#character: frodr

[outpost-lw]

Lortober: Oct. 14th

Prompt: Win

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Ha! I win!

That you did <3

[nix-lw]

Lortober 2022 day 17 - Reverse

Warning: This story contains violence, blood and character death.

RP styled story between Outpost’s and Nix’s starter wolves.  Skyndi: Outpost Yrsa: Nix Word count: 1937

Forevermore

-Skyndi’s POV-

Icerun in the middle of winter was supposed to be white and cold.

It wasn't, not anymore.

She couldn't feel the cold any longer, only the warm gush of blood as the one truly good thing her life had ever granted her slowly slipped away from her.

Frodr wouldn't last much longer.

Neither would she, but... she wasn't wounded. Not with anything more than the scratches and bruises that had become ever-present since the Plaguebeasts had started their advance in earnest, at least.

No, she wouldn't last because Icerun was no longer white. It was brown, and red (redredred, why won't the bleeding stop) and black. Brown like the mud of churned ground, red like the blood of wolves that had died in vain, black like the tar that ate away at living things until all that remained was the stain of Chaos.

It wouldn't be long until the Beasts reached the plateau they had fled to; her, Frodr and a pitiful band of stragglers and survivors.

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-Yrsa’s POV-

Yrsa stopped next to her mate to catch her breath. The sword in her mouth was dripping with blood and tar after the numerous plaguebeasts she had slain.

The battle against Chaos was gruesome.  Could it be even called a battle? A slaughter would be more accurate.

It all happened so quickly. The fortress wall had fallen, their home had burned to the ground, their friends…. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of unnecessary thoughts.  Thinking will get you killed.  In times of battle one needs to act.

Fayrn was spirit wandering with Midnight, surveilling them from the sky above. He’d let them know when the beasts came closer.  It wouldn’t be safe here for long, but maybe long enough to regroup and form a battle plan. 

She scanned the plateau they had retreated to and her eyes landed on a young female next to a badly injured wolf. Judging from the red stain in the snow beneath them, the injured one would not be long for this world. 

She felt her heart ache at the sight. 

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-Skyndi’s POV-

Sensing eyes upon them, Skyndi couldn’t help but growl and try to put herself between the watcher and Frodr, hackles rising despite the fact that the Lupin’s gaze did not carry any ill will; rather the opposite. It felt heavy with sympathy and grief and pity and normally Skyndi wouldn’t have hesitated to exploit that, to see what she could wring out from anyone who had the time for pity in an apocalypse, but with Frodr-

With Frodr… With Frodr slowly bleeding out beneath her, none of that mattered any more.

The world was ending, and it had seen fit to remove the one good thing in it before it was even done collapsing, in what seemed like a triumphant act of spite from Chaos itself.

So all Skyndi could really think of was that this stranger had no place here, in Frodr’s final moments. Had no business looking at him when he was brought so low, had no right to remember him as this broken, pitiful thing, slowly bleeding out.

Frodr didn’t deserve to be remembered that way, not by someone who had never known how good he was, how resourceful and clever, how his careful planning had been the only thing to get them this far.

So Skyndi did her best to shield his bulk with her much smaller mass and growled at the stranger: “What.”

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-Yrsa’s POV-

Yrsa flinched at the harsh tone of the kit. The smaller wolf glared at her with anger, frustration and pain. Such deep pain. It was a look that she had seen before, albeit never aimed at herself, but she knew it nonetheless. Having spent her early years at a military camp she was familiar with the sight of someone losing a loved one.

Yrsa watched the smaller female try her best to look as large and intimidating as possible, standing between the dying wolf and everyone else. She did not look particularly strong, no obvious armor or weapon as far as Yrsa could see. Probably not used to battle, but she looked ready to fight just about anything at this point. 

What? What indeed…  What could a stranger offer in times of sorrow? Compassionate words would just sound like hollow lies. Perhaps leaving them alone at this moment was the best she could....

Wait…weapons…! Yes, that was something she could do. Yrsa put her dirty sword down next to her mate and instead grabbed her spare that Fayrn carried at his side. She slowly approached the unknown wolf, placing the sword in front of her in the snow. 

“May I say the Warrior’s Praise for them?”

The Warrior’s Praise, a final sermon dedicated to the bravest wolves that died in battle.  A prayer for their souls to run across heaven with Orrin in the afterlife, forever strong and healthy. A prayer that their name will be remembered by all wolves in Loria forevermore and that the soldiers of Icerun shall swing their blades in remembrance of their greatness. 

