Vivarium - Smoldering Wastes

the war is over, and we are beginning

Wed, 11 Nov 2026 22:31:51 -0500

With his khaan and khatun gone, Khatar has been left at the helm of Alukhai. Each and every eye is upon him, and he feels no greater pressure than the pupils narrowing in on him. It raises the hair upon his neck and he is careful where he steps, controlling of his voice, refusing to allow an inch of betrayal within it, for the idea he is too gentle might surface in the minds of Alukhai.

Typically, he would not restrict himself from imbibing in fermented wine, not while they all were in such high spirits. With more gathering each season, he figures he must set an example. Yet when he passes still water, he stares upon his reflection and sees a boy, unsure of himself. He wonders when he will see a man; steady, confident.

Someone she might want-

The soft breeze brushes through his coat, tousling his dark man and it whistles through his ears. It is chilly, almost pleasant, if not for
a frigid breath creeping in each night, threatening to grasp the steppes in a wintry hold. The rest of the camp sleep in their gers, the warmth and cover protecting them from the worst of the weather. Still, for whatever reason, he notices hers to be empty, finding her beneath a blanket of stars. They cross over the sky, in streaks, others twinkling in a dazzling display.

And is there beneath them, bright as ever.

He’s got 75 golden camels

Wed, 11 Nov 2026 15:33:48 -0500

Skill : 「 skill 1/5 」

His paws carried him through the grasslands with measured certainty, Süleyman had goals to reach and none would stop him. Above all else, it was the environment in which Soraya was forced to live. There was an evident displeasure in his expression, a semi-permanent furrow between his brows that gave him a harsh resting bitch face, as if the world personally inconvenienced him. And in a way, maybe it had. He had died, after all.

His sultana was not meant to be living in a paw-dug hole in the ground. She was meant for palaces, sandstone and marble walls, feathered beds, fine food and drink, servants that were to wait on her hand and foot. But now? There was nothing. As if Süleyman’s wife was just some—some… animal! The thought was so irritating that he nearly bared his teeth. A disapproving click was his tongue was given to no one in particular, just the situation at hand.

Süleyman was lucky. He had found his way back to Soraya. But he was almost positive that he was equally unlucky. His ears shifted as he mulled over the agitating possibility he was not alone in this new found land. Ugh. Her wives. A persistent inconvenience.

He’d never understood his sister’s enthusiasm for collecting affections and bonds beyond what they had together. Süleyman could understand political alliances, strategic pairings, using intimacy to cultivate loyalty. But for the mere desire of it? He didn’t understand. All Süleyman knew was how he loathed sharing his wife. He never cared to dress his complaints as anything less than his own personal opinion. He disliked it; the time they occupied, the space beside Soraya they would hoard, the whispered exchanges of side jokes that would make the Sultana giggle with glee, and the audacity they had to think they deserted more of her time than himself.

But he knew better.

Soraya would sooner have him castrated and tongue removed before ever allowing him to dictate the company she kept.

The sultan could tolerate them.
He could be civil.
He could hold his tongue.
What a generous man he was.

If they had arrived here as well, then they could be put to work! They need a territory to occupy—one with ample space for their food stores and ample room for their household that would inevitably gather around Soraya as she finally plants her roots.

Somewhere Soraya could sleep took priority. Somewhere warm, secluded, dry, comfortable. A place befitting her station. The wives could find their own accommodations, he was not their keeper. If you are in earshot, reveal yourselves now. I know we did not arrive alone, and I do not care to hunt down my sister’s household.

Soraya would have comfort, she would have security, and happiness. Süleyman would hunt down any luxury that this miserable land had to offer, for the sake of his sister .

The orchid and the magic lamp

Tue, 10 Nov 2026 11:05:28 -0500

Skill : 「 skill 1/5 」

Backdated, not far from the borders but upwind so she doesn’t notice them yet

Jade eyes opened slowly, a subtle throb echoed within her head. At first, things appeared fuzzily to Ài lán, though they gradually fell into focus. A faint crease crested her brow as she stared through an unknown canopy of branches overhead, sunlight fractured through the autumn leaves. Where was she?

