into the light

[Vicare de Lioncourt]

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so we reach into the raging chaos, and we pluck some small glittering thing, and we cling to it, and tell ourselves it has meaning

vicare de lioncourt — lupus form — vinátta border

Something like empathy seemed to flash across the other man’s face at the mention of the passing of his mate, and Vicare briefly wondered if they shared a common experience or if he had simply misinterpreted sympathy. From what he had seen of Saul and from the limited scope of their interaction, he could intuitively gather that the other wolf was a well-liked individual, and in addition to this being vital for his success as a pack leader, it surely meant that at least one eligible young bachelorette had taken a fancy to him. He wanted to smile at the thought. Passion wasn’t so strange, and it was passion that drove him to madness when the one wolf he thought he couldn’t live without had passed away. Yet, it was not passion but love that showed him the steep and thorny way out of the seemingly all-encapsulating feeling of loss, and it was love that told the truth when it said that life would go on. It had, and so here he was.



When Saul answered in the negative but offered the news of a pair of siblings, Vicare shook his head. None of the trio he’d left were blood relatives, so this must have meant that they had never made it to their destination. He acknowledged the fact with bitter resignation but put it out of his mind. There would be time to ponder the possibilities later.



What skills do you possess that could benefit Vinátta? The interview continued.



Vicare blinked, tilting his head slightly to the side as he gave the question thought. There had been a point in his youth when all he would delight in were his abilities, his strength and speed, his skill at hunting, his sparring record with the other young males. Over the past year, all of that had faded into non-importance, and all that had truly mattered was his capacity for survival.

“I’m light on my feet, quick to react. I can hunt well enough to provide for a family, and I know a thing or two about knocking a wolf off his feet,”

he listed in an offhand manner, lips curling slightly at the last one. He’d always had a talent in that regard, and though he was far from the brawniest beast around, he had a certain knack for knowing which points to target. Then, almost as an afterthought but not, he added,

“I’m a storyteller—I can entertain a crowd of pups or grown wolves with any story, and in fact, I know quite a few. My own children loved them.”

This statement was made with an unmistakable touch of pride. Regardless of everything else that he might have lost or changed on the journey north, this was something that still inherently made him who he was.

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