I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness,
nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory

He’s dozing, pleasant dreams flashing behind closed eyes even as the wildflowers that sit atop the tall grasses tickle his belly. His dreams are full of pleasant wonder – because he’s still not sure how any of this happened. Ryan hadn’t known he even had family left in Beqanna, but somehow he’d stumbled across his cousin, the daughter of an uncle he’d never met, here in this beautiful land. Even more wondrous, both of the mares who hold his heart had found him, and joined him here. Now Tickaani and Keeper’s children - Ryan’s children - play safely amongst the fields and streams alongside his cousin’s young daughter Noma.

The stallion blinks sleepily awake at Tickaani’s touch, glancing at her with question in his eyes, but her message is clear enough. He shifts and turns his head, to where Noma stands quietly at the edge of the water, peering intently into the liquid’s surface. She’s slightly older than Mikael and Fiadh, a yearling, but she has been joyful to have playmates and gentle with her cousins.

Ryan spots his son slightly faster than his mother or his aunt might, but only because Mikael inherited his color-changing abilities from his father, and Ryan from his mother, and he had played similar games as a youth himself. He hums in quiet appreciation, the cat coiled inside him all the time quite appreciative of offspring’s growing skill in subterfuge. He might not have the easy defenses that Ryan, Keeper, and Fiadh have, but he will not be defenseless.

Because sometimes the dreams are not as nice as today’s had been. Sometimes, Ryan has nightmares about what Noah had told them of her life – that her father his uncle had been murdered to try and destroy Beqanna, to unleash the plague that he remembers vaguely. Ryan had been little more than a nomad then, a wandered existing almost entirely as a silent big cat, but he remembers the taste of fear on those whose paths he had crossed. He does not wish his children to ever see such a day, but if such a day were to come he wants them to be strong and smart and loyal to each other.

He glances back at Tick, at Keeper, a laugh in his eyes at the antics of the children, but a look from one of them makes him aware that he has seen only two children about to clash at the water’s edge. Where is the third cub? Ryan lifts curious green eyes back to the water’s edge and gives a sweeping inspection of their surroundings…. ah. There. Fiadh is also creeping through the grass, her shifter form almost as big as her brother, on a path to intercept. He stays quiet to see what will happen, but can’t resist leaning into Tick, and reaching out to touch Keeper’s shoulder with his golden nose. Fiadh is clearly waiting to try and pounce on her brother when Mikael tries to catch their cousin unawares – and Ryan is very interested to see who will end up with the upper hand. Hoof. Paw.

Ryan

( I love only that which they defend. )

I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness,
nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory

Their very quiet watch comes to a noisy and spectacular end;  the large feline and the colt collide with no few noises and start to struggle for the upper hand, while the copper-and-white yearling spins around with wide eyes and a little yelp. Not for the first time, Ryan is glad that his daughter’s shifting form has retractable claws like his own as she attempts to bring her brother to the ground, and that foals of Mikael’s size aren’t particularly dangerous as he returns fire with hoof and tooth. Tickaani walks forward to referee before Ryan can move, her voice bright over the sound of theirs.

Keeper leans into him and he turns to breathe her familiar scent, equine-and-ursine, and with one mulberry-tipped ear flicked to catch all of the words exchanged between Tick and the children, he wonders if she ever grows tired of how quiet – literally – their existence has become. Ryan has never been one of many words but it seems like nowadays he speaks even fewer, and years of existing alongside Keeper in their second skins with no line of direct communication has made the two of them more adept at communicating nonverbally than elsewise. The Pampas itself is quiet too, and his cousin their host as soft-spoken as the wind through her beloved wildflowers.

Hearing Fiadh give an expressive grumbling growl instead of replying to something spoken aloud to her by her aunt, he resolves on the spot to do better. To speak more often to the children themselves, as well as to Tick, and stop relying so much on other forms of communication. It was fine when it was just Ryan-the-panther and Keeper-the-bear, but they are a family now and noncommunication was never something his own mother would have condoned.

The gold stallion brushes another kiss along Keeper’s neck and draws away to help parent, stepping smoothly into Fiadh’s space in a way that gently separates her from her brother, both of the children seemingly unpleased at not having a clear winner in the wrestling match. He sympathizes, but not at the chance of any real injury if their play would become too heated. “Perhaps a new game,” he suggests, smiling warmly over Tick’s back at his niece to include her, trying to draw her closer into their group. “What about a scavenger hunt? You could go and find your mothers and I five new types of flowers or bugs we haven’t seen before. I’m sure Noma would help you.”

Conveniently, it would also keep them occupied for some time, because he knows it would take them some time to find things they agreed the adults had never seen, as well as trek all over the Pampas to find the far-flung treasures. It’s a peaceful game, as well, to give everyone a break from the sneaking and the pouncing. And the adults can do…adult things. Even if those adult things mainly consist of their mothers able to nap in peace, for once, while Ryan keeps watch for them. 

Ryan

( I love only that which they defend. )