This was not the palace. It was not the gardens. It was not even the forest where she and her Moonlight would take their late night walks. Ài lán shifted her weight, leaves crunching and rustling beneath her. True, there were nights that were dreadfully long and filled with exhaustion brought on by grief—but even after those nights she would be able to place where she woke the next day.

The last thing she remembered was lighting incense and praying for Shēnléi and Yuè, wherever it was they were…

A soft breeze tussled her fur, with it came the smell of autumn: damp soil, decaying leaves, and something unnamably comforting.

Well, the orchid was certain nothing good would come of simply lying there. With a fluid motion she lifted herself and shook out whatever debris may have tangled within her alabaster fur. Getting a grasp of her surroundings would be most favorable.

It’s a coin toss

Mon, 09 Nov 2026 16:24:29 -0500

Skill : 「 skill 1/5 」

A tangle of siblings—limbs, heads, tails.

A paw stretched forward. And then another. Progress. Glorious, exhausting progress.

As Yàn navigated the den, all he could think was what a terribly unfortunate fate it was that he was the one born with such a magnificent destiny. The Golden Dragon they called him. Something about being his dad in the future or at least that was the jist of it. HIM. HIM…! HIM……? how was he meant to amount to any of that. He was just… Yàn. Small, worthless, useless, scared, anxious Yàn. And he was meant to be Emperor?

How extraordinarily aware he was of his existence and how heavily he lacked when compared to the title he was born into. Yàn’s eyes were wide with fright and stress, even as a boy. But of course should anyone show up out of the blue, a flip would switch within him. A mentally, emotionally, and physically draining switch that turned him into The Golden Dragon. Yàn had no control over the transformation, all he knew was what a fraud he felt like when the eyes were finally off him.

His parents did not see his self loathing nature, his people saw nothing less than a worthy heir, his siblings—well they were aware of Yàn’s personality flip and how unfit he was.

Fear. Wonder. Who would cross his path? Yàn began to explore the nearby area of the den, a small means of escape.

inside out in my feelings

Mon, 09 Nov 2026 02:22:05 -0500

*backdated! shortly after giving birth.

Throughout the weeks she had carried them, she had never felt like this.

Weakened to a state of near helplessness, left to rely so heavily on others. For more than her own care, too. They brought her food meant to fatten. Water mixed with herbs to give her strength. Even nursed her own children.

Her children!

They should have been hers to feed. Hers to nurse.

Even if not for custom, for the herbs already being forced upon her, her own supply was already drying up. It had been lacking to begin with, but her teats still ached, and when she heard the cry of a squealing babe, wetness leaked onto her belly and she wanted nothing more than to weep.

Sometimes she did.

It was custom to remain away from public viewing for a month after the birth of children. Zuò yuèzi. Time meant to heal, to rebuild all they had lost, but in the state she was in, tucked away from the light of sun, she felt as though part of her was dying.

It was such a foolish thing, now when so many new lives squirmed and breathed so close to her. Lives she had not only made, but lives she had carried into this world herself.

She just wished to feel the sun upon her face. To stretch her legs beneath its reach, wear fresh flowers in her silken fur and feel real again.

had not been allowed, thanks to tradition, but he peeked his head in when no one on the outside was watching. Each time, she wondered if he was happy with so many, even though they lacked the strength and vitality so many dragonlings were expected to possess. Rìhé worried that he blamed her. That he would fault her for this… for their weakness. That he would think, worst of all, that she was not fit to be a wife to a man such as him.

Would he look at her and let his mind stray to concubines, as her cousin had, to women less damaged, to women who could bring him healthier sons? To women he could love?

had stayed away, too. And it was him she missed most of all.

Did he not feel her? Weak as she was, crying out for him? How, in the moments when her breath felt shallow and her ribs ached, she wished for her other half to be here, too? How her body longed not only for the touch of the sun, but for the cool embrace of her sorrowful moon?

It'd only been days. Only days since she’d finally woken, and even fewer since she could manage to stay awake for more than an hour or two. As happy as she was to be with the two ladies aiding her and her newborn children, she needed all she was not allowed.

