Chapter Text
Meskin pulled the knitted shawl tighter around his shoulders, scowling at the strange contraption his son was setting up, determined to understand it.
It was one of the cooking-pots, filled with bitter, salty lake-water, slowly beginning to steam over a small driftwood fire. A cured skin was stretched over the pot, curled over a frame that shaped it into an odd little tent that tilted it at a jaunty sort of angle.
“The water collects here as it boils,” he was saying, his finger following a small bead of water as it slid down the slick surface, finally dropping off the overhang of the little tent and into the copper jug underneath with a satisfying ting.
“It leaves all the salt and everything else behind in the pot as it boils away, and we end with both good preserving salt, and clean water to drink,” Veld said, grinning. “We usually spend a few seasons on the lakeside, for all the salt, and then move on around and back to the winter camp for the cold season.”
Meskin nodded, glancing down at the long line of fires and pots on the rocky, heather-strewn beach. It was a great deal of work, but the pack was taking to it cheerfully, and there were so many hands to help haul the water and keep the fires and collect the copper jugs of drinking water that it hardly seemed like work at all. Further up the beach, the older members of the pack were keeping an eye on the herds of sheep.
It wasn’t the entire pack with them, either. About a third of the pack had stayed behind, tending the pack’s food gardens. Tirza, Veld’s adoptive mother, was something of an herbalist, and she had stayed behind to distil medicines; and old Bjarn stayed with her, the closest thing to a pack leader while Veld was away with the herds.
“Does it need more water yet?” Meskin asked, glancing at the bubbling water in the pot, and Veld cocked his head at it.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Not for a while, at least. Really, I think everything here will be fine for a bit.”
Meskin nodded, and, though still crouched beside the pot, looked out over the lake. It was wide—too wide to make out the other side of it—and the breeze that was blowing, constant and cool, over the quietly rippling water smelled strange. Almost unpleasant—but still, Meskin sucked in lungfuls of it, something in him liking how sharp and strange it was.
“I’ve never seen a place like this,” he said. The packs that used to own him never ranged very far, keeping themselves to towns and forests, mostly—to places that no one could chase them from. He couldn’t keep himself from staring out over the wide open water, half-lost in the sheer amount of space—the looming openness of the sky.
“D’ye want to explore?” Veld asked, and Meskin looked over to find that his son looked enthuiastic about the idea, almost boyishly bright. “I used to scramble all over these rocks, and there’s some really good veiws that way—if you want?”
Even if Meskin had been tempted to refuse the offer, the way that Veld muffled his own hopes, suddenly subdued and waiting for Meskin’s approval, would have dragged him into the idea by his heartstrings. He was filled with warmth at the image of younger Veld—a gangly boy, yet to grow into his limbs—scrambling over the beach, excited at the prospect of finding something new.
“I’d love to explore,” he said, easing himself up to stand. Veld grinned, wide and happy, and bounced up beside him.
“Do you want to see the caves?” he asked, and Meskin couldn’t help but grin with him.
“I’d love to.”
--
The caves were very wet and drippy. They weren’t a place that he would have sought out on his own, but he knelt down to look at the things that Veld excitedly pointed out to him, seeing the strange beauty of the water-carved rock and the pale clinging lichens through his son’s eyes.
“This one has medicinal properties, actually—I should scrape some off, bring it back for M-Tirza,”
Meskin glanced over as Veld stumbled over the name. he wanted to say that he didn’t mind if Veld called Tirza ‘mother’, too. She was his mother, in many ways that mattered; and Meskin didn’t begrudge her for it. How could he hate a woman who loved his son so dearly?
He wanted to say that he didn’t mind, but he wasn’t sure how to put the words together. He had no say in what Veld called anyone. Not really.
Meskin’s silence made an obvious emptiness in the conversation, a gap like a missing tooth. Veld had already pulled his knife, and was scraping at the lichen, catching it in a loose cloth. Scrape-scrape-scrape, a rhythm that had a very small resonant echo in the little cave.
Meskin tilted his head, listening. He raised his nose, scenting on instinct, before realizing that he wouldn’t be able to smell anything.
Veld closed the cloth in on itself, putting the lichen dust into his pocket, and frowned as he saw Meskin trying vainly to scent the air.
“What is it?” he asked.
Meskin blinked, tearing his gaze away from the shadows.
“Do you hear breathing?”
--
Joel tightened his fist, pressing it hard against his side, and tried to breathe quieter. He was being very good about being still, but still his heart thudded away wildly in his chest, and every breath felt too shallow to last, making his lungs try and force him to gasp.
He didn’t dare, not after they’d noticed him. They were strangers, and strangers were never good. He did his best to take small, silent breaths. In. out. In. out. He couldn’t hear himself, so probably—
He heard the big alpha inhale.
“There’s someone here,” the man rumbled.
All of Joel’s breath heaved out in a desperate, sharp whine. His side twinged again, like a reminder of how impossible it would be to run, even if an adult alpha wasn’t blocking the exit.
