Two weeks.
Had it really been so small a time? Wisp was so wrapped up in the adoration of her little babes, she could hardly believe it'd been that long, but she also felt as if the before was so, so far away. Days of rune-searching, traveling Mythris, of clouded minds and wily pirates and chaos, of arguing with Sarge, fighting him. Fuck, it still barely seemed like yesterday that she and Auberon were working in tandem to get their companions from the burning forest.

Her gaze laid upon the Grim , wondering. She was relatively sure she was accurate in her guessing game, for one didn't spend millennia guiding other spirits to not recognize them... but things were warped, here. Felt differently. What if it wasn't HER Grim? At least with Wendigo, there was no guessing. He was one of very, very few spirits who were the only ones of their kind, and one she had met before, remembered with unfortunate clarity.

The heavy golden glow of morning sunlight fell into the room and illuminated it, a thousand motes of dust hanging in the air. Outside, it looked as if it could've been warm, and comfortable, but Wisp wasn't fooled -- beams of precious light should be falling into the room, not this... haze. Clouds still covered the sky so thickly that she was surprised she could even tell what time of day it was, but it seemed like the sun was trying so hard today. Still, the draft off the window let in a terrible chill, and she'd given up one of the smaller blankets to drape it along the sill; breaking up the bite of the air, if only a little bit. Otherwise, she simply stayed close, never let the little whelps be left to the elements; always, always covering them within the hollow of blankets she'd piled into a corner of the room if she so much as needed to step away for a piss. Frankly, it was the only real time she left them, leaving Sarge to once again pull his weight in caring for not only her, now, but their litter of six.
She couldn't tell how he was doing, but assumed... badly.
He was distant, and Wisp was sad, but she tried to let him work through whatever mommy or daddy issues he had on his own for now; she didn't want to make him more upset, frankly, but she wasn't going to wait around for him to bite one of the kids, either. A fine line to walk, not upsetting her fault-less husband, not endangering their family.

But for now, things were fine. Chilly, but okay. Stressed out, but adapting.

And hell, were the little mites growin' quick! Wisp was counting the days, and was sure it'd only been two weeks since they'd arrived at the tree to collect their babies; why, then, did they seem twice that age?

As she mulled over the idea, Wendigo turned towards her.

One little eye popped open and, almost accusatory, settled on her. Or... towards her, really, he looked like he could hardly see, those baby blues pure and sensitive.

Will-o smiled at him.

His face twisted into a grimace, a certain derisiveness in his dark features that didn't belong on a child.

Wisp only seemed to smile wider.

"Thu fhèin is mise a-rithist, cabair. Tha mi an dòchas gum bi deagh fhortan aig an dithis againn, an turas seo." ( You an me again, antlers. Ah hope better luck fer both o' us, this time.)

CONTROL.

It came slowly.

The opening of his eyes, the feeling in his limbs. Wendigo was as displeased as it got to be relearning how to exist again, in being a fucking child, but he'd come to realize one thing.....

He actually really, very much enjoyed the sensation of his... littermates.... pressed around him. So long had he been chilled by the frost, he thought being cold felt strange in this new land. But the bite of the icy winds, that was the closest thing Wendi had to feel of home.
Until now.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt... warmth; the touch of another that wasn't cold, dead, bloody.
Until now.

He stirred, and he could feel the lateness of the morning. This strange new land, for all intents and purposes, was not so different from the place he came from; foggy, and gloomy, and cold. Did it only bother him because he'd been given a new body, free of rot, free of the filth, free of his curse?
He felt a gaze upon his back, and turned, sure by the frame of the spindly legs around the litter that it was The Wisp. His gaze was sharp, glaring, always, especially for her. From there, curled on his side against another fluffy shape, he looked at her with one unfocused orb.

She spoke, then... and perhaps his gaze lost just a little of it's edge, though there was no real inclination he understood or even heard her. After a long, long moment, the eye slid closed again.

Pawsteps drew her attention from the snuggling litter.