Forgive me father for I have sinned

Mon, 09 Nov 2026 00:58:00 -0500

backdated to October 15th, per staff approval.

Welcoming , , , and into the world

There were certain sufferings a woman was expected to bear in silence.

Grief was one of them. Disappointment, another. And shame, perhaps, was the greatest of all.

Liángqiū Kěwēi had been taught these things long before she was old enough to understand their meaning. A daughter ought to be obedient, a maiden ought to be modest, and a wife ought to be virtuous. These were the virtues upon which a respectable household was built, the teachings of mothers and grandmothers, of ancestral tablets and dusty scriptures, of generations of women who had swallowed their unhappiness and called it duty.

Kěwēi had always believed herself a dutiful daughter.

A faithful servant of Heaven.

A good woman.

Yet, as she lay concealed within a shallow hollow beneath the roots of an ancient banyan, her swollen belly stretched enormously before her, she could not help but wonder whether the ancestors had turned their faces away.

Her children were coming.

And she was not a wife.

The realization brought a familiar, terrible ache to her heart. She had made peace with the circumstances of their conception as best she could, had offered incense and whispered countless prayers for forgiveness, but there were some transgressions that even the most sincere repentance could not undo. Her elder sister was the Empress of Tianlong. Her brother by marriage was the Son of Heaven, whose authority descended from the Celestial Dragon himself. And she, a priestess entrusted with the sacred observances of their ancestors, had surrendered her maidenhood before the proper rites of marriage.

How could she face them?

What would the ancestors think?

Worse still, what would they say of her children?

A sudden tightening seized her abdomen.

Kěwēi drew a sharp breath through her teeth.

For several hours, the discomfort had come and gone in increasingly insistent waves. At first, she had mistaken it for the restless movements of her unborn children. There was very little room left within her for such movements, and every shift of a tiny limb seemed to press against some tender part of her body. Her belly had grown so remarkably large that rising from her bedding had become an ordeal in itself. Walking required slow, deliberate movements, and even lying down offered little comfort. The weight of her pregnancy pulled mercilessly at her back and hips.

How many little lives?

How many?

She had spent many quiet evenings marveling at the enormity of that blessing, feeling their movements beneath her skin and wondering what sort of children Heaven had entrusted to her care.

Now, however, the pressure was different.

It began low in her abdomen, a deep tightening that gradually gathered strength until her muscles seemed to draw themselves into a knot. She held her breath, instinctively curling inward, only to discover that her enormous belly made such a movement impossible.

Outside her hiding place, rain whispered against the broad leaves of the forest. Somewhere farther downhill, the familiar waters of Verdant's Grace continued their descent toward the sea. She had deliberately chosen this secluded place, far enough from the imperial household that her cries might go unheard, yet close enough to the sacred groves that she could take some small comfort in their familiarity.

It had seemed a sensible decision before the pains began.

Now, alone and trembling, she was considerably less certain.

Another contraction gripped her.

Kěwēi lowered her head against the moss and swallowed a cry.

She had attended blessings for expectant mothers, spoken prayers over newborns, and recited the ancient teachings concerning the sanctity of motherhood. How strange that none of those scriptures had prepared her for the indignity of her own body.

There was no graceful way to endure this.

No delicate composure to preserve.

Only the relentless tightening of her womb, the uncomfortable dampness beneath her tail, and the growing pressure that made her hindquarters tremble.

When the instinct to bear down finally seized her, Kěwēi obeyed.

Her first attempts were clumsy. She strained against the contraction, panting through the effort, only to collapse exhausted when it passed. Several more followed before the pressure intensified enough to make her frightened of what her body demanded.

She pushed again.

A sharp discomfort accompanied the passage of something small, followed by a sudden, slippery release.

Her first child emerged upon the moss.

For a heartbeat, Kěwēi simply stared.

Then instinct overcame astonishment.

She turned, trembling, and tore carefully at the translucent membrane enclosing the little body. A few vigorous strokes of her tongue cleared its muzzle, and presently a thin squeak rewarded her efforts.

A son.

Her firstborn.

She drew him against the warmth of her belly, cleaning him with the same reverence she might have shown a sacred offering.

