skill: heartbroken (1/5)

— shuffle blessed me with a banger when I started this thus the threadname LOL

He had been unable to find Hilde. The dread weighed down every step, but he could not stop. He had found no trace of her, and she did not need a keeper, but the loss of her presence after having her back for such a brief time chilled him to the bone. It was unfair. It was cruel. Surely, certainly, whatever fates had woven Mythris together would not part them so quickly after the lengthy separation of their worlds.

Vidarr tended to stay in the snow, and it gradually ebbed into a thicket. Vidarr was slow as he edged around the treeline. Every few steps, he would stop. Checking for any trace of her anywhere, though, he was quickly losing all hope. He had lost time and time again. Tiberius, Olive, Kaldrvegr, Genghis, Eira, Ormr, Hilde, Duskguard. How much more could they all take? Dawnbreak was fortunate to still have each other, and Vidarr was appreciative of that.

He breathed out a heavy sig and carried on, unaware that nearby, Svajone was on her own journey. He still thought of her often, of the date they were still owed - of trying to show her how much his gratitude after she had saved him from burning to a crisp. Perhaps if he saw her again, he would ask her to name the mess on his shoulder. Without her, it would surely have been his life. He had taken on a polar bear, Winterscar tried to claim her. They had both pushed past what might have been expected of them. A normal sane wolf might not attacked the massive beast, a normal sane wolf might not have risked their own wellbeing shoving burning beams off another.

Despite being 'even' in the sense of a life for a life, it felt like something much stronger too. Vidarr could not claim to understand the way Mythris was. Taking some, offering others. The Viking could only continue with the hopes of finding more. Finding something. He was losing daylight, but he found sleeping in the empty den was a miserable experience. He would not rest. Peace would not find him. Not now. Something smelled strange and lingered in the air. He could not place it, he wasn't familiar with the toxicity of the waters nearby.

SKILL: HEARTBROKEN (1/5)
TW: miscarriage and broken leg

---

The first thing she noticed was how foul the world smelled—both of iron and algae, churned mud and something sour—and the second was the cold, needling rush of water sluicing over her ribs and fur. Blurry, mismatched eyes blinked grit and sleep from their corners as she lifted her head from the water. Long fur dragged heavily against the river's current, droplets threaded from her whiskers and pattered to the shallows she found herself in. She tried to rise and a white bolt of pain jumped through her hind leg. A sharp breath, a bitten yelp and teeth clicked softly over her tongue as she swallowed the sound and flattened her ears against her cranium.

Blood simmered into the stream in a thin red veil, thicker than a simple cut. Beneath the chill, her belly felt taut and wrong. Round with a recent promise and now cramping hard and low. The smell of copper was laced with something milk-sour and it was coming from herself. She angled her muzzle down, nostrils flaring, sorting scents in a way her thoughts refused to: wet stone, bruised reeds, her own blood, and something that smelled very much life death. The land was familiar, and yet cruelly wrong—how had she come to this side of the world? Even for Svajone, that kind of slip felt like a dream that shouldn't be possible.

And yet here she was.

She braced again, pushing up with her forepaws, weight shifting to the uninjured side. Water sloughed from her coat in mini rivers; she managed two, three limping steps before her bad leg buckled and she went to her chest with a huff, tail curling tight to her flank. The cramp seized her belly, a grinding wrench that made her jaws gap in dry, silent pants. A thin ribbon of blood trailed from beneath her tail, beading, then clouding the shallows. Pure instinct and medical training moved her: she tucked the throbbing limb close, pressed a forepaw above the worst of the gash, then nudged her swollen abdomen with her nose, gentle and helpless, before lowering herself to keep it warm. She laved at the torn fur of her hind leg with quick, efficient strokes, then turned to clean the blood from her haunches as another contraction rippled through her. A soft whine escaped her lips despite herself, eyes slitting against the dizziness and the ache behind her ribs that came roaring over her.

With what little strength she had left, Svajone gathered a mat of dead grass toward her, pawing it into a shallow nest the way any expectant mother might have, only now to cradle pain instead of bundles of joy. She pressed into it, stealing what heat she could, and shook once, shoulders to hips, to settle her coat without jarring her leg or belly. The bleeding came in pulses, tinged with small dark clots that told her what her heart already knew. She laid her chin on her forepaws and between cramps she counted her breaths, slow and stubborn as she mourned her loss.

skill: heartbroken (2/5)

— *gently curls a blankie around Svajone ; ;*

No matter all that he heard and all that he had experienced since arriving in Mythris, it never truly settled in him this whole matter of the world breaking. Of course he had his Gods, he had those of his line that waited for him in Valhalla, and this was past all expectations. Even when Ragnarok was threatened, this went past the destruction of the world. At least they knew the signs of Ragnarok. This was different. Dreams whispered to them, dreams commanded them to settle scores from long ago. Old wounds festered. They had to be cleaned out. It hurt to do, of that there was no doubt, and this was something that had been neglected. Somehow, the acrid air was not even the most alarming thing that filled his lungs with the heavy weight of dread. Two, three, four, five careful steps and the rich metallic tang of blood cut even the most foul stink of the air. What seemed more horrific was the fact that it was familiar blood.

