Legacy of the Deorum

Many responsibilities laid heavily on Eridanus' shoulders. The weight of his father's legacy. The weight of his past. The weight of those he'd lost. Even when he was younger, Eridanus was no stranger to demons. He remembered fighting over scraps with the other pups while the adults starved around them. He remembered the feeling of not leaving the den in fear that the other animals of the forest would pick him off. It was hard, but they endured. Through blizzards and wars, the Winter Lord's pack survived, even when all seemed lost.

That was, until the winter of his second year. The ice drought was particularly bad that season, and the hunters were having worse and worse luck each run. Normally, they would have just made it through with a few of the nursing she-wolfs and strongest adolescents, so long as their Alpha provided enough fertile females to each of his brothers' packs. But that year, out of 5 litters, only 2 females were born.

The leaders of the other packs were furious. They were tired of caring for their withering older brother Noxmyr, and decided to finish off the whole pack in one fell swoop. Eridanus was one of only 4 survivors--- Just a group of pups out playing in the holly. The red of the berries hid them amongst the blood as they lay witness to the fall of their families.

From that day forth, the four young wolves swore that they wouldn't fall to the same fate as their predecessors. They would look out for each other, siblings not by blood, but tragedy. So they set off in search of new land, finding a home in the rich Woodlands. To this day, their spirits still watch over the land, whispering promises of prosperity and loyalty.

Zosmat watches in the Spring, blooming with the flowers and swimming in the warming streams.

Fareskoll watches in the summer, rolling in the new sun's rays and running in the lush fields.

Calotrope watches in the fall, billowing with the browning leaves and leaving prints of the coming frost.

Then, of course, watches Eridanus from his cold perch of frost. Son of the great Noxmyr, he endures the cruelties of winter so that those after him may not, and never tires of watching his pups play in the shining snow.