#deryn

Trivia time!

Both Remus and Ellara grew spikes on their face at the start of puberty, and until then one could kinda see and definitely feel the tiny, bony protrusions just under their skin. Both of them were born almost fully white-gray, with only the darker markings on their face and spine being a well-defined gray. Their fur immediately started to grow darker under the baby fuzz and kept going after their first shed, reaching their final colors around puberty. The progression was really visible in their mane, which their dam tied it back in 3-4 tiny ponytails. Once the 4-years-younger Ellara joined the same fahrar as Remus, they braided each other's mane whenever possible.

"Lupin" was a farily scrawny cub, all ears and scruffy fur, so much he was eventually nicknamed a rat or skritt. Ironically he grew into the nickname in an unforeseeable way. His fur stayed pretty much the same since birth, only sleeking out with age.

Farka was a quiet and timid cub, one seldom seen away from parents as she preferred to observe them work rather than play with other cubs her age. She rarely smiled, usually when her dam and sire allowed her to "help" with artillery assembling. She was a very fuzzy baby and the supersoft fur matched her paler color. She was still not done losing it by her sixth month of life.

Adamas took a lot of his face from his dam's side, with only the colors reconnecting him to his sire's. The spiky fluff around his eyes is all his mama's though. As a newborn his markings were less defined and a lighter gray, but they got lighter and more defined pretty fast.

Most of Deryn's memories around this age were of her dam, who fell ill due to complications during her birth and died within the year. As sad as those times were, she mostly remembers the warmest memories. Her markings were less defined and her pelt lighter, but within a couple of years they settled on their final color.

Favian was a very shy cub who rarely left his dam's side, always asking her to tell more stories about the Black Citadel and their old enemies. His fur started out as fully sandy and muted, only darkening and becoming shinier as the years went by and he grew more outward.

Up until the event that disfigured his arm and sobered him up to the reality of the Flame Legion settlement where he was born, little Daunte was actually a pretty sociable and cheery cub, finding joy even in that suffucating environment and sneaking out of the fahrar to go show his loving dam and uncaring sire his developing magic. His fur stayed pretty much the same since birth, and its bright colors were something the shaman noted as a sign of great potential.

A hard shove to her back almost sent her back to the dirt she had just left. She glared over her shoulder at the armored man behind her as he sneered back. 

He spat something probably insulting at her and she turned to meet him with a snarl. A yank to the shackle around her throat forced her to stop. 

The soldier in front of her, obviously more important as he was dolled up in fancier, cleaner armor, spoke at her sharply. Another Yank made her speed up a bit as she tried to avoid tripping over the chains at her feet.

“You know, if you actually unbound my legs I could probably walk faster.” Her tone was cheerful and when Fancy Man looked back at her she gave him a vicious grin. “We could even keep up with that ugly cart you’re following. I’m sure you want to fulfill your brown-nosing quote for the day.”

She almost ran into him when he paused. He lifted her leash until she was standing on her toes and whispered something short, dark, and filled with bloodlust.

“Oh, yes, sir.” She bared her teeth at him. “Right away, sir.”

The rest of the walk was heavy with silence. Odette strained her ears but couldn’t hear anything. It was as if everything living had been scared away or driven out. Up ahead, the carriage had stopped at the mouth of a massive cave. A curtain of flowering vines blocked the entrance, camouflaging it against the stone of the cliff.

They caught up with the carriage just as the doors to it opened. The men around her all crouched into a bow in unison. Fancy Man grabbed the back of her neck and forced her to do the same, holding her in place when she tried to lunge at him. 

She strained to look up, pressing against his heavy hand. Feet moved in the plant life to stand before her and words were exchanged. There was a jingle of chain links before Fancy Man yanked her up by her collar. 

She gasped for breath against the metal and tried to scrabble at her throat as he kicked her legs to standing. Gentle words prompted him to let go and she fought to stay upright as she wheezed.

A hand on her shoulder made her look up with a growl that fell short at the kindly old face in front of her. The person (a priest?) murmured something before they reached out to tug gently on her leash. She stumbled into following the elder as they led her to the cave mouth. Soldiers parted the vines with stoic expressions as the priest pulled her inside. 

The second the air behind the vines hit her nose she instinctively gasped as her hands tried to reach up and block the smell. She held her breath in desperation but knew it was already too late as the wolfsbane smoke clouded her mind. 

As the numbness set in, something heavy struck her head.

She didn’t even feel herself hit the ground.

-

(Someone is chanting,) her thoughts echoed.

(What are they saying?)

She tried to move.

(My head hurts.)

She gazed at the ceiling over her, eyes dazzling at the flickering lights bouncing off of it.

(Why?)

Darkness.

-

She comes to in stages. Her ears catch the echo of her breaths against far off walls. Her nose fills with musty air flavored with wet stone and still water as her tongue tastes the blood collecting on her teeth. As her eyes opened she stared in exhaustion at the candle dappled stalactites above her. 

With a groan she tried to wipe at her eyes only to find that her chains hadn’t been removed. Her wrists were locked tight to the thing she laid on, tight enough for the angle that they were held in to cause a prickling sensation in her hands. As she twisted her neck to try and look at her bindings she froze.

Odette was laying on an altar.

She whipped her head around to gaze at the wall of Idols with growing dread. Along the wall were frankly beautiful depictions of gore and the horrors of war. A deity looked down upon it all with a grin across ruby red lips. 

“Fuck,” she whispered into the air. “Fuck!”