Wisp didn't have to wonder. When you came up the stairs, you either turned one way for her room or the other for Myna's, and there were only so many people residing in the cabin that dared to step close enough to the calico's den to risk. He knocked. Like he was not her husband, not the father of the babes, not her... everything. Still, she supposed she should be glad of the habit, if only because of Myna. She lifted her gaze to smile his way as he entered, but as had become his custom, Sarge slunk in, shut the door, and moved quietly to her side to drop off a meal. He leaned in to check the babes, and Wisp silently urged him to join them. He didn't.
He asked if she was okay, but he wouldn't look at her. He didn't so much as brush against her. He moved away, settling next to the door on the other side of the room, and Will-o felt herself sag.
She didn't answer, staring with brows furrowing over her sad gaze with worry. They couldn't live like this. What happened when the kids expected to see him, when they got excited at his entry? Already, Selkie seemed to recognize his father; waking, stirring, leaning towards Sarge. Wisp's heart ached.

We cannae keep doin' this, her voice cracked, a mere squeak across the room. Her throat clenched around the threat of tears she wouldn't let rise, but there was a suspicious glaze to her ringed orbs. She swallowed, breaking up the lump, grabbing ahold of her wily emotions. They wouldn't serve her well here, she reminded herself.

We need tae talk about wha's happenin', mo chridhe. ( mah heart)

He didn't sleep here (Wisp wasn't convinced he slept). He didn't eat with them. He seemed to be going through the motions, and what should've been their greatest blessing had become his worst nightmare. Wisp knew she hadn't married a man who would dote on her left and right, always touching her, pouring sweet nothings into her ears... but for fuck sake, she expected a good-morning kiss.
She hoped this barbed wall he had would lower, for her, perhaps. And maybe they just weren't there yet, but if he didn't trust her, why had he asked her to be his? Why was the life he'd asked for suddenly the worst thing happening to him right now?

He looked at her.

Was that a glimmer between them, or just a play of the golden half-light filtering into the room? Perhaps the Queen herself was blessing them with what little hope she could offer. Maybe it was just the dust catching the rays.
No, Wisp knew better than to doubt.

He told her not to cry, and she shook her head, clamping hard against the wave of sadness. She felt so alone, but he was right there, just across the room. But they would work through this, she thought.
She didn't expect him to be forthcoming on talking, but perhaps he just hadn't wanted to bring it up himself. He apologized, said he was trying, and Wisp couldn't hold back a quiet whine.

Ye aren't ah monster tae be feared in th'dark, Sarge, she murmured softly, Ah dinnae blame you fer yer past er what ye 'ad tae do tae get by, what ye were tricked into. Wha'ever happened, ye aren't that person anymore. We've done too much good, ye gave yer life tae protect others more than once.

It didn’t change the risk, though, and she knew that. But seeing himself in a better light could. Hearing it out loud, echoed by the judgement of a wisp older than he could comprehend who had seen horrors beyond whatever he must have swirling around his poor mind.
She hoped. If he had baggage like being eaten by Wendigo Sarge would be a lot more well traveled and, frankly, interesting, than she thought; his general testiness with magic had been taken as a lack of understanding on it, but there was the slimmest of chances he hated it because he had brushed it. She refused to comment on the fact that she would, in fact, sooner slay him in place than let him harm their young, though she rather thought she could protect them and snap him out of it without going so far.

She reached a pale forepaw out as if she could place it on his own from across the distance. Had the pups not needed her warmth, she would've moved to him.

Ah think talkin' bout it might help, love. Ah am built fer listenin', yknow; facin' th' dark an pullin' those who dinnae deserve out o'th' shadows.

Wisp waited, quiet, letting Sarge come to terms with his thoughts. Whether or not he wanted to talk about his past was up to him at the end of the day, and she wouldn't prod. She just wanted him to be okay, to feel safe in his own mind, to be able to take the step to close the gap left in their family. If... that was what he wanted, at least. Some part of Wisp wondered how much of his feelings came from experience.
Had he another wife?
Had he other children?
He'd said he'd always imagined to spend his life alone, but perhaps that was not as fashioned by his lifestyle as much as a shattered heart.