It was a prayer her parents had taught her when she was young, a prayer only generals were allowed to say. Back then she had unwillingly learned it because she was expected to become a general herself, although she hated the idea. Now that the world was turning upside down, she felt glad to be able to offer it to mourning wolves. All lives lost during this horrible time were worth remembering.

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-Skyndi’s POV-

Skyndi felt as if all the air had been punched out of her. Her head swam with what she would have suspected was a concussion, had she not known that she was fine- Frodr throwing himself in front of the blow that would have crushed her skull, his ribs breaking and his flank rupturing in the most Creator-damned sound she had ever heard, and she was fine, fine, FINE but he was not, he was not but he still somehow ran, still made sure they made it to the plateau, because he loved her and she had never ever thought that she wouldn’t want his love but now he was broken and she was fine and she desperately wished he had never met her.

She didn’t have a concussion.

The dizziness and ringing in her ears was- was something else.

Distantly, she heard a voice say: “You can… do that?”

She only belatedly realised it was her own because the words ripped into her throat like knives.

Oh.

It was relief that she was feeling, wasn’t it? 

It felt… silly. She had never taken great stock in faith, in prayer, hadn’t disbelieved in the Creators and the Spiritwolves, but hadn’t believed it was something that concerned her, either. Hadn’t believed that they really cared about or interfered with lowly mortal lives.

However, like this, at the end of the world, with Frodr bleeding out and his breaths coming in shorter and shorter… like this, she was just relieved that there was something that could be done for him, even if he was beyond saving.

That he might be remembered, might be honoured. “Please,” she croaked out, “if you can, then please, he-” and here she stumbled, her throat constricting because she wanted to give this strange General all the reasons he deserved to be honoured and remembered despite not being a warrior but no words could ever be enough for that.

“His name is Frodr. I would- he- …please.”

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-Yrsa’s POV-

Yrsa hurriedly grabbed the sword and sat down next to the smaller female. She gently placed her paw on the unknown female’s shoulder, motioning for her to lean on Yrsa and steady herself. Only in times like these would she feel thankful of her large frame. She nodded to the unknown wolf beside her, trying her best to look reassuring.

“I shall.”

She then stuck the sword down into the snow next to the injured Frodr, placed her paws on each side of the sword hilt and began her prayer.

“Orrin, great father of Icerun, hear our prayer. For our brother Frodr’s sword is laid to rest today.  We ask that you welcome him with open paws  and let him join Your Pack in the Heavens. His kin left on the earth below, shall remember his courage and honor his name.”

Yrsa raised her left front leg and then swung it down towards the sword, her armguard striking the metal and making it cling like a bell.

“When the swords sing on the battlefield,  we shall remember him.”

she struck the sword again.

“When the snow falls on Iceruns’ mountains, we shall remember him.”

And again.

“When the a new day dawns over Loria,  we shall remember him.”

And again. 

“To time eternal,  we shall remember him.”

And again. 

“Orrin, great father of Icerun, let our brother’s soul shine brightly, as it runs across the night sky  together with You and the ancestors in the Northern Lights.  Forever strong,  forever free,  forevermore.

Praise be the Warrior! Praise be Frodr!”

As she struck the sword a final time Yrsa raised her head towards the sky, took a deep breath, and howled. Her clear voice echoed out into the cold winter day. 

She howled for all the lives lost that day. For this brave wolf in front of her.  For all the friends that she had lost herself.  For all the wolves she hoped would one day welcome her into the afterlife when she joined them in Orrin’s hall. During this moment she let herself feel the fatigue of her body, the aching pain in her heart, the dark thoughts that welled up inside her mind. All the things that she had kept locked away deep within her during the battle came flooding back all at once and she felt her eyes cloud with tears.

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-Skyndi’s POV-

Skyndi knew of the prayer, but she had never been present during one. She hadn’t expected that the ringing of the sword would feel as if it was resonating inside of her, that it would grasp her and lift her up and make her feel strong even while she was breaking.

And oh, if not for the prayer holding her together, then she would be falling apart into shattered pieces.

It was as if Frodr had only been waiting for this, this last blessing and absolution. 

With the first ring, his breaths weakened further.

With the second, they stuttered.

With the third, they stopped.

With the fourth, the blood that had been steadily pulsing out onto the snow slowed.

With the fifth, it stopped.

Skyndi threw her head back and joined the howl.

