In Dire Straits - i'm stealing, nah hah

How long did it take for someone to fall into deep slumber?

In the space where reality faded away and blissful unawareness forced the mindscape to surrender?

Schokolade knew—and what did that say about her?—or rather, she specifically knew about two wolves in particular. Many moons of guestimates and half-formulated schemes had managed to bring forth a personal wealth she didn’t really comprehend. She didn’t do what she did, wait with steady heart and a callous mind, because she craved the power that came with the benefits of the action. She had power. Plenty of it through blood. No, she did what she did, there in the brush, because it brought with it a deep sense of satisfaction.

A thrill.

And it was habit.

Traditional…. Yes, that seemed right.

It certainly kept her mind off other unsavory topics.

And who was she to deny the Court of Bones this tradition? The act of her being, silent and graceful, as she slipped across the space between the mouth of Shatter’s home and the brush she had taken as cover as evening fell. Her presence was no doubt wanted, and she’d make sure to appease the worthy with it.

So she snuck, belly down, breath health, past lumps she assumed were unconscious in these early horrific hours before dawn, and took to the treasures of Shatter’s hoard.

To steal away in her little pouch of course.

Koko is here to steal from the court of phalanx!

he morning air was thick with the warmth and security afforded to the early hours of the dark morning, when life paused with the quiet snoring of sleep. Alteron, the bustling and vibrant place that it is, still had periods of rest, when the forest took a breath and lingered in the ease before daybreak. Even beasts like Shatter succumbed to sleep, with her tiny bundles nestled around her. Melek always took the chance to get close to their mother, tucked between the warm bodies of their parents. Their pelts helped regulate the tiny pup's temperature, keeping them warm and toasty even during the chill night. It was also one of the few times that Melek could seek out physical affection from their mother, even if it was simply out of the idea of necessity (not even Shatter wished to see her children struggle with the morning frost).

After a long day of childish exploration, discovering new things and consuming more of what Alteron had to offer, it was easy to waddle back to the den with the weight of fatigue heavy upon one's shoulders. Melek Taus scurried after their siblings, too tired to even gnaw at Mordred's smug face as they quickly fought over sleeping space. Eventually all of the siblings settled in amongst their parents, nestling pleasantly in the warmth of their home.

But the peace was always interrupted. Morning came soon enough and Melek was always awoken with a hard nudge or small nip, to get them up onto their paws and out into the world to learn as much as they could. Today, though, was different. Mischief found the Phalanx den in the silent evening, well before the hints of the sun reached out from the horizon. The whole family was snugly tucked into the den, snoozing soundly curled up against each other. It would be easy to miss disturbances in the familiar quiet, as the sanctity of their den had never been challenged. Soft paw steps echoed in the den as Koko stepped over its residents, her intent lost to the sleeping bodies. That was until she barely nudged the tiny body of one pup as they nuzzled into their mother's leg.

Melek blinked awake owlishly, confused by the darkness that greeted them. It took a moment for the blurriness to flee from their vision as they adjusted, stretching out their short baby legs as they yawned indulgently. As they smacked their lips movement caught their eye and they turned their head. Melek expected to see a naughty sibling resisting the lure of sleep, but was instead greeted by the unfamiliar figure of their father's sister picking through the pouch of valuables that was kept at the back of the den. It took a moment for Melek to realize that things were amiss, beyond just someone else being amongst the sleeping family, and they let out a shrill noise of alarm. Even though they recognized Koko from when they were introduced to the family, they were very much aware that she was not supposed to be here. Not right now. "What are you doing?," they barked, surprised and startled. They waited just a second before they drew a deep breath and shrieked, "MOOOOOOOOOOM!"

we've got some graves to fill
and a slaughterhouse to run

Sleep was not easily won in the House Phalanx. Bedtime was always an agonizing affair -- Shatter's catastrophe of children were prone to bolting off in every which way when faced with the possibility of early rest, undeterred by any physical reprimand. Though the battle was always difficult, inevitably Shatter always stood triumphant over her calamitous spawn, even if she was forced to stain her teeth and bruise her knuckles in the struggle. Explosion, protest, violence, screaming, and then silence. Midnight crept sluggishly by in gloom and rare stillness, the kind of tranquility of a deserted battlefield still suffocated with gunpowder and death.

Shatter's den, the domain of her coven, had a way of devouring all outside sound, and she slept with complete lifelessness, not peace. As an intruder stole within her dominion and crept away with their prize, she did not even move. There was a real possibility that Schokolade, who so skillfully eluded the pitfalls and traps of her home, could have slipped in and out without any sort of notice and Shatter would not have realized until the morning after.

