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about 10 months

Midsummer's celebration continued, even through the setting sun. Across the sea, the alluring glow of the celestial body spilled across the glittering waves. The sky was painted in shades of pink and orange that faded into cool yellow and darker and darker navy. It reminded him of his own dark pelt, especially as the stars began to slowly appear in the furthest, darkest reaches of the sky. It reminded him of other things, too, visions he didn't wish to dwell on.

Sverke hovered by the edge of the party, just returning from a bathroom break and not yet fully amidst the sea of chattering, mingling wolves. Some strangers, some packmates, some siblings. All a thousand shades of wolf-pelt, but his two-toned gaze kept being drawn back to the sea, rippling tides filigreed with the sunbeams. The boy thought of his visions. He thought of finding Tove. He wasn't sure what the connection was - or was he the connection? Even here, in this mortal world, in this mortal body, was he still the calamity he'd been fated to become? Was he still the beginning of the end of all things? Was that why his cousin was...

Sverke tore his gaze away from the sunset, back to the Festival and all the faces within it. He considered making trouble; if he acted out, Tyr would surely visit some kind of wrath upon him, and Sverke almost wondered if he deserved it. But he recalled his father's face, learning of Tove's death - the haggard look about him that never really went away as Sverke got older, and got better at spotting it.

He'd told Dierdre he was a prince. He ought to act like one. The midnight prince shook out his star-studded fur, lifting his chin and tail regally as he stepped out into the fray of the festival. He ducked and wove through the party, his best effort at a dashing smirk tossed haphazardly upon his features. Pleasantries spilled from his maw - thanks for comings, how are yous, and more, until he sidestepped and his hip bumped lightly into another frame. Sverke whirled on the figure, a faintly annoyed wrinkle to his otherwise cool and collected visage. Excuse you. He offered, magnanimously.

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The day was mercifully winding down, though the celebrations would likely last well into the morning, if her previous festival was anything to go off of. No raccoons making flower crowns here, though. Maybe they should've hired one. Still, who knew wolves were such party animals?

Bragi, who had been up since dawn, was ready to call it a night well before kickoff.

She floated through the festivities with half-lidded gaze and haggard soul, forcing a smile as Apollo bounced from one shiny new experience to another, as bright and blinding as the sun. It was cute, really, to see him so excited after a long (long) morning of flower picking and (attempted) fishing. But the thing keeping her going was the promise that he would sleep so good when they got back. That and, well.

She nudged his lip, lightly, and flicked her head in wordless permission for him to go forth and mingle, get the last of his energy out before they turned in. She watched his ruddy form weave through the crowd, wrenching her gaze away only when she felt a bump of her own.

Ah. There was only one wolf she knew who was that big and that blue.

Excuse yourself, she teased, a bit halfhearted with fatigue. She stole a quick glance over his shoulder, wondering if she'd spot any of the others, and offered a little swish of the tail. Having fun?

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