She howled because it was the only thing she could do, because with each strike vibrating within her it had grown until it reached everything. Every single part of her heart and soul that she had ever tried to bury and suppress and forget and set it all ringing, singing, screaming until she had to let it out.

She couldn’t possibly contain it, and so she howled.

She howled her sorrow and her guilt and her love.

She howled for everything she’d never cried for.

She howled for every wrong she’d ever done, and every right she’d fought so hard to choose.

She howled for Frodr and hoped Orrin heard her, because he deserved everything and Skyndi didn’t care if she was damned to Chaos if only Orrin would take his soul and hold him close and keep him safe, the way she never could.

Skyndi howled.

And Orrin listened.

(What would you do if you had the chance to try again?)

[outpost-lw]

Lortober: Bonus Content

The entries for the 29th and the 30th were made to fit together <3

[outpost-lw]

Lortober: Oct. 29th

Prompt: Seasonal

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Let’s bring these back to Skyndi!

[outpost-lw]

Lortober: Oct. 21st

Prompt: Faith Wordcount: 442

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Frodr had happily left almost all practices that his family had instilled in and demanded from him behind.

Almost.

Two things he kept, because refused to be like them and let his own pride sabotage him.

As such, he reluctantly kept the etiquette. Not for constant usage the way they would have wanted him to, but rather because it was a useful tool that he could use in Gangleri’s favour.

He also kept the faith they’d taught him, because it was the one thing that had truly been his in that suffocating place.

They had taught him of the Creators and of Chaos, of the Spiritwolves and of Orrin in particular mainly in an effort to keep up appearances.

They were an old warrior pack, they had upheld faith in Orrin for generations; His was the name they used to justify their perceived superiority and the name they called upon to support their greed.

As such, it was unacceptable for their pups to be anything less than devout.

Thus, Frodr had grown up knowing all the prayers, had grown up with tutors saying one thing but meaning another, had grown up hearing his parents and the warriors of the pack use Orrin’s name when and how it suited them.

However, he had also grown up surrounded by all the old tales, and practising his faith had always been deemed a suitable (quiet, correct) enough activity that he’d been left in peace during it. His faith began as a simple means to an end – nothing but a way to create some breathing room for himself – but as time went by he got to read the old tales by himself instead of having them narrated to him through the warped lens of others’ opinions.

He read the tales, and upon realising that they were so very different from how others had made them seem, he started drawing comfort from them. Traditions and rituals that had previously been frustrating exercises in rote memorisation and etiquette started to gain meaning, started to grant structure and stability in a life that had previously felt like nothing but a sandcastle – only intact by grace of the fact that the tides of his family’s expectations had not yet risen high enough to sweep it away.

In a way, Orrin became more of a father to him than the one whose blood ran in his veins. His blood-father only wanted a tool. Orrin wanted… nothing. Orrin was a distant entity, but He was safe and He granted Frodr the tools he needed to endure.

In return, Frodr was more than happy to give the Spiritwolf his steady and stubborn faith.

[outpost-lw]

Lortober: Oct. 18th

Prompt: Deep Wordcount: 590

CONTENT WARNING: Anxiety, selective mutism.

As a companion piece to the entry for Oct. 6th (Redeem) this is also very much a hurt/comfort piece, because I want these characters to be happy in the end, but please let me know if any additional warnings are needed (I’m still very inexperienced at setting warnings) and take care while reading!

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Sometimes, Frodr finds it hard to breathe, much less talk.

It’s like he’s deep down at the bottom of a well – no, a mine, deep down at the bottom of a mine, and the weight of the bedrock is pressing down around him and his air is running out.

Skyndi is good at keeping the feeling away. She’s soft sunlight and a fresh breeze, an open and endless landscape of freedom and possibilities. She reminds him that he’s not trapped, that talking won’t hurt him, that he can breathe freely.

Still, being good at something does not guarantee success; Frodr would know. He’d always tried so very hard to become the best he could at everything he could in the hopes of-

In the hopes of…

In hope.

Hope of… something else. Something better.

Still, no matter how skilled he became, he would still fail and be left down in the deep, down in the dark, again.

Each time, the hope felt a little more hollow, a little more brittle.

So he didn’t blame Skyndi for failing to keep the deep away sometimes.

She tried her best.

It was his fault, really, for sometimes forgetting that the deep wasn’t real, that there was nothing pressing down on his lungs, clogging his throat, stealing all the careful words he had practised so diligently.