Two years back, perhaps, since he'd come upon Winterscar, to find Svajone the target of a polar bear. It was foolish, it was painfully foolhearted of him, but he'd tried to use his own bulk and catch the bear off guard. No part of him could believe that he'd actually killed the thing, but he'd fretted over the borders all the same for some time after, just in case he needed to call in the pack to deal with the apex predator. There was some irony that the same shoulder the bear had ripped into was the one tat had been burnt. Maybe that was just his luck, at least he still had one good side, right? He wouldn't have been able to forget Svajone - even if they had never crossed paths again she wouldn't have been one he'd forget. His brow furrowed in confusion, and his attentions shifted into finding the familiar source of the scent.

She could only be described as pitiful curled in on herself. Even beneath the threat of certain death she had never looked so forlorn. He let out a soft chuff to announce himself as he approached and found his voice was trapped in his throat. Vidarr's keen golden gaze swept her and quickly took measure. Her leg was clearly troubling her, blood staining with the crimson that looked so out of place against the pale of her fur. It was not the worst of her injuries, though. Vidarr swallowed thickly, even as a tremble ran down his spine. Her stomach was heavy and round, even if she did not look close to delivery. Whatever had transpired against her, it had clearly taken a personal vendetta. He couldn't smell anyone on her coat, which did not exactly diminish the twist of jealousy coiled like a snake in his own gut. That was unfair of him, she was no object to own, and how he felt was unimportant. Dismissing the feeling Vidarr approached her before he let out a soft crooning sound. M-may I? He could do no better than to curl himself around her and try and help her through the worst of it.

Whatever despair he had felt at the notion of Hilde being missing seemed so small compared to what he assumed Svajone was feeling. He had a lifetime to experience his love, and it was so hard to try and pretend that he wasn't hurting from her disappearance. But they had loved. They had days together, nights, they had so much and it felt so selfish when he saw the pain on her face. Tell me what you need....I am going nowhere. If she needed his protection, if she needed him to carry her home, if she wanted herbs or food or just the company of sharing the burden of pain - he was hers to command.

SKILL: HEARTBROKEN (2/5)
TW: graphic gore, graphic birth, miscarriage

---

Frosted pine and the sweetness of mint. A familiar scent that brought back good and bad memories of near-life-and-death experiences. It seemed almost fitting that he find her again, at her lowest point as a woman, losing the life she had harbored within her belly for months. He had saved her from a bear once—recklessly, idiotically, heroically—but she would be forever grateful and would repay him for it by running into a burning building and caring for his wounds without a blink of an eye. Perhaps, he too could save her now, and if not her, then perhaps her little ones.


Through the haze of pain and blood and the horrid stench of the river, Svajone’s ears flicked back, nostrils flaring as the scent of Vidarr grew closer and a chuff came from his lips. Her first instinct was to bare her teeth; every muscle along her spine tensed in warning before recognition smothered it. She smelled him before hearing him, and yet she couldn’t fully squash the knee-jerk reaction to growl and show her fangs with how vulnerable she was. Ultimately she didn’t, but she was closer than she wanted to admit to doing it.

Her head lifted with effort, heavy and slow as if the very air was resisting her. His scent curled through the wet grass and over the copper sting of her own blood, and for a heartbeat she thought she might weep from the sheer relief of seeing someone she considered a friend the world kept giving her, for not having to be alone during this pinnacle moment in her life. The sound that left her was small and broken; a chuff returned that trembled into a soft whine.

Vidarr… His name was a rasp dragged over stones, hardly more than a wispy breath. She blinked hard, tears and river-wash blurring her vision, and when she finally found him with her eyes, something in her chest cracked wide open for all to see.

Her body quivered beneath him when he came closer, a weak tremor that rippled through her flanks. His warmth pressed against her cold side, and she leaned into it instinctively, seeking the steadiness of his stalwart presence. The touch of his fur against hers drew a quiet sigh, one that ended in a pained growl when another cramp seized her belly.

Her paws dug into the earth as she breathed through it—short, harsh gasps that turned to low, instinctive whimpers. Blood slicked the reeds beneath her tail. For a moment she was silent, jaw locked with the effort visible in the cords of her neck and the twitch of her nostrils. Then she relaxed and let her head fall against Vidarr’s chest, too exhausted to keep herself upright as she leaned the entirety of her body weight into his own.

