Chapter Text
Lynx has just come home, after a productive hunting trip, and is immediately ambushed by his oldest two kits, Taro and Nova.
“Papa, Papa! Dad said you would tell us a story when you got home, and now you're home, so you can tell us a story!” Nova practically screams, her sentences running together as she rambles. Always so hyperactive, Lynx thinks. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Yeah, Dad said you’d tell us how you and Dad met! PleAAASEEE!” Taro giggles, his ’please’ turning into a squeal of joy as he is picked up, upside down, by Lynx, who also picks up Nova like a sack of potatoes.
“Alright, alright, I’ll tell you the story again. First, where is Dad?” Lynx carefully steps over wooden blocks and knitted stuffed animals, carrying the two kits, still giggling and squirming in their Papa’s hold, to their beds.
“Right here, trying to get this one to sleep.” Lynx turns around and sees Rowan holding Yukio, who still looks wide-eyed and alert, despite the fact that he should have been asleep a few hours ago.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Rowan walks closer, sitting next to Lynx on the bed, and kisses his cheek, causing Taro and Nova to let out shouts of “EWW!” simultaneously. Lynx and Rowan chuckle at the two, and get settled in.
“Now, this,” Lynx says, moving to sit against the wall as Rowan passes Yukio to him to lean against Lynx’s side, “is the story of how I died.”
Taro and Nova freeze, looking between Lynx and Rowan, confusion and a bit of fear in their eyes.
Rowan nudges Lynx with his shoulder. “Lynx...” Lynx chuckles and reassures Nova and Taro.
“Now, don’t worry, this is a fun story, and it isn’t even mine. This is about a young boy, and it starts with a flower…”
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The den had been loud that spring.
Four kits already tumbled through the tunnels, all paws and tails and endless questions. And another was on the way.
Thistle had his hands full, scooping up one kit before another could dart toward the entrance, gently untangling tails and settling small disputes with patient authority. His laughter echoed warmly off the stone walls.
Bella had gone for a walk.
He hadn’t liked the idea of her wandering alone, not this close to her time—but he could see the restlessness in her eyes. The den had begun to feel too small. Too still.
So, he let her go.
Just for a little while.
He felt, more than he heard, when Bella came home from her walk.
She hadn’t come in the entrance yet, but she was sitting outside, underneath the rowan tree. Its flowers were finally in bloom.
He could see the sweat on her brow, the tight expression on her face, the way she gripped her stomach. Their kit was coming.
Their fifth kit, Rowan, was born that day, underneath the tree he was named after.
Bella smiled down at her little kit, his hair bright orange, with streaks of white.
His eyes, just barely opening now, a soft violet color. He has his mother’s eyes and his father’s hair color.
They couldn't wait to see the young man their son would grow to be, loved by his family.
A shame, that day never came to be…
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Thistle could hear the crackling of fire. That's all he could hear.
He knew he had to get to Bella, to the kits, but... He was so tired...
The smoke choked him slowly, not violently like he thought it might. It felt like holding your breath underwater.
Soon, he would have to breathe but breathing sounds so hard right now.
His chest aches, both with the arrow lodged in his side, and with sorrow.
He just wants to be with Bella, the kits, Rowan… But he’s just… so tired…
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Bella ran. She had always loved to run. She had run with wolves, alongside the birds.
That's how she had met Thistle, she had literally run into him while he was collecting herbs.
Today, however. Today she ran out of fear.
She couldn’t find Thistle, but he was strong, he was alright. He had to be alright.
Aspen cried in her arms. Her little boy. He was only born a few months ago. The smoke wasn’t good for his lungs.
So, she ran. She tried to, at least.
As she laid on the ground, struggling to breath, the arrow in her stomach pulsing with a deep ache and her leg bent at an odd angle, she watched as one of the invaders took Aspen.
She tried to run, tried to give chase. But running on a broken leg had never fared well before. It wouldn't now.
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Rowan hid.
He held Holly close to his chest, trying to quiet her cries as best as he could.
There was fire everywhere.
He thought he could hear an infant crying in the distance. Aspen. That meant Mom...
No, she was fine, Aspen always cried when he lost his plush rabbit. He had to give Aspen his rabbit.
So, as quietly as he could, he went over to the holly bush and sat Holly down.
“The young boy hid his sister beneath a holly bush and told her to stay—”
“Are you telling them that story again?”
Holly leans against the doorway, Usui balanced on her hip while Sariel steps in behind her, carrying a basket filled with food and folded blankets.
“Aunt Holly! Uncle Sariel!”
Nova and Taro scramble out of bed and bolt toward them.
Rowan rises, crossing the room to hug Holly before ruffling Usui’s hair. The little one dissolves into giggles.
“Yes, I’m telling that story again,” Lynx says defensively. “It’s a classic.”
“Yes,” Rowan replies dryly, “a classic you’ve told Nova and Taro every year for the past ten.”
Lynx gasps, clutching his chest. “Wounded. Betrayed. By my own husband.”
He dramatically collapses backward; one arm flung over his forehead as Yukio bursts into laughter.
Rowan shakes his head, smiling, and gently pulls Lynx’s head into his lap.
“Oh, you dramatic big baby,” he murmurs fondly. Then, louder: “Alright, kits. Let your father finish his story.”
They all sit down, Holly sitting next to Sariel, one of his wings wrapping around her and Usui in a side-hug. Nova and Taro sit back on their beds, and Lynx continues the tale.