Sometimes, the deep felt so very real, and Frodr became terrified of talking.

Any words he tried to come up with would feel insignificant, wrong; like they would strangle him the moment he dared to utter them.

It was safer to be quiet, down in the deep.

…until it wasn’t.

Until remaining quiet became just as wrong as saying the wrong thing.

That was the biggest gift Skyndi ever gave him – kept giving him, each time he succumbed to the deep and couldn’t find his way out. The gift of understanding. Of listening. Of not demanding or expecting him to speak. Of not needing him to say things to still respect them (respect him).

Of patience.

The first time Frodr woke up and tried to wish his new travelling companion (his saviour) a good morning only for the words to get caught in his throat and strangle him, he had truly believed that that was it; that the brave and stubborn Kit whom he already admired so much would realise how useless he was and cast him aside.

She never did.

She was confused, in the beginning, even worried over his well-being (he didn’t know whether to be grateful for the care or hurt over the reminder that there was something wrong with him), but swiftly grew to simply… accommodate for the new development.

Their routine shifted but never broke, even as Skyndi faced a steep learning curve in trying to understand all that he couldn’t say, in trying to listen even when he could not speak; as Frodr faced the completely foreign situation of her even trying.

Then, when the deep let him go and he could explain to her properly, could warn her that it would likely keep happening, could express his understanding that she had no obligations to him… she still stayed.

She still kept him by her side.

And every time Frodr resurfaced from the deep only to find her there waiting for him, as steadfast as always… every time he doubted her a little less when she said she would always be there, even if he never found it in himself to ever speak again.

It felt like hope, whole and full again.

[outpost-lw]

Lortober: Oct. 15th

Prompt: Pest Wordcount: 257

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“Okay, that’s IT! I have had enough, I refuse to put up with this for a single moment longer, we are all going to go up the highest bloody mountain and live in the snow like Orrin intended until this blighted summer is over and takes all its pests and plagues with it as it dies a gruesome death!”

“Love…”

“Don’t you dare take the ‘softly amused and endeared’ tone with me, Frodr, I recognise that tone and as your Alpha, I am ordering you to stop mocking my suffering.”

“Very well, dear heart.”

“...I hate you.”

“The fact that you are currently hugging me does not lend credence to your statement.”

Growl.

“I am still not quite convinced, given that you are still clinging.”

“It’s not fair, why do they stay away from you but not me? Why?”

“You’re simply too sweet and irresistible, love.”

Growl.

“Should I take this to mean that you do not, in fact, want more of the citrus balm to help keep the mosquitoes away?”

“...we had more!?”

“The pups just returned from their trip to the southern plains; they brought back enough vats to help us endure this ‘blighted summer’, as you so aptly put it. I’m sure they’d be more than happy to brag and share their spoils should you go over to the lake to greet them.”

“I love you so much.”

“I thought as much.”

“Even if you can be unbearably smug at times.”

“It’s one of my many charms. Now go, the pups have missed you!”

[outpost-lw]

Lortober: Oct. 13th

Discarded Original Prompt: Outlook Reserve Prompt Used: Cycle Wordcount: 496

I told you I’d explain the ominous hunches; let’s take a look at one of the underlying mechanics of my lore, shall we?

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This is what lurks in the depths of their memories, kept from them by the machinations of Chaos:

Skyndi, under other names (none of them her own, none of them one she was happy to be called) killing and lying and then having her lies spread and kill even more. Frodr, trapped by his name (what use is a noble name, if it is weighed down by generations of sin?), hiding and cowering and helplessly watching the consequences of his inaction.

The tides of Chaos engulfing the land, fed and fanned by everything they did and did not do.

Korvo, breaking free.

Skyndi, not ever daring to become her own person (who would, when they’d been one of the ones extracting the price of disobedience upon others?), killing and lying because it is all she has ever known… but maybe, the ones holding her leash wouldn’t ever be able to imagine a few of those lies turning on them.

Frodr, not ever allowed to become his own person (discarded but never forgotten, the spare kept and raised as a tool to be wielded by others), hiding and cowering because it is all he is permitted to do… but if they cannot see him and do not care enough to look, then when will they ever realise that he is gone?

The tides of Chaos engulfing the land, fed and fanned by everything they did and did not do.

Korvo, breaking free.