The tiny creature wriggled blindly toward her underside.

And Kěwēi wept.

Not because she was unhappy, but because she had never imagined that love could arrive so suddenly, so completely, or in such an impossibly small form.

The second child followed after several further contractions.

A daughter, smaller and far more vocal than her brother. Kěwēi received her with shaking limbs, freeing her from the birth membrane before drawing her close. She tended to the cord as instinct directed, then groomed the little girl until her damp fur began to lift.

Two.

One son. One daughter.

The realization should have delighted her, but exhaustion had begun to settle heavily into her bones.

The third delivery proved more difficult.

The little one descended slowly, each contraction demanding another effort from muscles already aching with fatigue. Kěwēi shifted upon the moss, alternately crouching and lying upon her side, unable to discover a position that offered lasting relief.

Her breathing became ragged.

For one terrible moment, she wondered whether she had condemned herself through her own foolishness.

Had she been so fearful of disgrace that she had placed her children's lives beneath it?

A dutiful daughter should protect her family's honor.

A mother should protect her children.

What was she to do when those obligations stood opposed?

The next contraction left no room for contemplation.

Kěwēi bore down with a strangled cry, her claws digging into the damp earth until, finally, the third child slipped free.

Another son.

He was quiet at first, and she worked anxiously to clear his muzzle, licking him with growing desperation until his little chest moved and a thin complaint escaped his mouth.

Relief nearly undid her.

She drew him close beside the others.

Three.

Surely, that was all?

But her body had other intentions.

By the fourth, her strength had dwindled to something pitiful. Her belly had softened considerably, though its remaining burden continued to press heavily against her hips. She rested between contractions, attending to her newborns whenever she could, while the rain gradually surrendered to the distant murmuring of insects.

She thought of her sister.

Of the Emperor.

Of Alaric.

She wondered whether they would despise her for concealing something so momentous.

Then another contraction gathered, and the thought vanished.

Her fourth child, another daughter, came with a long, exhausting push.

Kěwēi scarcely possessed the strength to lift her head, yet she did so immediately, freeing the newborn from her membrane and coaxing the first small breath into her lungs.

Only when the little girl began to squirm did she allow herself to rest.

Four.

There were four.

Or so she believed.

For some time, Kěwēi lay curled around her children, her body trembling with spent effort while her womb continued its quieter contractions. She tended to each newborn, counting them again and again, ensuring that every tiny mouth found warmth and nourishment.

Then, quite unexpectedly, another pain seized her.

At first, she mistook it for the lingering contractions of a womb struggling to return to itself. But the pressure deepened, gathering low within her pelvis with a familiarity that made her heart sink.

Another?

She could scarcely comprehend it.

There had been four already. Four little mouths seeking milk, four warm bodies nestled beneath her trembling foreleg. Surely Heaven could not have entrusted her with another?

Yet her body insisted.

She strained weakly, exhaustion rendering every effort increasingly difficult, until at last a fifth little body slipped free.

A son.

He was terribly still.

Kěwēi turned immediately, tearing the membrane away from his face and sweeping her tongue across his tiny muzzle. She cleaned him carefully, then more insistently, rubbing his chest with trembling strokes as she had done for his brothers.

But there was no squeak.

No indignant wriggling.

No tiny mouth searching blindly for nourishment.

She nudged him.

Once.

Twice.

Her breathing quickened as she cleaned his face again, desperately searching for some obstruction she might have overlooked.

Nothing.

The little boy remained motionless.

For a long while, Kěwēi refused to understand.

She drew him against her belly, pressing his small body between herself and his living siblings, as though their warmth might persuade him to awaken. She groomed his ears, his cheeks, the delicate curve of his little paws.

He was perfectly formed.

A beautiful little son.

Only he had never drawn breath.

Something cold and terrible settled within her chest.

She had spent months begging Heaven to forgive her. Had she not offered enough? Had her repentance been insufficient? Was this the judgment she had so foolishly believed she might escape?

The thought came unbidden, cruel in its simplicity.

Had Heaven taken him because of her?

Kěwēi lowered her head over the little boy.

