four months | Svajonė or Vidarr likely nearby/welcome to join!

The dream had been...scary. Reid knew Vidarr and Mama would never let anything happen to him. They'd defeated a bear! But the visions in the dream had still been frightening. And now, a faint blue light could be seen illuminating the low-hanging clouds in the deep hours of the night. It made Reid a little...nervous. But not nervous enough to stay cooped up in the safety of the cozy den for very long. Wary of catching yet another cold, he huddled in the cuddle-pile of Ma and Vidarr until the light at the mouth of the den indicated the sun was as high as it would get for the day, even masked by the clouds.

Then, the boy freed himself. The days of stumbling paws were almost behind him. He didn't have any siblings to play-fight with to improve his motor skills, but he had two very involved parents who would gladly put up with the robin's rough-housing and non-stop chatter. Reid's lung capacity probably rivalled a whale's with how practiced he was keeping up a stream of conversation during whatever energetic activities he put his mind to. Today, he wanted to see if the daylight would let him get a better look at the scary blue glow. The snow was a staple of his life and Reid traipsed lightly across the powdery snowfall with ease, tail stiffly arched behind him to keep his balance and in response to his determined excitement.

Pine trees swallowed his silhouette up, their bristling needles dusted with frost. The alpine wind pressed Reid's thin coat slick against his skin as it picked up, wailing as the gust coursed down the mountainside. The boy braced himself against the force, wrinkling his muzzle into a grin when he was not bowled over. A little further wouldn't hurt!

Snow crunched nearby to alert the robin to an approaching creature. He expected Vidarr's dark visage to appear from between the trees, and plopped his rear into the snow to attentively wait for his guardian to appear. An elk cow gracefully entered into Reid's view instead - dark eyes reflecting the boy's dumbstruck awe back at him as the elk regarded the tiny pup. Leaf-shaped ears swiveled back, then forward. A plume of condensed breath snorted from her muzzle, and this prompted the beginning of a building giggle from Reid's throat.

SKILL: ORATOR (1/5)

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Svajonė had not meant to sleep so deeply.

The mountain cold always made the den feel smaller somehow, warmer too, especially with Reid tucked against her and Vidarr's steady heat at their backs. It was the sort of comfort she had once gone years without, and because of that, she had learned not to trust it fully. Even now, with the wind moaning beyond the den mouth and the pale blue cast of that strange light staining the clouds, some part of her had remained lightly strung through the dark like a thread pulled too tight.

So when she woke and found one warm little body missing from the pile, sleep left her all at once.

At first there was only the sharp, ugly plunge of a mother’s fear that stilled her heart. Her head came up fast, ears pitched forward, breath caught halfway in her throat as her dual toned eyes swept the den. Reid’s scent was fresh—fresh enough to soothe the panic before it could become something uglier, but not enough to settle her entirely. He had gone recently. Gone alone. Svajonė rose without a sound, careful and quick, the ache in her healed leg little more than an old ghost now as she slipped from the den and into the brittle mountain air.

The world outside was washed in silver and blue, cold enough to sting the lungs. Reid’s tracks were easy to follow, stamped bright and small across the snow in a line that made her chest tighten despite herself. Determined little thing. Brave little thing. Too brave, sometimes. She moved after them with quiet precision, pale coat gathering frost at the edges while the wind combed through her fur. The trees swallowed her for a time, pines standing tall and dark around her, until at last she caught sight of him ahead—a tiny russet and white shape planted in the snow, staring at something much larger than himself.

And then she saw the elk.

Svajonė stopped at once, every line in her body sharpening. She did not rush in wildly, did not call out and risk startling either creature. Instead she stepped forward with the deliberate calm of a woman who knew fear had teeth and that panic more often than naught sharpened them. Her head lowered slightly, posture neither aggressive nor meek as her gaze flicking once over the cow before settling on Reid. There was a softness to her then, even through the tension, something almost exasperated and fond all at once. Reid, she called gently, her voice low as snowfall, puiul mamei (mother's chicken)... my sweet boy. Her eyes moved once more to the elk, then back to him. You do love to find company where you ought not to, da, dragule? (yes, darling?)