She twisted her body again, eyes darting everywhere as her mind ached its way through possible escapes. After a moment of desperate shuffling she paused and glanced down. 

The bastards had left her feet free.

With a whoop she pulled herself up and flipped over her wrists. Some small part of her thanked her captors for using wolfsbane in particular as her hands twisted and ached. She was sure that it would have hurt more without the numbness hanging in her joints.

She was quick to snag a rock from the ground with her toes, though it took a couple tries to toss it up to her hands. As she set to the task of grinding stone against metal she kept her senses vigilant. 

A god had been summoned and she didn’t really feel like being its sacrifice.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been filing when a distant scent of fresh rain and blood caught her attention. Her heart caught in her throat as she redoubled her efforts. A final good yank cracked one side of the link and a few more bent it enough to unhook herself. She skittered into the shadows as the vines parted.

“Huh.” A woman’s voice, gruff but achingly beautiful, filled the cavern. “The Steeled Workers have never skimped on a sacrifice before.”

“What do you mean, my dear?” A different woman responded, soft and just as beautiful as the first. “I see more than enough food and drink.”

“There is no blood on the altar.” Odette covered her mouth and nose, tucking her face into her knees, at the sudden closeness of that first voice. 

“There may not be blood on the altar, my love, but there is blood in the air.” Odette whipped her head up, blood pounding behind her ears, as an ethereal woman bent over her with a smile. “Hello.”

Odette whimpered and pushed back against the wall as the woman, red haired and glowing, reached out toward her. Beyond her stood the other woman, obviously the war god with all of that armor and the stern expression she wore. Beauty and Death coming to call.

“How odd.” Death said as she approached. “They didn’t kill you for me.”

With that Odette’s fear urged her to fight. She lashed out with deadly sharp claws and lunged through the opening it made as the women carelessly dodged her. She leapt over the altar and sprinted for the vines.

A flicker of light in front of her had Odette redirecting. She scrambled over a mountain of boxes and chests, lifting a smaller one to launch at another flicker of light. She dove off of the boxes and landed on all fours, ducking under a swipe aimed at her head.

(Go, go, go, go!) She made another break for the vines. When arms suddenly wrapped around her and lifted her off the ground she screamed. 

The arms faltered.

Maybe it was her voice, maybe it was the ferality of her scream, but whatever caused the lapse in her captor’s focus allowed her to whip around and sink her fangs into their throat.

A wash of golden ichor dribbled out of her mouth not stifling the growl rumbling through her. The arms around her fell away as the god in her jaws gasped in pain.

Odette pinned her eyes on Death reaching for her and resisted the urge to shake her prey dead. Her growl grew louder as the god moved as if to step closer. 

(Try it,) Odette tried to say with her eyes. (See what will happen.)

“Let her go.” Death’s voice had the cavern walls shuddering.

Odette snarled, a clawed hand raised to her prey’s hair. She yanked once to expose more of the other god’s throat. 

“I swear no harm will come to you from either of our hands.” Death did not move. “Please, let her go.”

Odette paused, taking in the god’s expression, before slowly unlocking her jaw. Her prey fell to the ground with a thud. She spat the ichor on the floor, wiping at her mouth with her sleeve.

Beauty slowly lifted herself to standing as Odette took several steps back. 

The taste of ichor still clung to her tongue, metallic and so different from the iron in mortal blood. She wiped at her mouth to try and erase it.

“Who are you?” Death demanded, although she still stood frozen. “With this ability to injure gods?”

“I am Odette, Sharpest of Tongues, Alphadaughter of the Reeds Roaming Pack.” She moved again, trying to keep both gods in her line of view. “I will not be any god’s sacrifice!”

“Odette?” Beauty whispered.

“You are a long way from home, Alphadaughter.” Death slowly shifted toward her companion’s side.

“Not by choice, I assure you.” Odette wiped at her mouth again.

“Odette? Hailed from the Place Where the Water Sings?” Beauty brushed off her friend’s touch. “Of the Reeds Roaming? She who built our temples?”

“What?” Odette froze.

“Linnéa?” Death murmured.

“It’s her, Deryn!” Beauty turned to her friend. “We found her! Our priestess!”

“Linnéa? Deryn?” Odette’s hand rose to cover her mouth. Memories of little stone cairns decorated with offerings and flowers flashing clarity into her mind. “Linnéaflur, Goddess of Serenity and Order? Dederyn, Goddess of Chaos and the Wilds?” 

“Yes! Yes! Odette!” Linnéa smiled, reaching out to her. 

Pain seared through Odette’s mind as she fell to her knees. She bowed so deeply her forehead pressed to the ground. Fear choked her as she tried to speak. “My deepest and most desperate apologies, Your Serene Grace. I take full responsibility for my transgressions against you. They were mine and mine alone.”

“Odette-.”

“I beg of you! Spare my pack, my family! Please!” Odette felt tears sting her eyes as she sobbed through her begging. “They had no part-!”

“Odette!” A hand laid upon her head, gentle and light. “I accept your apologies. I understand. You were scared, weren’t you?” Beauty, Linnéaflur, (the god her grandmother taught her to pray to at the age of three ‘and if you pray to her you shall pray to her treasured wife as well for she goes nowhere without her’) whispered to her. “It is alright, my dear. No harm shall come to you nor your pack.”

Odette raised her head to meet Linnéaflur’s endless green eyes.

“Rest now.” Beauty’s hand passed over her eyes. “You are safe. We shall keep you safe. Sleep, my dear. Sleep.”