a new year

So a whole year had passed, huh? He's sitting on the stoop of his den, quietly mulling as the tribe tucks in for the night. He'd go and check on them all but for now it's just he and his thoughts. An entire otheryear back from his rite and he had still yet to find a mate. Nobody judged him, as he took care of the tribe on his own. But the only family he had was his father. Tuvo spoke to him plainly, as this subject had come up many a time. "You'll find them. They'll come to you, Verglas. Have patience." And Verglas tried, he really did. but he was so achingly lonely, watching another year pass by while tribemates showed up with their bondmates, as those who were stationary with him found love in others that found the tribe themselves. He ached. And had yet to find someone to soothe that ache to replace the intense rage he'd felt in the formative years of his rite. 

As he pondered this, his father walked in and immediately noticed the atmosphere and the expression on Verglas' face. "Thinking about it again?" He merely nodded. Tuvo took up a spot on the ground and prodded at the small fire in the centre of the wide room. Verglas spoke up in that voice that Tuvo had memorised since Verglas was a young pup. That small sad voice that made his own heart twinge in response. His boy, the pride of his life. The leader of an entire tribe on his own. "You've heard me say it, Ver. You will find that toskal; you will. Put your prayers to the sky and keep your nose down in the tribe. They'll come to you." Verglas hopes and wishes this is true, with all of his heart and soul.He stands and nods toward the door, time to make his rounds before settling in for the night.

Tuvo joins him in this walk, down the hill to the member dens as he ducks in to greet all of them; Tuvo is quiet the entire way, making polite chatter when prompted. Otherwise he stays quiet and plods along beside Verglas as he checks in on everyone, effectively tucking everyone in; new pups and elders alike. It's the last den they visit that turns out to be the most fulfilling that night. Heptare is alone, per usual. His missing horn marking him as undesirable to any and all toskals that he'd ever come across. Heptare is a gentle, hardworking soul. One whom Verglas had come to depend on in the mines. It's on this evening that Verglas realises he had someone he could relate to, on some level. They were both painfully alone. "Hm. Making your rounds?" Heptare looks up from where he's idly sharpening his pickaxe; winding down from the day. "We are, Good evening, Hep." Tuvo smiles as the younger Toskal. Tuvo then bids them both farewell with a parting "Verglas, Talk with him."

Heptare eyes them, both warily and wearily. He's tired from his day and not up to much chatter, especially not after such a suspicious parting sentiment. “You need me for anythin?” Heptare asks. He continues with his work and doesn’t make eye contact with the other toskal. “I know you’re alone,” Verglas blurts out in response. It’s surprising, to see the esteemed apex looking sheepish in his den. “Go on,” Heptare prompts him. “I haven’t found a mate and I’ve been back off my rite for three years now. I put my nose to the ground and do my best to take care of you all and I’m still alone. I feel alone, and it aches in my chest.” Verglas finishes his spiel and Heptare gently sets down his tools before facing him more fully, giving him his honest full attention. “If you think coming to a damaged toskal is going to help your lonely, I’m afraid I can’t do that. However I can tell you I’m lonely too. I love my job; the opportunity you gave me saved me from complete shame. Being useful to the tribe has given me a place, a home. But my ugliness still stings. I’m still unwanted. I’m still undesired. And that’s not something you can empathise with. You’ve got incredibly more likely a chance of finding a mate than I do, and that’s just how the cards fell. But I hear you.” Heptare pauses after this. And a quiet silence falls over them both as Verglas absorbs the words, the sentiments behind everything he’d just said. He felt bad in a way. Heptare was right, that Verglas knew, about the fact he was incredibly more likely to find a mate. Being an apex with intact horns made him a way more desirable candidate to other toskals than Heptare, with his broken stump. And yet here he’d come, to his den to complain to him. Verglas cursed his father in his head, that guilt rising to a crest as he broke eye contact. “I apologise if I’ve insulted you by coming in here like this,” Verglas dipped his head, intending on making a hasty retreat. Heptare only nodded in response. “I do understand the loneliness, however, I would try not to focus on that ache and focus more on what you do have.” It was a not so subtle jab at him for not counting his blessings, but Verglas didn’t whine. “Thank you, Heptare,” and then he was dipping out, walking backwards out the doorway and plodding along back to his own den now that he’d checked in on everyone. 

Verglas retreated back to his own den for the night, settling in after poking at the remaining embers of his fire that would burn out on their own as he slept. He had a family, he did. An entire tribe of toskals that cared for him and those that loved him. He had his father and Heptare, good friends to him when he needed. So he laid there in the dark and did just what he believed Heptare wanted him to do: he counted these blessings, his family, friends, and health, and he felt the ache in his chest subside for the first time in a long time. He’d find a mate, maybe not this year and maybe not the next, but they were out there; and it was only a matter of time before they met.