By the time she reached his side, she pressed close enough for her flank to brush his, shoulder, a quiet anchor of warmth and presence as she stood next to him. Her nose skimmed over the top of his head in an instinctive check, as if to reassure herself he was whole, before she let out the faintest breath through her nose. Vai de mine, copile, (Woe is me, child,) you gave Mama a fright. There was no bite in it, only the lingering tremor of a love stretched too thin. She kept herself between him and the worst of the wind, watching the elk with a measured stillness before letting her mouth curve into something small and tired and unbearably tender. It was the look of a mother who had learned to guard her little blessings close, as though fortune itself might grow jealous and steal them if she boasted too loudly.

Come then, inimă mică, (small heart,) she murmured, brushing close in that old, instinctive way a women soothed with touch, warmth, and nearness long before words ever came. You may look, but not so close that your courage outruns your sense. Her flank stayed firm against his shoulder, shielding him from the worst of the alpine wind as her pale double toned gaze lingered on the elk. Some beauties are meant to be admired with respect, nu atinse. (do not touch.) You watch with gentle eyes, yes? Like a good boy. Then, softer, nearly under her breath, as if spoken half to him and half to whatever listening spirits haunted mothers in the snow, she added, Hai, dragul meu. (Come on, my dear.) Stay near your mama.

---

Dark, shining eyes reflected Reid's awe-struck features back to him as he breathed a plume of fog into the breeze and the cow did the same. Instinct warned him of sharp hooves and the way the elk easily outweighed him, so Reid stayed carefully and uncharacteristically still even while snow crunched under the pawsteps of another. An oversized ear twitched, then swiveled to face behind him, attentive to his mother as her voice broke the frozen silence.

The cow remained utterly still except the measured swell of her side with her breath while the she-wolf approached her young. A shudder ran down her tan hide, before a careful step put a fraction more distance between the predator and prey. Another, then another, until the elk finally felt confident in turning to continue meandering with cautious calm deeper into the shadows of the pine. Reid watched her go idly, tilted his head into Svajone's orbit as his mother drew close enough for him to press into her warmth. It was cold out here, indeed! But Svajone carefully put herself between him and the worst of the wind, gaze watchful as the elk withdrew, and Reid stomped along in the snow, mostly oblivious to these tiny gestures that kept him safe and warm and cared for, but certainly appreciative of them.

Scuze, (Sorry,) Mama. The robin replied dutifully. The scolding was so gentle it could almost be missed on someone who couldn't note the faint tense quality to Svajone's voice, the way she drew close to Reid to answer an instinct to shield, to tend. A little too aware of his mother's fondness for him, he rose onto his hind paws and gave her cheek an apologetic peck to smooth things over further. Back on all fours, and with the elk's circular rump marking disappearing from view, the boy dipped into a brief playbow. I was trying t' see the blue. Wasn't she cool! Not half 's scary as a bear, though.

Svajone's quiet order was followed without question. High-stepping, spirited pawsteps exuded the energy the robin was often gripped by these days, but with careful control to keep him pressed up against Svajone's pelt obediently.

SKILL: ORATOR (2/5)

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The apology, soft and dutiful as fresh snow, pulled something in Svajonė loose that she had not realized she was still holding on to so tightly.

Ah, pui mic (little chicken)... The words left her in a hush of breath as Reid rose to press that tiny kiss to her cheek, and the tension in her mouth softened all at once into something warmer, sadder, and fuller. There was an old way to women like her—an old, bone-deep instinct handed down quieter than any song and older than all denfire—that answered fright not with sharpness, but with a type of closeness. With touch. With the pressing-in of one body to another so that the heart might remember it was not alone. She bent her head at once to him, brushing her muzzle along his brow and down the soft curve of his ear, fussing over him in that half-mothering, half-checking way as if he were still small enough to fit tucked beneath her chin. E bine, dragul meu (It'sokay, my dear). You are here. That is enough. Yet even as she soothed him, her pale dual toned eyes moved once more to where the elk had vanished into the dark ribs of the pines, watchful still, because fear did not leave a mother all at once. It only loosened its shawl from her shoulders bit by bit.