Fortunately for her, other occupants of her den were more rooted to the living. Melek stirred beside Shatter. She slept through his twitching. She slept until he saw Schokolade and he screamed for his mother.

A single orange eye flickered open like a harvest moon peering through the dark, and in an instant, Shatter was on her feet. There was no transitional period between sleep and groggy, reluctant wakefulness. She was dead and then she was alive, turning her vile stare on Melek first, vengeful and seething, and then, when she realized that he was not the source of the disturbance, reconfiguring onto Schokolade's fleeing form. KILL, flashed the message behind her eyes. KILL. She didn't know that it was Antaeus's flesh and blood; the kin of her queen. She just knew her as Trespasser and Thief.

Shatter was off like a blast of buckshot, illuminating the den as brightly and as violently as an explosion, and she bolted for Schokolade in pursuit. Drooling teeth snap snap snapped at the locomotive hocks, frenetically grabbing for anything that would stop her retreat, hoping to punish her for any stumble or misstep. If Shatter's charges were awoken by the commotion, if they were smart, they would follow her cue.

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Sleep found their little family easily at night. Mordred, at least, fell almost effortlessly into a deep slumber. A warm, full belly and soft fur to snuggle into was practically a nightly routine for the plump boy. They were growing, slowly and steadily but they were growing. Mordred was growing a little more, in size and width that he'd noticed. Greedy gluttonous boy that he was, the shoved his pale face against the warm stomach of his father to doze and snore. Mother was for food, when the Viscount felt like it, and Father was for snuggles. The sun had stretched over the sky as they learnt, now tuckered out and sleeping soundly. At least, if it were not for a sneaky thief...

Crickets still chirped in the early dusk, the sun barely peaking out over the far, far mountains to attempt to shine at the waking world. Juicy rabbit legs, tender bird cuts and other ample foods swam through the boy's mind in his dreams. A slobbering string of dribble slowly oozed from his maw as he slept belly up, fat form rolling about in the night to get comfortable. It was with a hint of annoyance that he awoke, the serene atmosphere pierced by Melek's screeching voice howling right down his ears. Mordred's heart leapt against his ribcage, paws frantically scrambling to upright himself as the alarm sounded.

Molten fire eyes snapped awake to see the intruder, sleep and darkness obscuring his vision as a startled yelp slipped from his throat. Beginnings of a growl sounded from his throat as his mother tore off out of the den like a bullet, snapping yowls and roaring snarls echoing between Alteron's trees. Albiet far, far slower; the plump boy waddled after the pair, body shivering with a fury that his sleep had been interrupted. If any in Alteron still slumbered, Mordred made sure to quickly correct that with his shrieking and screaming.

"GET HER, MA!!! GET HER BONES!!!!"

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Jyggalag was permitted to sleep without his mask. A small blessing and one that he was grateful for, not that he fully understood why the muzzle was such a consistent part of his life now. He had never thought to ask (nor had he ever been given the opportunity, considering his mother preferred his company when it was on). He had never been terribly good at sleeping, though, with or without the presence of the muzzle. His mind was an unending buzz of thoughts, rarely with any sort of direction, often repetitive and confusing. He had barely closed his eyes and slipped into an uneasy rest when he awoken again, by the shrill alarm of Melek Taus.

The runt's head shot up, tattered ears springing into an erect, alart position as he wildly looked around their small den for the source of the trouble, eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness. He, unlike his mother, was slow to rouse, his body creaking and aching from a restless night and shallow sleep. It took him a good few moments to comprehend what was happening. One moment Mama was there next to him, a warm and frightening presence, the next she was gone, an oily smear through the shadows, pursuing the intruder that had infiltrated their home. Mordred was at her feet, barrelling after her.

An instinctive need to conform had Jyggalag following suit. Spurred on by the frenzy, he stumbled to his feet and wobbled after his family, crooked jaw contorting into a childish attempt at a snarl. Mordred was heckling, goading on the situation, pining for blood. Jyggalag added his own noise to the commotion: a shrill, incessant shrieking that fluctuated and broke as his larynx struggled to deliver. Only when he was within proximity of the thief did the noise end, and he began to throw sharp little nips towards her ankles.

It was a valiant attempt at viciousness, but really all he'd achieve would be getting under Shatter's feet. If he was lucky, he'd draw a little blood from the pale girl. Something to show for his efforts.