Selkie was unhappy with his lot. Did discontent run in Sarge's family, or was it the meddlesome need to mollify from Wisp's side? Who fucking let them have kids? As he toddled to his feet, exuding great effort, Will-o sent a gentle lick across his back. This was not enough. He scaled the mound of blankets, wobbled across the mattress, and left the nest for the first time since being settled in the corner of the dusty room.

Wisp watched.

Her clouded gaze moved to Sarge, almost questioning. She didn't want to stop Selkie, frankly, but if she saw the need to escape in her husband she knew better than to push him with this fragile, sweet little soul.

Till then, she watched their son, and she listened: heart aching for her husband, ears falling back and muscles tightening with every word. Anger budded in her eyes alongside the tears, tears that no longer stayed hiding in her gaze.

Sarge's father was the kind of being Wisp truly could not tolerate. There were those like Sarge; grumpy, and rude, and perhaps a little reckless, but not evil. There were even those like Myna; jaded, well-trained by sorrow or bad experiences, knowing no other way but violence and fighting to be the top dog, but even they were not typically entirely wicked. Few were, in the grand scheme of things. Doing bad things did not make one bad. Sometimes, one is merely protecting themselves, the scraps of inner peace earned ex nihilo, the stability so craved.
But the being that had warped Sarge?
That, that was evil.
That was a darkness Wisp didn't dare reach into, a shadow that didn't leave the soul once blighted.
That poor, poor woman.
And poor, sweet Sarge. She could hardly even picture this fat toe a child, an innocent little baby, but it was easier to picture him having spawned just like sometimes she did.
Yet, still, he'd been done wrong. He'd been hurt, he'd been failed, he'd been broken. He thought ending that suffering, enjoying it, was wrong -- but Wisp hadn't lived a million lifetimes to not realize sometimes, just sometimes, problems could be solved with violence. As a last resort, of course, but some... some souls couldn't be saved. Some, it was kinder to purge, and hope the Fae Queen granted a new chance.

Wisp was quiet through the whole story, anger at the situation clear, though she cleared her throat pointedly as Selkie drew nearer to his sire's vulnerable feet. Sarge didn't strike her as gone, and it seemed like a worse time to get up and snatch their son away from him than to just let the little gremlin do his thing. Maybe Sarge would think it cute, as she did. She watched for it anyway, glad her muscles were already taut and she didn't have to look suspicious ready to pounce if she had to.

The military. Wisp had mixed feelings about those who chose violence first, who trained their own people with violence, who were doing the right thing for the wrong reasons. Sarge thought his trauma could be put to good use there, and turned out... he was wrong. Well, it was a 50/50 chance, she applauded the notion, but wondered if he'd been a reckless fat toe his entire life.

Wisp let the silence fall between them for a moment, shifting in her nest around the other babes, cheeks wet and gaze morphed with ire. She sat up a little straighter as she watched Selkie stumble, moved as if she were going to stand and then settling again when she thought better of it. He was fine -- Sarge was right there, and it seemed Selkie knew that himself. No child of hers needed coddled anyway.

When she did speak, her voice was as soft as if she were speaking to the wee bairn at her teats.

Did ye die tae get here, Sarge? After havin' everythin' taken from ye, after havin' everyone fail ye, after bein' used, did they take yer life from ye to?

This time, she did pull herself into a stand, and she moved forward to close the distance between them herself. First things first:

Yer Da, he was th' worst kind o' person there is, Sarge. When hate consumes someone, tis best tae put 'em out o' their misery; nae just for their black, rotten souls, but fer those around them sufferin'. What ye did tae him, fer him, it was as kind as buryin' yer Màthair. He dinae deserve it, but ye did. Ye deserved ah childhood, tae grow up wit' parents who loved you, but ye deserved th' revenge ye got fer sufferin'. Tha's you winnin', Sarge, you.