At his playbow, a faint sound escaped her—not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh, but something fond and helpless between the two. Nu, not half so scary as a bear, she agreed softly, and this time a true smile touched her mouth—small at first, then warmer, curling with the sort of private tenderness that only came when Reid said something that reminded her of Vidarr. Ah, so his tată (father) had been telling stories. Of course he had. The thought wrapped around her heart like warm hands. She could almost see it: Reid tucked against that great dark body, listening with bright eyes while Vidarr, in that grave and patient way of his, recounted how his foolish mother had first stumbled into Mythris only to be chased by a bear and driven straight into freezing water like some half-drowned woodland spirit. Her smile deepened, touched now by quiet amusement. She wondered if Vidarr had told him how he had hauled her from that bitter water, all stern concern and rough strength, and how Svajonė—shivering, half frozen, and entirely unashamed—had demanded a date from him as recompense. Vai, ce femeie (wow, what a woman). Even now the memory made warmth bloom under her fur. And then, because life was a circle and the old stories never stayed one-sided for long, there had come the fire after, and his pain, and her turn to keep him safe, to mend what she could with patient care and steady hands. Strange, the roads love took. Stranger still, the way they had led her here, to this little boy speaking of bears as if they were old family legends.

So when she looked at Reid again, there was a glow in her eyes that had nothing to do with the eerie blue staining the clouds overhead. Mm, iubirea mea (my love), you sound just like your tata when you say such things, she murmured, lowering herself a little nearer his level, snow powdering the pale fur of her legs. Her gaze studied him with that dark, luminous softness of hers. The blue, da? You wished to see what frightened you in the dream? There was no mockery in it, nor any kind of dismissal. Only a yearning to seek understanding. In her world, dreams were not only dreams. Not always. They clung and they followed you if you were not careful. They brushed at the heels of the waking world like caravan ghosts. Her nose nudged lightly at his shoulder. That is brave, inimă mică (little heart). But next time, you wake Mama first, da? We go see the strange things together.

He tucked himself obediently against her side, all high-stepping energy bridled into something careful, and Svajonė’s expression gentled with a quiet pride that felt almost painful in its sweetness. She shifted to make room for him without losing that shield of her body against the mountain wind, her tail curving instinctively nearer as though to gather him in. Then, with a glance cast toward the pale smudge of sky beyond the branches, where that eerie blue still ghosted the low clouds, she began to guide him forward at an easy pace. Not back to the den just yet, but not farther into foolishness either. A compromise. A mother’s art. Tell me what you saw, then, she murmured, the words low and intimate, as though they were two travelers alone beneath a thousand listening spirits. In the dream, and now. Was the blue moving? Did it hum? Did it feel wrong in your little bones? She brushed his shoulder again with hers, warm and solid and real, before adding with a low hum of amusement, And this elk—was she as beautiful up close as she looked from afar, hm? You tell Mama everything. I must know whether your eye for beauty comes from me, or from your poor lovestruck tata.

---

Reid grinned, ear-to-ear, boyish and prideful and altogether charming, as Svajone teasingly told him he sounded like Vidarr, weighing the danger of nature's beauty against the legendary ursine threat of the past. He is quite thrilled by the comparison. Vidarr is strong, cool, and adored by Mama; by all metrics a role model to strive to be like. Reid bounced around for a moment longer, remembering Vidarr's recounting of the tale of Bear and Mama.

His mother's love is his spirit, but the stories that the family circulated are his lifeblood. Stories shield one's heart from fright of the dark, they temper the ache of loneliness, they teach the lessons that might otherwise be learned through shed blood and sorrow. Reid's clever mind gathers each like the precious gem it is, stashes it away to be recalled and referenced as a guidebook for his life.

Svajone did not chastise, but guided the robin toward wiser choices to make for the future. She had once had a harder time keeping up with Reid's bursts of energy and exploration, but that seemed to have changed now - his habits would change with it. Da, Mama. Reid agreed, watching the snow give way beneath the weight of his steps. He was about to argue - that he was not about to go far, that he would be careful - but Svajone distracted masterfully, guiding him away from the light but into the unexplored lands beyond the den, and prodding him about his dreams.

It's...from the ground - like lumina lunii (moonlight) but bright as sun! He puffed. A wolf of stone, n' a wolf of air. And though he had traversed into the snow to see the fissures in the earth, his courage faltered in mention of the strange wolves, their centuries-old tragedy unraveling before his newly-opened eyes. Reid pressed closer into Svajone's comforting warmth, her unfaltering welcome, and sighed to ease the tension coiling in his chest. It was all...amarnic ( terrible/dreadful),

Are his storytelling skills capable of rivalling hers? surely not, but the challenge incites excitement in Reid anyway. Of course, Reid snorted, Frumos și deloc înfricoșător. (beautiful and not scary at all) A little bit of a lie - the cow had frightened him a bit, but he wanted to pretend he was not afraid of anything, to put to rest the uneasy feeling the mysterious dreams gave him.