I don’t… I don’t know what happened. The words came haltingly, each syllable a tremor on her voice. One moment I was there, and then… the ground—everything broke. And now— she swallowed, the taste of iron thick on her tongue, Vidarr… The name broke from her throat like a sob caught halfway between a plea and a prayer. As if by calling out for him like some helpless pup would help soothe away the nightmare she was currently living.

I wanted them, she whined, barely audible over the river’s rushing currents. Her voice was hoarse and frayed and weak with pain. Even if it meant raising them alone. I thought… maybe this world was cruel, but they would be something good. Her throat tightened, and she ducked her head, pressing her muzzle into the reeds to stifle the sound that tried to escape her. I thought— a breath, wet and uneven, —I thought maybe this time, I could keep something. Her ears drooped, and her muzzle pressed against her belly, wishing she could still feel movement, but instead only felt a stillness that crushed her heart. Even if I was alone, I would’ve raised them myself. I would’ve taught them to hunt, to fight, to love the world even if it didn’t love them back. And with a broken whisper she added, I would have taught them the way of my people, told them stories they could ever only see in their dreams. And now… she trailed off.

She lay there for a long moment, letting the river carry away the blood and tears she couldn’t stop. Her sides trembled with shallow breaths, and her tail gave one small, unconscious twitch against his leg, trying but ultimately failing to catch her breath as the pain crested once more.

The pain was deeper this time.

It crawled up from her belly like fire licking at the edges of her ribs, sharper and more insistent than before. But layered beneath it was another agony—a steady, splintering throb in her hind leg that refused to be ignored. Every spasm of her abdomen pulled at the injury, sending lances of white-hot pain through bone and sinew. She gasped, her body jerking in protest as if trying to escape the pain. Her paw scrabbled weakly at the earth, claws carving shallow furrows in the mud and silt as she fought against herself, against the pain wracking her body. Her muscles shuddered with every contraction, and the broken leg buckled uselessly beneath her. When she tried to shift her weight, a raw yelp escaped before she could stifle it.

She pressed her muzzle against Vidarr’s chest, panting shallowly, the scent of his fur the only thing grounding her. The world had shrunk to just noise and sensation—her heartbeat hammering loudly in her ears and the ache of her leg pulsing with each wave of labor the only things she registered, along with anything Vidarr was trying to say to soothe her. Another contraction seized her belly, and a strangled growl tore from her throat. Her whole body trembled, caught between the dull throb of the fracture and the searing pain of birth.

A thin, broken whine shuddered from her throat as she bore down, breath after breath, until at last the sharpness crested. A shudder ran through her body, and she felt the sudden wet weight between her legs. The first pup — limp, pale, silent. She barely had the strength to lift her head, let alone move, but instinct was a brutal master. She shifted, crying out as her broken leg twisted beneath her. Pain lanced up her side, and for a moment she saw nothing but white.

Still, she reached them.
Still, she tried.

Two more came in the same painful rhythm until the ground beneath her was slick and red with various bodily fluids. The scent was heavy in the air, thick and metallic. Her chest heaved as she bent toward the still bodies, her tongue rasping over their small forms in trembling strokes. Please… she breathed between licks, voice shaking. Please, just breathe…
Nothing.

The tremor in her limbs turned to a full-body shiver. Her broken leg lay twisted and useless, her paw half-submerged in the shallow water beside her. She could feel the fracture grind faintly with each movement, but she didn’t care anymore. Her muzzle rested atop the tiny shapes, breath feathering their fur that would never warm.

When at last she turned her head toward Vidarr, her mismatched eyes were wet and wide with something more than pain. They’re gone, she rasped, the words trembling. All of them. She blinked hard, her voice lowering to a whisper.

She leaned into him then, exhaustion heavy in every breath. The tremors in her limbs wouldn’t stop, but her voice softened, raw and quiet. Don’t… don’t let them wash away. Her gaze flicked toward the water. Help me bury them, Vidarr. Please.

---

skill: heartbroken (3/5)

Although he had never had his own children, Vidarr had a mother who was frank with her children, he had come from a culture where the village took care of one another, and they had reared children as a whole. No part of birth was strange to him and so he took no offense to that initial response to his approach. He didn't stop his approach, and even if she had lashed out at him, it wouldn't have mattered that much. A loosened breath left him when she leaned into him and accepted the support of having another present even in such a vulnerable moment and he nosed gently at her temple. I'm here, He said gently before he shifted his body a bit to accommodate her even through her pain.

When she rested against him, he curled his head over her neck and let one arm curl until his paw brushed hers. The scores in the ground were a testimony to her pain, she was writing a ledger of what was being taken from her. Veina (Cry out)He whispered to her, his snout edging over the crest of her spine, but he dared not touch her stomach without knowing how she would feel about it. He encouraged her to sound how she needed, to cry or scream, so long as she did not bottle it down. They will be kept safe and wait for you beyond the veil. He did not want to impose his own beliefs on her, he did not want to push her to consider her children any other way than how she thought they would be and where. But quickly it was obvious that he needed to be silent and let her be.