Skyndi, realising that if she is no-one, then she has nothing to lose (she has everything to lose, but when she hates that everything, would it really be a loss?), killing and lying for herself for the first time, and finally finding self-worth on the other end of misery. Frodr, realising that if he is unimportant, then he might as well be gone (he is more important to them than they let him believe, but in no way that he ever wanted to be), hiding and cowering so that he might be free at last, and finally finding ambition on the other side of oppression.

The tides of Chaos engulfing the land, fed and fanned by everything they did not do.

Korvo, breaking free.

Skyndi, refusing to follow others’ schemes (something telling her that she is capable of more than she could ever imagine), never again killing or lying unless the alternative is unacceptable, because finally she has something to fight for. Frodr, tired of bending to others’ wills (somehow he knows that he does not have to and that he is more than what they have made him), never again hiding or cowering, because he is worth more than that and his pride will no longer let him.

The tides of Chaos engulfing the land, fed and fanned by everything they could not do.

Korvo, breaking free. Skyndi, waking up after a dream, knowing that there is something she must do.

Frodr, rousing after a prophecy, knowing that there is someone he must find.

[outpost-lw]

Lortober: Oct. 10th

Prompt: Hide Wordcount: 601

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Maybe he was a coward.

He didn’t want to be a coward, but he was starting to consider that he might be one regardless of his wants on the matter. Because really, there was no rational reason to keep his past a secret from Skyndi …his Alpha? Was she his Alpha? They had started to collect a few companions after all, and they certainly weren’t following him… but when did a pack go from being a loose collection of wolves to being a Pack, anyway? Would they need to draft some kind of announcement? …and here he was, avoiding the issue again, his thoughts veering away from the topic like a gazelle fleeing hunters in the brush.

Frodr drew in a deep breath of the cold morning air, the diamond dust pinching at his nose. Then let it out in an exasperated sigh.

He would try again. 1. He was hiding his past from Skyndi. 2. He had no rational reason for doing this.

3. He really should tell her, in the interest of full disclosure; she deserved to know, if it ever came back around to haunt them. They were a team now; they had sworn to face the uncertain future together and support each other in all endeavours, and it was undoubtedly wrong of him to hide something that might come to affect her negatively.

He could not act as her second if he withheld things from her, if she could not trust him to be honest… if he did not trust her enough to be honest.

He desperately wished to stay by her side. Skyndi was brilliant; clever, driven and good, and he could not imagine going back to his previous bleak existence now that he had experienced the light she shone on all around herself.

To stay by her side, he needed to be brave and honest, but… that honesty came with the risk of her deciding that he was more trouble than he was worth. The risk of being left behind.

That terrified him.

Thus he kept on hiding, despite knowing that it was only a matter of time before Skyndi figured it out on her own; her nimble mind had already started putting the clues together, he was sure. (And wasn’t that a sight to behold, when it was anything but his own secrets on the line? How well she noticed things, and how quickly she put them together into a cohesive whole; it was enough to take his breath away and leave him staring at her, awe-struck.) Part of him wanted to wait, to hoard every second he got with her close until she inevitably found out who he truly was, but he knew that that was the coward’s way out.

She deserved to know, and she deserved to have him tell her.

And so he would, because he didn’t want to be a coward (not anymore, not ever again). …he did have time to draft his speech, though. Plan it out. Just so that he didn’t stumble over his own tongue like a fool in front of her.

Yes.

1. Plan the speech. 2. Tell her.

He could do that. He could.

(In the end, it took him another month to gather his courage, only to have all his fears very unceremoniously shot down in the end by the fact that she had, in fact, figured him out a while ago.

She just hadn’t mentioned it because she didn’t think his past mattered; he was Frodr, he was with her and he wanted to stay with her; that was everything that meant anything.)

[outpost-lw]

Lortober: Oct. 8th

Prompt: Create Wordcount: 817

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Frodr sighs, frowning down at the threadbare fish basket that he’s only barely managed to fill the bottom of. Dusk was fast approaching and he could no longer see the river well enough to fish, not to mention that the chill biting at his skin under his wet fur was starting to become an urgent problem, but… he’d hoped for more.

They needed more.

They wouldn’t starve yet but the days were growing shorter and colder, and he was admittedly concerned. A bigger pack meant safety in numbers, yes, but it also meant more mouths to feed, and a harder time negotiating hunting rights for the territories they passed through.

Still, as he made his way back to camp, he couldn’t bring himself to truly regret their current circumstances. Yes, winter would be hard, but… they had a camp now. A proper one, with tents and everything. Even a couple of blankets to go around. There was life and trust and love and wolves to share a campfire – share warmth and joy – with.

