[PRP] A family affair [Wrath of the Mountain/Born of Death]

[Beejoux]

Mom, is everything alright?

Born had assured the babes they were fine, just a little nervous about meeting Death Take Me's mother. The dainty zikwa didn't know much about the doe, but they'd gleaned enough to guess she was a strong, formidable kimeti. Someone not to be trifled with. Born knew they didn't need her approval to be with Death. They were together, Death loved them, they had a family, and a home, and future.

But that didn't mean they weren't nervous, all the same.

They wanted Death's family to like them. They wanted to be good enough. They wanted...

Haven gave a little yip, drawing their attention down to the sanddog, and Born dipped their head to lip at warm ear. "Thank you," they murmured, continuing on their way towards the edge of their territory, where they and Mountain had arranged to meet.

[AMItotic]

Wrath of the Mountain was, largely, a secretive creature. One that valued her space and her privacy more than her children, so the moment their horns were in to defend themselves she had sent her spawn on their way, to their own territories, their own fortunes. And it was slow, but news still came to secretive ears if they were up and attentive. One of hers had found a mate, made some whelps of his own, just as she herself was sending off her second brood, stumbling and knock-kneed out into the world.

Interesting. Death Take Me had seemed too small for such things, the last Wrath had laid eyes on her son. But such was the nature of the little spawn, who grew faster than the seasons changed. More surprising, perhaps, was the message from his mate. The desire to meet, to share the...grandchildren. That was interesting, too. Wrath had agreed--on the provision that they meet near her territory, a small bit of swampland punctuated by lichen-painted stones and rocks. Terrible for foraging, but then Wrath's tastes had always been of the more visceral kind, and there were plenty of tiny things to be found under overturned rocks, and plenty of places to warm her body in the sun. She had carved this place for herself as a whelp and claimed sliver by sliver of it over the seasons, until it was a respectable home, a hunting grounds. Hers and hers alone.

Still, she wanted more.

The territory was marked, roughly, by a series of stones that crossed over the places where the land was dry enough to set them in place. Once the sand dog yipped, a statuesque doe unfolded from a reclined posture, stretching her legs, her neck, a powerful red tail swishing behind her like the very tail Death Take Me sported. Her hooves sunk into the muck at each step forward, looking down at the dainty little zikwa who had somehow sputtered their way to the wrong part of the swamp. And then, just a hint of recognition lit up in Wrath's eyes, her chuckle as low and as rumbling as caiman song. Even years removed, she knew the smell of her kin, draped all over this Zikwa like a protective charm.

"Aren't you a fragile little treat?" Wrath crooned, bemused--somehow, even through the distance, her son seemed to share some of her proclivities, when it came to mates. "And my son sent you all this way on your own. Tsk, tsk. No regard for protecting his things, I see."

[Beejoux]

Haven heard it first, movement In front of them, and the sand dog's watchful eyes locked on strong figure of the kimeti doe that approached them. Born heard them as they neared, ear flicking to listen intently, but they'd been clued into this new arrival by the sand dog's posture, the tension they could feel through Haven's side where he was pressed firmly against one spindly leg.

The dog let out a soft growl at that first crooned remark, and Born shifted on their hooves, straightening to their full yet unimpressive height. Their ears lay back at the implication of Death being careless of them, a little frown marring that sweet face.

"I'm not alone. Haven is with me." The dog gave another little yip at his name. Sleek and slender, his body marked with flower and bone, but the coloring was familiar shades of earthy reds and yellows and browns. "A gift from your son."

[AMItotic]

"Oh yes, I'm sure a dog will keep the crocodiles at bay," said Wrath warmly, though not kindly. "Though I suppose he's the one playing den mother if you're all the way out here with none of the little ones afoot. Come along, then, I have a catch drying and it should be good for a snack while we talk." With a gutteral hum, she moved one of the low stones out of the way with a push of her tail--a sign of permission, before she loped lazily back onto a well-walked path into the trees.

"Tell me then," Wrath called behind her, "Does my son give you many gifts? Has he secured you a den? Does he keep you fed?" Questions all asked with mild bemusement as Wrath plodded forward, pressing down on any new growth that might have tried to take over the path.

[Beejoux]

For a moment Born of Death had wilted a little, cowed by that intimidating tone and presence, ears folded and posture tense. On the defensive, they felt measured, and like they had already fallen short. Then they seemed to gain a measure of composure, and those pale ears perked again. "This one will," they answered confidently, sure if Haven's determination and bravery. The sand dog gave a confirming yip.

They followed, guided along by the steady sound of sure steps ahead of them, and the gentle brushes of Haven at their ankles. Born didn't eat a lot of meat, but it was usually palatable at least, and declining the offer seemed rude.

"Yes, to all of it. We have a wonderful den and a wide territory to call our own. There's berry patches and root vegetables, and lots of small things that scurry about. We are all very well provided for." There were also wild flowers, many wild flowers, but as much as Born loved that about their home, they felt Wrath wouldn't consider that an asset.

The lady beneath their hooves felt equal parts dry and rocky in some places, and soft and murky in others. Haven was careful to keep Born from the more questionable batches of muck. It wouldn't do to get stuck. Again. The air here smelled...interesting.

[AMItotic]

It was no small hike through the woodlands, but the path was clear enough--every so often, Wrath's tail lashed at a bit of where the forest floor had tried to reclaim her path, or leaned down to rip up new growth at the roots. Where they settled was a bit of an open clearing, where a rust colored pangolin guarded a small series of vines, decorated with the results of a recent hunt. Wrath's tail snapped and the pangolin snorted worriedly, shuffling away, giving Wrath herself a space to lounge next to her kill.

"Sit," she said, stretching her legs before relaxing into her clearing. "Do you hunger? I have rabbit, otter, marshfowl. And tell me about the children. Are they strong, like my son?" Surely Death Take Me's blood was stronger than whatever made up this waifish little thing.