The sound of her pain made him let out a soft whine, he did not need to share her biology to be able to empathize with her. That's it, He said encouragingly, lifting his head off her spine when it was obvious when the contractions started. He watched every motion she made, curling himself further around her to cradle her into his bulk. He held his breath as the first pup emerged, one sharing its mother's pale coat. The pup was too still, and Vidarr gave no thought to what might have ended up in his fur as well, instead he tried to help keep her stable as best as he could so that she didn't end up hurting even more. Still, silent, the poor cub did not take even a single breath and Vidarr's chest hurt with the thought of how deep Svajone's hurt ran. Even not of his blood, even without seeing her for seasons, he let himself feel the pain and share it so that she was not alone. He had no idea how long they remained like that - seconds, minutes, hours, he did not know.

The other two puppies were just as still, and Vidarr let out a whine when he heard her pleas. He reached across her now empty belly, gently trying to encourage the pup closest to him while she attended to another. He was no healer. He did not know what to do past the instinctive nudges to its side as if he might be able to dislodge something from its airway. Lifa, (Live) little ones The deep rasp of his voice across such tiny fragile bodies almost felt cruel but Vidarr was desperate. He never had been the type to put his pride before the truth: the Hjálprekr would never fear his emotions or showing them.

She sagged against him once they had both stopped their ministrations, even with the tiny babes nestled at her side. If one just came upon them, it might look joyous even, him curled around them like a protective father might have been. A second later, however, they would be able to take in the measure of sorrow. No, we will keep them safe. He promised once he'd finally cleared the sand from his mouth that made each syllable have to be pushed out it felt. it was then that Vidarr risked his own well being, leaving himself exposed and vulnerable if she took offense to him picking up one of the pups. She would have his neck in her jaws within seconds, even if it might have taken the last reserves of her already depleted energy. His goal was to transport each little, tiny body until they were nestled in their arms, enough out of the water that they would be well tended to.

SKILL: HEARTBROKEN (3/5)

---

The ache in her body had dulled to something distant, but the ache in her chest only further deepened.

Every breath rasped raw through her throat and with it, the world had gone muted—the rush of the river, the whisper of the chilly wind rushing through the reeds, even Vidarr’s voice all felt far away, as though she stood in another realm entirely, submerged in water, and half-gone along with her children.

When he spoke a word—"Veina"—the sound anchored her even as the meaningof the word alludedher. Her mismatched eyes flickered open, both glossy and heavy with pain. She didn’t speak at first. Couldn’t. Her throat worked soundlessly as his nose brushed along her spine, as his warmth shielded her from the cold. The gentle cadence of his voice—the steady rhythm of ”Im here”—reached through the fog like a hand pulling her back from some edge.

Her body gave a small tremor when he spoke of the veil, of them waiting. She wanted to believe him. Gods, she wanted to. Do you think they would? she murmured, voice hoarse and barely there. Wait for me? A hollow sound followed, not quite a sob, not quite a laugh, but the kind that came from someone who’d already cried too much to keep count.

Svajone didn't have much of an opinion on the afterlife. She always assumed and found comfort in that her loved ones would be waiting for her beyond the veil. That while she might be separated from them now, they would be waiting for her. Such thoughts gave her comfort and so she took no offense to Vidarr’s own belief of the afterlife.

When he moved, she followed his gaze to the tiny forms lying still between them. Her jaw trembled; her paw, shaking and wet, reached forward. She touched one gently, the palest—soft as snowmelt—and drew it closer, tucking it against her chest where her heartbeat could be heard. The smallest mercy she could still give.

You’re safe now, she whispered to them, though she wasn’t sure if she meant it for the pups or herself. Her tail brushed Vidarr’s leg, faint but intentional. You’re kind to help me… I know what this must look like. Her voice caught, brittle with guilt and gratitude. Most would have turned away.

When he moved to gather them, she didn’t stop him. Her instincts tensed, yes, but the exhaustion in her bones left no room for pride. Instead, she shifted just enough to help, using her muzzle to nudge the smallest one toward him. Her broken leg protested, the pain a low hum through her flank, but she bore it silently.

Thank you, she breathed when he nestled the last of the tiny bodies together. Her head lowered to the ground, muzzle resting beside her pups, and for a long moment, she said nothing more. The wind shifted, cold against her fur and then, in a whisper that trembled, she added, When I can stand again… we’ll bury them together. They’ll have names and stories. They’ll be remembered. It'sthe least I can do as their mother.

She looked up at him — weary, broken, but no longer alone. Any suggestions? It seems like we have two girls and a boy. Her eyes softened, the smallest flicker of something like peace slipping through the grief. You don't have to, but it would mean a lot if you did.

---