She knew the teachings. Knew that life and death belonged to forces far beyond the understanding of mortals. She had comforted grieving mothers with those very assurances, had spoken of returning souls and the endless turning of Heaven's wheel.

How hollow they seemed now.

Her son would never receive his milk name.

Never stand before the ancestral altar upon his thirtieth day.

Never learn the prayers she had imagined teaching her children.

The priestess pressed her nose against his little forehead and remained there, trembling.

There was no cry from him.

Only the hungry, restless sounds of his siblings.

Eventually, one of her daughters began to whimper, searching blindly for the warmth she had lost when Kěwēi turned away.

Duty, it seemed, had not finished asking things of her.

With aching reluctance, she gathered the four living children beneath her foreleg, drawing them close enough to nurse. Her fifth son remained beside them, tucked carefully against the softness of her chest.

She could not bear to move him farther away.

Outside, the rain had ceased entirely.

The priestess gazed toward the darkness beyond the roots, where the first pale suggestion of morning had begun to touch the forest.

There would be questions. Judgments. Perhaps even punishment.

Yet none of those things frightened her quite so much anymore.

Five children had been entrusted to her.

Four would live to know her love.

One would carry it into whatever lay beyond this world.

And when Kěwēi finally lowered her weary head beside them, she offered Heaven one last, wordless prayer.

Not for forgiveness.

Not even for herself.

For the four she must protect, and the little soul she could not keep.

we won, or we think we did

Sun, 08 Nov 2026 12:55:11 -0500

for

Something within Khatar feels greatly unworthy.

Here he is, general of Alukhai. A bastard prince is his khaan and his once betrothed rules as khatun. He is at home, once more, something he has not felt in so long. And when she smiles at him, he keeps it like a secret, and feels so very lucky.

Yet still, he wonders how long the masquerade will last. The idea that he is more man than boy is something he pushes aside, for he has never had all the fortune of a mongol man. When he came of age, he was alone. A trader, a sellsword, for those that saw him as uncivilized brute but never brute enough for the men of the steppes.

The umber prince patrols the camp, pacing as if looking for a problem to solve, a way to dedicate his body and make himself useful. A rough wind pushes over the plains, blustering over grass and coat. The sky is clear with clouds beyond, threatening a peaceful day.

What Stirs in the Redwoods

Sun, 08 Nov 2026 00:42:18 -0500

The desert was a sight to believe for Lewyn, but boy was he glad to be back in the normal forest area. It was much cooler on his fur, even more so now that fall was upon the land. The trees were standing firm in their colors as evergreens.

Even though Lewyn had seen a fall forest in the past, and he was expecting the forest to be filled with orange, red, and yellow leaves. These trees was a new sight, especially their gigantic stature. The sight of it all made him stop in his tracks, and took in all the sights and sounds of the place. The cool breeze, the branches dancing with the wind, and the silence of a forest that had changed it's tempo. It was a stark contrast to Lewyn's life, but he rather enjoyed it.

make a man out of you

Sat, 07 Nov 2026 19:45:25 -0500

There were very few things in this world Hàorán had ever allowed himself to want. A kingdom, perhaps. The loyalty of men who would follow him into the jaws of death, a name that might outlive the flesh that carried it. He had spent much of his life believing that these were the things a man ought to aspire toward; that affection was a luxury, and tenderness a weakness best kept behind closed doors. Yet, somewhere between the weight of a crown and the quiet of a shared den, he had found himself wanting something far less grand.

A family.

He had never imagined himself a father, not truly. The thought had once belonged to some distant, indistinct future, a possibility he had never quite reached for. And yet, here he was, with sons and daughters whose little paws followed his own, whose eyes might one day look upon him with the same reverence he had once reserved for his own father. There was something profoundly humbling in it; to be loved without having to earn it through conquest. To be sought after not for his title, nor the strength of his jaws, but simply because he was a father.

He ought to have been content. And perhaps he would have been, had the cost not been so difficult to ignore.

Rìhé was still ill. Not entirely taken by the tremors of childbirth, as he had once feared she might be, but not yet returned to herself, either. He had praised the heavens for sparing her, had known a gratitude so immense it had nearly brought him to his knees. And still, the space between them seemd to widen with every passing day. He had gotten what he had so desperately feared losing, and somehow found himself further from it than before.

