Reflection [Post-Invasion]

Volibear would not stay and rest like the medics ordered. It was against his prerogative and the way of his kind. A way he was willing to bear his teeth for, which he did to a passing attendant trying to stop him this time. There were some that would envy him being able to stand, alive and able, so he must stand to give them a final respect by standing, even at the risk of reopening a wound or two. The Ursine chieftain and shaman almost look wild and untamed bear without his armor. His chest and underbelly were wrapped with bandages. As kha’Zhix spines had wounded him in various places, one shoulder was complete covered that he had restricted some movement, but this didn’t stop him from breaking though the snow, then dirt with his paws with his other Ursine comrades. They finished their work just outskirts of the Winter’s Claw tribe grounds, a traditional burial mount adorned with the armor of the fallen Ursine. A ceremonial fire was lit on top of the well crafted mound with a spark of lightning from the sky. As present shaman among the Ursine, he would not shirk any part of his respect as he gave the final rites to his dead Ursine warriors.

Blood and soil married his white fur as he returned to the camp, probably to receive an eventual reprimand that his ears ignored. On his way, he noticed the Yeti and younger Ursine talking among each other. The sight upset the chieftain, as every Ursine was supposed to help with the burial. The thought to reproach them made him look at his paws. He could go at them, putting the fear of the storm, with his dirty blood ridden paws, but instead he walked away to get himself better cleaned off. He found a somewhat discreet place away from the traffic to use the snow to rough away the dirt. He did this a few time until his paws were close enough, but ivory tone was all he could achieve.

It just won’t come off. Volibear whispered as he dried his paws off with a cloth that he found on one of the crates, though he was talking about more than the filth. His thoughts lost in his grief and the shuffle of personal rage that would take a scream to break though his reverie.

Which was exactly what happened…He heard scream, very close by? He rushed quickly in the tent, expecting an attacker of any sort, but inside, he found the boy. He recalled only a few days ago when he came to the village, and they chatted just briefly before the message was dropped. Volibear could only guess. The actual reality of war was not just for a child to take in and laugh off. No. It was imprinted in him, even when he is a paragon among people. The battle would curse him with a lasting scar that very few will completely heal from. Volbear walked slowly toward Nunu’s bed, somewhat relieved that nothing malicious tried to sneak into the camp.

However, what he saw was something that could not be healed by medicine or bravado. Instead, he took Nunu up off the bed, It wasn't the same threatening throw done on Nunu and Willump many times on the Fields of Justice. No, he lifted the boy up and hugged him, lending his white furred shoulder to cry on.

The Ursine did not speak, however...no words were needed right now.

Volibear held him while Nunu as he cried it out. Soon, the boy used all that energy and dozed off…Volibear sat down on the bed, letting Nunu sleep in his arms.

There was not much thought into it. It was more reaction, maybe paternal instinct that pushed him into doing what he did. There was a sense of empathy and compassion that always been one of the foundation in Volibear’s decisions. The Ursine were not warlike just for the heck of it. They did it to create a solace of safety, knowing that every one in their group will do their best to survive . . . like his brother, who pushed him out of death’s way during a hunt. Volibear has yet to forgive himself for his death. His comrades buried not to far from here, was another burden on his mind. The Ursine would need to bring back their warlike traditions if they were to survive what’s to come, but the chieftain kept asking himself over and over what he must sacrifice to ensure that his people are safe.

The Ursine found himself in another self-reverie, broken again as Nunu started to stir. Volibear chuckled gruffly, as he was called a lump of meat, and loosen his hug on Nunu, setting him on his furry knee. He heard the child’s request, pleading with him. “Of course.” Volibear agreed, though it was not possible to say no with those eyes.

“Are you feeling better?” The Ursine asked, expressing his concern.