“That’s a child,” the omega said, the shifting of small stones under feet announcing that the two strangers were coming closer. Joel whined again, trying to sound more like a child. He was already presented, but maybe, since he was small—
“An alpha child,” the other alpha said, and Joel felt his muscles freeze. His own pack leader had chased him out after he’d presented. A strange alpha would be well within his rights to kill him.
The dark shape of the alpha loomed closer, and Joel pressed closer to the back wall of the cave.
“I’m sorry!” he yelped. “I didn’t mean to trespass, I’ll leave, I’m sorry—”
A large hand brushed against him, over his head and across his shoulder.
“You’re wounded,” the alpha said, instead of hitting him or ripping him out of his little corner. “How bad is it?”
Joel didn’t know what to say, what answer would get the strange alpha from beating his interloping body to a pulp.
“You’re scaring them, Veld. Please?”
The oppressive alpha scent retreated with the sound of shifting stones, and the warm sweetness of the omega’s scent replaced it. Joel whined, involuntarily this time, and tried to crawl closer. The omega smelled like safety, like kindness. He hissed as the movement hurt his side.
“Oh—oh. Please don’t try to move too much. Can you tell me how badly you’re hurt, please?”
“I got slashed a little,” he offered, “On my side. It’s still bleeding,”
The omega made a soft, comforting noise, and Joel admitted, all in a rush—
“I wrapped it, and that’s supposed to fix it, but I’m still bleeding, and it hurts, please, I need—I just need to heal, I won’t bother you, I won’t bother anyone—”
“We’ll carry him back to the camp,” the alpha growled, and the omega moved out of the way, letting the big alpha reach down and grab Joel’s shoulder again.
Joel expected the alpha to drag him up by the shoulder. He was braced for the pain of being manhandled while his side screamed at him.
the hand left his shoulder, though, and the alpha carefuly slid his arms under Joel’s body, lifting him in a way that barely even jostled his side. Joel ended up with his legs dangling over the alpha’s arms, his body pressed awkwardly into the alpha’s chest. He was bleeding on his clothes, and Joel knew he’d have to pay for that later. The alpha smelled funny, really—like fire and moss. The omega had moss in his scent, too.
Joel didn’t want to be in the alpha’s arms, being carried back somewhere to be punished for trespassing in front of a whole strange pack. He clung to the man’s shoulder anyway, the embroidered fabric strangely thick and soft to the touch, because he wanted to be dropped even less.
“We’ve got a healer with us,” the alpha said, his voice still soft. “she’ll be able to bandage you up and stop the bleeding, and there’s a tea for the pain. Soon it won’t hurt so badly.”
“do you want me to go ahead, and give Merta a fair warning?” the omega asked, as they left the cave. Joel squeezed his eyes tight shut against the pale white daylight.
“If you don’t mind,” the alpha said. Joel gripped his strange vest tighter. He didn’t want the omega to go! What if he was all that was keeping the alpha calm and gentle?
“of course,” the omega said, but the he stepped closer, cupping Joel’s face with a soft, weathered hand. Joel looked up at the man. Hus eyes were wrinkled at the edges, and his face bore pock-marks and scars. Joel didn’t think he’d ever seen an omega that old. His eyes were kind, and his soft forest scent made some of the fear that was knotted up in Joel’s chest uncoil.
“you are going to be alright,” he said, and it sounded like a promise. “they are good here.”
And with that, he started off, a sort of half-jog, further up the beach where Joel now saw that there were columns of pale smoke rising into the sky.
With the omega gone, Joel nervously sniffed at the junction of the alpha’s neck and shoulder, trying to be surreptitious about it, hoping to gain some clue about the alpha’s feelings.
As he expected, there was an undercurrent of thick smoke, likely anger; but the lighter scents of affection, worry, and simple calm were all stronger. That was strange. The anger did not grow stronger when the omega left, either; only the worry did, and that only incrementally. The alpha did not handle him roughly at all, but was very gentle, keeping care in his step so as not to jostle Joel too much.
“I’m called Veld,” the alpha said. “and that was Meskin, my dam, who just left. What’s your name, child?”
“I’m called Joel, alpha.” Joel said, meekly. He turned his head a little as he spoke, baring his neck in obvious submission, so that he didn’t seem too bold by talking.
“Joel, then. We are the Kerite pack, and you are welcome here so long as you promise not to harm anyone.”
Welcome? In their pack? Surely not. Joel had never been welcome anywhere.
When they came close enough to the camp, several pack members ran out to meet them, and Veld bent down to place Joel gently on the stretcher that they carried. A young woman ran out to greet them, too, and she introduced herself as Merta, a healer. She cut Joel’s shirt away, and hissed a little when she saw the gash on his side, but she got to work immediately, putting a strange-smelling poultice over it before wrapping Joel in bandages. She was gentle. At some point, someone came over with a cup of foul-tasting tea that Joel half-suspected was poison, but that he drank, nonetheless.
After the tea, he felt the grip he had on himself slipping away. The pain lessened, and he was so very tired. His muscles ached and he had been running for so long, unprotected—
The omega—Meskin—knelt down to brush a wrist over Joel’s forehead, a gentle claim with a soft, safe scent, and Joel fell asleep.