Was it worth it?

The question had followed him beyond the den that morning, into the warmth of the mountain air, where the salt of the ocean mingled with the damp sweetness of the foliage. He had taken his eldest son with him, away from the familiar bustle of their home and the watchful eyes of those who might otherwise insist upon tending to them. There was little purpose to their outing, no particular destination, no lesson he had prepared. Only the desire to be somewhere with his eldest, where the world might be quiet enough for him to understand what it finally meant to have any piece of one.

Hàorán walked at an unhurried pace, mindful of the shorter legs keeping alongside his own. Every so often, his gaze lowered to ensure the boy had not strayed too near the uneven edges of the trail. His attentiveness was almost unconscious; the same instinct that had once kept him watchful over soldiers now extended to something considerably smaller and considerably more precious.

He paused where the trail opened toward a shallow stream, its waters slipping over smooth stones beneath the broad leaves overhead. For a moment, he simply stood there, listening. The calls of distant birds, the rush of water, the rustle of the canopy above them. A world that had carried on regardless of all that had nearly been taken from him. He lowered himself onto his haunches, allowing his son to come nearer, and nudged a small fallen branch across the earth between them.

Come, He murmured, his voice low, unpracticed in the gentleness he so often found himself offering to his children. Let us see what we can find for your sisters.

His eyes lingered upon the boy for a moment longer than necessary. A fraction of a moment where he found himself wondering, though not for the first time, what sort of father he would become. Whether his children would remember the warmth of his presence or merely the breadth of his shadow. Whether they would grow to love him as he had once loved his own father, or whether they would learn, as so many did, to mistake a man's silence for indifference.

And beneath it all, there was the thought of their mother.

He had sons to teach the world to. Daughters, too, waiting somewhere in the unfolding of their lives. A wife he had nearly lost, and whome he still did not know how to reach. Perhaps that was the cruelest part of all of it; he had finally been given everything he had never dared ask for, and yet could not shake the feeling that he was failing to hold it together. What would his mother make of this? Of him? Of his children and the wife that was slipping from his grip?

Earth among us

Sat, 07 Nov 2026 16:06:48 -0500

Zolzaya Sharguu Toghrul pack announcement; optional participation, but all are welcome to hop in/volunteer to join future campaigns or stay to guard camp. this is the start of alukhai’s diplomatic missions <3

At the deer circle on the edge of the wood, leaves cling late to birches and the golden gers wear camouflage. Autumn blazes the horizon in both east and west. Batu stands beside his sister, sparing her the grave look which would otherwise pass between them. He knows her burden. She knows his mind. This is the path they walk together.

Horselord gazes upon camp direct from under the furrow of his brow. “The time for trade and allyship is upon us. and I are leaving to make contact with each of the southern kingdoms.”

“Anda,” he turns first for . “I entrust the orduu to your keeping. will see to the guarding of our far borders. , and shall have charge of the herds.”

He looks then to the roan-skinned bogol; the boy-man made servant to his royal sisters. “Ulya-. You will travel with your khaan to the Fujiwara Dynasty. You will carry your khatun’s vasa, and lay her ger each night we are away.”

i am turning the key

Sat, 07 Nov 2026 14:56:06 -0500

Vaguely dated | for

The raid on the Keys was not entirely fruitless, as it turns out. Lian has not been made immediately aware of the prisoner's presence, but such an open secret is one easily skimmed from conversations by the perceptive princess. She hasn't yet uncovered her own feelings on the matter. Lian is not so eager to try, either. But there is a kind of guilt, or worry, that she is spurred to assuage. It is, she tells herself, what she would do for any in their care.

Cuts of salted, spiced meat and split-open, ripe persimmon are wrapped in rice paper plant leaf meticulously, bundled tight for ease of carrying as the princess slips through the Tianlong forest. It's night, when there are fewer of her father's wolves about to take possible issue with her meddling and report back to Shenlei, or make some well-meaning effort to shoo the princess away from her altruistic mission. Lian will not be deterred, and she is not interested in frightening their prisoner further with the looming presence of a bodyguard. The girl's scent is easy to follow, and pale paws approach with measured, delicate steps.

