across its weathered gray face, working away every softened edge and useless curve.
others speak softly of childbearing, as though it is an anchor; a balm to soothe the weary soul. but those fool folk have not once watched a coyote pace the mouth of its den. they do not see the carved outline of her ribs, hear the warning click of her teeth.
no. the lives 'neath her ribs have long since awakened something ancient and terrible within her. it rises from the depths of her blackened heart like a starving thing, devouring mercy wherever it dares show its face. it teaches coyote, with every passing day, what belongs and what does not.
and so when she finds the badger pup— blind, mewling, scarcely larger than a coiled snake— there is no choice to be made.
the thing within her looks. it decides.
mine.
the same fierce instinct which turns her teeth toward every trailing suitor. the same blind devotion coiled 'round the lives in her womb.
the badger is gathered into that circle without fuss, claimed as surely as if it had sprung from her own flesh.
woe, then, to any beast fool enough to dispute!
a beat. and then,
her call rings high and shrill across the dunes.
and not a passing moment later,
at her feet a newborn, small enough to fit with ease between her paws. it writhes helplessly, tiny pink mouth winking open and shut. when shek appears at long last, häti gestures brusquely toward the scrap of flesh.
a beat.
silence. another beat.
the badger squirms, tiny feet leaving pinprick indents in the sand.
day by day it drags her headlong across its weathered gray face, working away every softened edge and useless curve.
others speak softly of childbearing, as though it is an anchor; a balm to soothe the weary soul. but those fool folk have not once watched a coyote pace the mouth of its den. they do not see the carved outline of her ribs, hear the warning click of her teeth.
no. the lives 'neath her ribs have long since awakened something ancient and terrible within her. it rises from the depths of her blackened heart like a starving thing, devouring mercy wherever it dares show its face. it teaches coyote, with every passing day, what belongs and what does not.
and so when she finds the badger pup— blind, mewling, scarcely larger than a coiled snake— there is no choice to be made.
the thing within her looks. it decides.
mine.
the same fierce instinct which turns her teeth toward every trailing suitor. the same blind devotion coiled 'round the lives in her womb.
the badger is gathered into that circle without fuss, claimed as surely as if it had sprung from her own flesh.
woe, then, to any beast fool enough to dispute!
a beat. and then,
shek!
her call rings high and shrill across the dunes.
and not a passing moment later,
shek, hurry!
at her feet a newborn, small enough to fit with ease between her paws. it writhes helplessly, tiny pink mouth winking open and shut. when shek appears at long last, häti gestures brusquely toward the scrap of flesh.
a beat.
i found this.
silence. another beat.
it is ours.
the badger squirms, tiny feet leaving pinprick indents in the sand.
a son.
RE: slug - benji - 6/6/2026
Häti sets the pace, Benji follows.
It's three-fourths concern that she might set too swift a canter and one-fourth some festering, unsightly inclination to protect what is hers; hers in all the ways Häti allows herself to be claimed. Benji never asks for more, never takes, never wants beyond what is freely proposed. There's something wordless and unknowable that ebbs between them now and it's been given quietly, a marrow deep thing that pulls her toward the other and draws the other toward her, and she's too observant of their surroundings to truly wonder what it is.
Acknowledgement is enough.
She's allowed herself to drag a bit farther behind so she could investigate a prospective prey trail, and then...
...Benji's ears perk at the call and wastes no moment to ponder before she answers, offering a short bark to announce her arrival before her flesh could.
Hurry she does.
"You okay?" She asks, concerned only for her companion until a glance toward the little heap of a creature between Häti's paws elicits a furrow of brows. A low, contemplative rumble rolls in her throat. "Oh." Because it is small and alive and that is valuable in a land so determined to raze all who dare to call it home. She lowers her head, sniffs.
I found this.
Benji presses closer, scenting the alive little thing.
It is ours.
She stills, watching the alive little thing writhe.
A son.
And she brings her great muzzle to the soft forehead of their alive little boy.
Benji does not question why this is the case, nor does she desire to protest where logic might typically beg her to, as it is not logic that explains why she watches Häti bring the pup in with gentle touch and wishes only that they had some place to harbor their child. Their child for if any young were Häti's, they were Benji's, too, that is all she needs to care.
"He's cold," she says, giving the boy a single, sodden lick across the face before lifting her head to look at Häti. "Will he nurse?" And because this isn't her realm of expertise, she pushes no further, awaiting only an answer. "He's strong for making it this long alone, that's promising. We'll keep him that way."
It's three-fourths concern that she might set too swift a canter and one-fourth some festering, unsightly inclination to protect what is hers; hers in all the ways Häti allows herself to be claimed. Benji never asks for more, never takes, never wants beyond what is freely proposed. There's something wordless and unknowable that ebbs between them now and it's been given quietly, a marrow deep thing that pulls her toward the other and draws the other toward her, and she's too observant of their surroundings to truly wonder what it is.
Acknowledgement is enough.
She's allowed herself to drag a bit farther behind so she could investigate a prospective prey trail, and then...
...Benji's ears perk at the call and wastes no moment to ponder before she answers, offering a short bark to announce her arrival before her flesh could.
Hurry she does.
"You okay?" She asks, concerned only for her companion until a glance toward the little heap of a creature between Häti's paws elicits a furrow of brows. A low, contemplative rumble rolls in her throat. "Oh." Because it is small and alive and that is valuable in a land so determined to raze all who dare to call it home. She lowers her head, sniffs.
I found this.
Benji presses closer, scenting the alive little thing.
It is ours.
She stills, watching the alive little thing writhe.
A son.
And she brings her great muzzle to the soft forehead of their alive little boy.
Benji does not question why this is the case, nor does she desire to protest where logic might typically beg her to, as it is not logic that explains why she watches Häti bring the pup in with gentle touch and wishes only that they had some place to harbor their child. Their child for if any young were Häti's, they were Benji's, too, that is all she needs to care.
"He's cold," she says, giving the boy a single, sodden lick across the face before lifting her head to look at Häti. "Will he nurse?" And because this isn't her realm of expertise, she pushes no further, awaiting only an answer. "He's strong for making it this long alone, that's promising. We'll keep him that way."
RE: slug - Solda - 6/6/2026
Vibrations soon answered his calls, though they were heavier and more spaced than the pawsteps he was familiar with. He did not care, though, too cold and hungry for that, desperate for comfort. He moved towards warmth when it was close enough, nosing at the rough hair that touched his face. It smelt funny, and felt strange, but it was enough. It was comfort.
He was shivering, now, still yowling for food. He was expecting to be fed by now, to be warmed, and placed back in his home with all his familiar smells and sensations. What was happening?
Another set of footfalls, even heavier than the last arrived. There was not much else he could hear; muffled voices, and then a presence close to his head. He wails at it - I'm hungry! - and then something large and warm touches his face. It smells strange too, but he's too cold to care. Wriggling a little, he wrinkles his nose, and quiets significantly. He is still hungry, but being a little warmer helps.
Something warm and wet touches his face, and it is familiar enough despite everything. All he wants now is food. His squeaks continue.