There was a Pack.

A real one.

Something that he hadn’t believed he’d ever have, something that the darkness lurking in the back of his mind said was impossible, but it wasn’t, because here it was, right in front of him, and the lonely helpless echoes that still haunted him at night could, quite frankly, go throw themselves into Korvo's lake.

Picking out the diminutive form of his Alpha (his love, his light), he made his way over, eager to share his catch (hoping it would make her happy, would help ease her burdens).

As he came closer, he couldn’t help the amused huff that escaped him.

Skyndi was transfixed, all her considerable focus trained on where a scarf was slowly taking shape under the patient paws of their newest addition, and something about it was just so incredibly endearing to him that he almost forgot the way that the water caught in his fur had started to frost over ever since the sun had dipped below the mountains.

Still, he couldn’t very well just spend the evening standing around staring like a particularly stupid bison (no matter how much he wanted to), so he called out a soft: “I’m back.” He was immediately rewarded by Skyndi shooting up and jumping over to him in that particularly impressive way only Kits could really pull off before promptly herding him over to where their new pack member had set up some sort of crafting nest by the campfire. “Frodr! Welcome back! Oh, no, you’re soaked, you’re freezing, sit down before you fall down and warm up. Orrin, please, have some sense of self-preservation, we’ve talked about this!” Personally, Frodr thought her fretting was doing a better job at fighting off the chill than the fire would, but he could hardly tell her that, so instead he simply wagged his tail gently and did as told while listening to the warm rush of her voice as she threw a threadbare blanket over him.

“There, that’s better, now stay there, the soup will be ready in a bit now that we have the fish for it and you’ve more than earned your hunter’s right at first portion with that haul – I didn’t think there was that much fish left in the river at this time of year!” Frodr could feel his tail picking up speed and had to consciously stop his tongue from lolling out in a stupid grin, lest he make a complete fool of himself at the care and praise as she tucked the blanket in around him.

He’s not entirely sure he succeeded, given the very studious way the Crafter (he’d said he didn’t like his old name, but hadn’t picked out a new one yet, so the Pack had defaulted to calling him by his title) was Not Looking at them despite the distinct aura of amusement hanging thick in the air around him.

“There, that’s better. Now, look at this, you gotta see this, Frodr, it’s amazing; the Crafter can knit and he’ll teach us all and we’ll be warm and we’ll have trade goods, Frodr! We can finally create something! Yarn is still stupidly expensive, but! We can make our own, I’m sure we can, and then we’ll have food and no-one will go hungry and we’ll all be able to knit!!”

He promptly lost his battle with the silly grin at her enthusiasm and the sheer relief that coursed through him at her words. The Crafter had introduced himself as such, yes, but he hadn’t thought about the ramifications of finally having such a skill set in the Pack.

They had one more weapon with which to fight off the ever-present hunger and cold, now. “Oh. Oh, that’s lovely. That’s amazing!! Thank you, Crafter. Thank you!”

The Crafter just laughed and abashedly ducked his head.

“Happy to be of help.”

[outpost-lw]

Lortober: Oct. 7th

Prompt: Snuggle

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The best way to face the cold is together <3

[outpost-lw]

Lortober: Oct. 6th

Prompt: Redeem Wordcount: 526

CONTENT WARNING: Dissociation.

It will be fairly brief and this is very much a hurt/comfort piece, so I promise it will all turn out alright in the end, but please let me know if any additional warnings are needed (I’m very inexperienced at setting warnings I’m afraid) and take care while reading!

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Skyndi woke to the sound of playing puppies and felt… nothing (that’s a lie and she knew it).

Ah.

So this would be a bad day, then.

She was probably due for one.

It had been a while since the last one.

Mechanically drawing a breath and ignoring the pungent stench of blood and guts and rot and-

(not real, not real, not real)

Drawing a breath, Skyndi got up and pushed out of the tent.

Frodr must have wanted to let her sleep; the sun was already high.

Skyndi wished he hadn’t. She couldn’t remember (she could she could she could) what she’d dreamt of, but she knew it hadn’t been a restful sleep.

She drew the role of Alpha, of Skyndi the kind, Skyndi the brave, Skyndi the honest (the biggest lie in this liar’s life of hers, but she desperately needed it to be true) around her and skipped forth to join her pack (so many fragile and lost lives, depending on her, trusting her and not knowing she was a liar, a monster, that she might break them all one day) in the clearing they’d settled in for the past few days.