Hello - please, do not be frightened. I have brought food, if you can stomach it. What condition is she in? What was the reason for her capture? Is she homesick, or a victim of the frightening clan on the Keys? Lian does not know. How distanced she is from the court, these days!

[birth] Perlino

Fri, 06 Nov 2026 11:55:04 -0500

Parting with Colt had been bitter, but as is custom, I must labor alone.
I had wandered some distance from the herds, seeking a little dip in the lee, where the grass still held the last warmth of day. There, I waited.
The first pains came on quietly, but as the hours passed I could no longer stand still. I paced in circles, making a trampled nest of the hollow I had chosen.
I was not afraid.
When the clenching became too great to bear, my legs folded beneath me. I lay upon my side and panted, hard enough to draw in the shocking cold to my lungs. But I knew that I must see this through.
Then, all at once, the long travail was over, and I lay too weary at first to move, while beside me there was my small, bewildered creature, wet and shivering in the grass. My foal. My own little one. I turned my head towards them, and the first thing I knew was their smell.
I have no words such as the wolf uses. My presence alone proclaimed that they were here, and we were together. My second colt had come into the world beneath an open sky, with the wind to welcome him and the valley to hold him.

Tsetseg breathes in the cool and good morning air. A few stars are twinkling in a clear sky which lightens in the east. She grunts gently for New Colt, and stands.

beneath the cloak of night

Thu, 05 Nov 2026 19:03:57 -0500

Still, she feels him sometimes. In the grasping pull of the wind, when it's at its least gentle and most unforgiving. When the rain falls heavy and loud, and the scents she follows are lost to her.

When she rests at night, restless in her loneliness. Too comfortable in her solitude.

She feels him most when she finds herself alone with the moon and only her thoughts, loud and rearing in the back of her mind. She feels him now, lounging by herself near White Lake, where the waters reflect the moonlight in a thousand pieces of silver.

It's much too chilly for a swim, but there is peace to be found in the calm of the water and the stillness of night. Peace in the rare moments where she has her mind to herself. She can't help but think of family — what it was and what it is now.

Taimor is no longer just a boy, not completely helpless and needing, but she cannot picture him as a man, either. Does he wish for more family? Siblings to hassle and teach, or is he content with life as it is? Tselmuun can't help it, the way her imagination wanders, or the way her heart seems to jump at the thought of children of her own. Pups wild and strong, who might know her not as a gonji, or widow, but simply as their mother.

She knows she would not be perfect, perhaps always lacking, but would it be so bad? To be a mother to young Alukhai of her own making?

Her head rests atop outstretched forelimbs as she ponders, dark nose twitching against the wandering, grasping wind. The rest of her lies lazily against the weathered grass, her stomach pressed to the cool earth. Her tail is tucked near her backside, mottled deel set upon her shoulders, and her eyes remain set upon the lake.

When the dragon is in the wild, wolves will emerge

Thu, 05 Nov 2026 15:58:20 -0500

Himself. . . Together. In the flesh.

Batu feels like an onlooker. He’s never met them before; not really. Not like this, as adults. Never spoken to them outside of their father’s secretariat. Never had the authority to, or skills to, growing up.

Now they’re here. Now they’re all together. The bastard king and two cunning, lethal princesses. He knows how skillfully they move, and he knows their courage. All three have perhaps inherited their father’s appetites, and match him in savagery.

“Take it.” Black koumiss in an oxen’s skull, offered to his sisters beneath full, pallor moon.

It is the strangest reunion.

Daisies

Wed, 04 Nov 2026 13:35:10 -0500

Little girls cry out when one tugs the others’ ear too hard. They toddle about, small paws webbed like geese. They make messes, powder their parents’ chambers in sticks and bones and heaps of clouded dust they can tromp through. They wag their tails and chirp their songbird throats.

Queen Merneith approaches the room where and her babies rest, the royal attendants ferrying in two papyrus combs and an antelope liver.

The air smells of newborn; of and .

Neith is smitten.