Just as she was about to leave the treeline and yip a cheerful (lies, lies, lies) “good morning”, her eyes caught on Frodr’s from across the clearing, and she felt the air leave her lungs in an inaudible whine.

Of course.

Long gone were the days when he believed her petty lies.

The only one she was able to convince him of these days was the biggest one; the one where she pretended to be good… and at this point she wasn’t sure if she was still lying to him, or if he was just lying to himself, or if maybe… maybe every loving murmur he reassured her with whenever she felt particularly brittle was true; that she had finally managed to become the mask, become good, become redeemed, no matter her past actions.

She must have lost time again, because the next thing she knew was Frodr’s steady warmth pressing into her side, grounding her, and she hadn’t seen him move.

“Steady, love. I’m here.”

(The monster in the back of her mind stopped howling, finally reminded that things were different, now.)

Pressing closer to him and closing her eyes, Skyndi felt all her sharp and fractured pieces slowly melt back together, felt the morning frost nip at her paw-pads, the wind in her fur, heard the muted rustle of snow-laden branches and smelled the pine sap and earthy musk of the trampled clearing.

She still wasn’t sure she deserved redemption, but… it seemed that it had found her anyway, gently ushered forth by the patient wolf at her side and his unwavering faith in her.

Giving him a grateful lick on the cheek, she trod out of the trees to join her pack with heavy steps, Frodr easily keeping pace.

And so, when she finally greeted her pack, it was wearily, and it revealed that their Alpha was perhaps not in any state to break camp today as they had planned, but… at least that greeting was true.

[outpost-lw]

Lortober: Oct. 5th

Prompt: Uncertainty Wordcount: 466

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“Remind me why I thought this was a good idea again? Frodr, this was my most stupid idea yet, isn’t it-”

“Skyndi-”

“-your job to tell me when my ideas are dumb, why did you agree to this?” “Skyn-”

“I mean, I can barely even take care of myself on a good day, but now I’m somehow leading a pack?? But that’s okay, they’re grown wolves, they’ve survived on their own in the wilderness, they can take care of themselves, they’ve done it for years but pups, Frodr, pups!” “Skyndi.” “I’ll be a terrible mother. I mean, you’ll be an amazing dad and that’s probably the only thing that will let them actually grow up but I’ll be a terrible mother and what if I hurt them or endanger them somehow, I mean, we don’t even have a proper den to raise them in, maybethiswasareallyREALLYbadidea-” Frodr sighed and planted himself in front of his very distressed, very heavy and round and furiously pacing mate, bringing her to an abrupt stop as she collided with him. He swayed with the force of it, careful not to let her stumble or fall. “My love, calm.” Tucking himself close, he encouraged her to bury her nose in his ruff, gently licking her to help calm her down. “You’ll be wonderful. You haven’t even seen them yet, and you already love them enough to become beside yourself in fear of their safety. One who loves as fiercely as that will not be a bad mother, Skyndi, I promise you.” The love of his life replied to that by pressing even closer and letting out an inarticulate whimper against his fur. He was torn between distress over seeing her so distressed and immense warm affection at having this incredible wolf rely on him so, but thankfully the appropriate reaction to both of those feelings was to support and reassure her.

“And it’s like you said, love, though I wish you had said it with less self reproach; you will not be raising these pups alone. We will love them and raise them together, and the Pack will be more than happy to help; you’ve seen how they have been fussing and bumbling about at the very idea of the first pups to be born in the Pack.” She snuffled and withdrew just enough to give him a quick lick of appreciation before she burrowed herself back into his fur with a mock-angry grumble.

“Why do you always have to be right?”

“Because you don’t love yourself nearly enough and I love you very much, and thus I endeavour to always remind you that you are more than you think you are.”

“...I’m taking a nap. Don’t you dare move, you’re warm.” “Very well, love. Sweet dreams.” “...love you.”

“Love you too.”

[outpost-lw]

Lortober: Oct. 4th

Prompt: Wake

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Wake up, love <3

Hngh..?

[outpost-lw]

Lortober: Oct. 2nd

Prompt: Help Wordcount: 532

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Skyndi wagged her tail, ever optimistic.

“Hello there, do you need any help? Or would you like to share our prey? This bison may not be… the best, but it’s still too much meat for just us two, so you are welcome to it, if you’re hungry.”

One of these days, her willingness to extend trust towards bedraggled loners would likely get her in trouble, but Frodr could hardly complain; it had saved his life, after all. (He might not have had the best… or really any plan when he ran away from his birth Pack and had come to regret that very swiftly. Not the leaving itself, he could never regret that; there was a well of utter dread in the back of his mind at the thought of staying.

He couldn’t explain it, but he felt certain that if he had stayed, he would have died by inches until there was nothing left of him except for an empty shell that could do nothing but watch the world around it drown in blood, helpless to act against it and too tired to even try.

So no, he didn’t regret leaving. He regretted doing so without a plan, or even a bag of supplies. That had, in hindsight, been quite stupid.)

As such, Frodr resigned himself to quietly standing guard over this impulsive wolf as she forged ever forward into the unknown and against all social conventions with an eager yip and inviting tail wag.

(She was so different from everything he had ever known and he was already halfway in love.)

It was the only way he could think of to repay his saviour.

Still, as the months and then years went on, Frodr realised something. For all the risks – and Skyndi did understand the risks, she wasn’t doing this out of ignorance; no, she did it because she wanted to, despite all the odds stacked against her – that she took in approaching strangers, offering her help and goodwill, it… was worth it in the end.

Not just emotionally, either. Yes, once he started relaxing into Skyndi’s nomadic ways (finally comfortable, finally at peace, finally happy, despite all their struggles), Frodr also saw the rewarding joy to be had in helping, in saving those the big packs would have discarded as useless… but he still wouldn’t have been able to wholeheartedly support his spitfire Alpha in her reckless pursuits if that had been all they stood to gain.

However, slowly but surely those Skyndi helped (too often to her own detriment, much to Frodr’s constant stress and worry) started helping and supporting her, in turn (he wasn’t the only one who saw how she shone). Slowly but surely, their pack filled up with those they had helped who wished to help in turn. Slowly but surely, they gained allies, contacts; safe places to wait out the winter storms.

And so, when Frodr saw a bedraggled, muddy and bloody wolf on the bank of the river he had been planning to fish from, he sighed, and even without his foolish (wonderful, driven, kind) Alpha by his side, he cautiously approached and wagged his tail.

“Are you in need of assistance, stranger?”

[outpost-lw]

Lortober: Oct. 12th

Discarded Original Prompt: Arch Reserve Prompt Used: Plain Wordcount: 446

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For the longest time, Skyndi had made it her business to appear as plain as possible. She’d always been the “oh, no, certainly nothing to see here, just a dusty timid little kit, move along now, she’s nothing of importance, take another step and forget her, she’s not anything worth paying attention to or remembering and certainly not any kind of threat” part of the background.

She’d been proud of it, of her ability to be no-one. She still was, in a way; it was hard not to take pride in a skill honed to perfection, even if the mask felt uncomfortable to don these days (the monster in the back of her mind howling, scratching, biting, terrified of being forgotten, of truly becoming no-one and nothing worth remembering).

However, emotions were complicated things and her being proud of a skill did absolutely nothing to stop her from also being terrified and ashamed of it, from resenting it.

Seeing how effortlessly Frodr stepped up and took charge of the negotiation she had damn near bungled beyond hope of salvaging, how he radiated a quiet authority and nobility that made the stubborn miserly fuckers want to listen to him, to look at him, to hang on to his every word and gesture… well, it certainly put things in perspective.

Seeing him like that, beautiful and calm and confident… it made Skyndi resent the plainness she had carefully cultivated.

Intellectually, she knew that this had just been the wrong place for it. This pack simply was not disposed to negotiating kindly with an unassuming and unthreatening little kit of an Alpha. The trick that served her so well in other places simply was not the right tool for the job this time, and that is why Frodr had stepped in, like they’d agreed on beforehand.

She’d agreed to this. Hell, she’d been the one to suggest and insist on cultivating contrasting public personas to have more tools to use in inter-pack negotiations, specifically for situations like this.

…she just didn’t like feeling insufficient. Sadly, it seemed to go hand-in-hand with the feeling of wanting to be good, to be better.

Of wanting to be better for Frodr, so that he might love her.

She wanted him to love her, but… he deserved the world. Deserved a life without hardship and endless walking and near starvation, deserved the most perfect princess the Creators could make, but despite all that, she still wanted him to want her.

She wanted him to want her, and he deserved so much better, because she was just… her.

Skyndi.

Plain by design, deceptive by nature, cold by necessity.

How could she ever deserve him?