Dragonfly

A raven sitting on the branch

A raven sitting on a branch
is never afraid that it will crunch,
he trusts his own wings.

(German proverb)

"My Lord, don't go there…"

"What's the matter, Mild. Is Gulf sick?"

"No... you know, I can't smell it, but you... you don't need to be there, my Lord."

Mew, of course, guesses what's going on: Dragonfly, usually sleeping right behind the hearth, not even recognizing beds of straw covered with canvas cloth, is quietly whining somewhere in Mild's nook today.

"Is he really sick?"

"It's all right. Don't worry. By the morning he will be fine, only for two or three more days let the alphas not come across."

Mew nods, frowning slightly. They haven't seen each other for almost a week anyway: since that failed "competition" Gulf has been noticeably hurt by the king's taunts. And even though Mew had no intention of offending him, neither omega nor he himself decided to seek a meeting.

And if I go in? What will happen? We're brothers, after all.

Bjorn's contented face appears in the kitchen doorway.

"Get out of here!" Mild splashes his hands. "You haven't been enough here yet! You'd better go and help me with the firewood—" he is already pushing alpha, offended by the unfriendly reception, out of the kitchen.

Mew hesitates, but still decides to visit the omega. Even before he turns the corner, he reflexively covers his nose and mouth with his palm… But, having given himself a breath, he does not feel anything special. Nothing that is described as a wave of wild desire to master "your" omega, nothing that could make you experience a sweet heaviness in the lower abdomen.

And why would I? Even if we weren't brothers… Who said I should feel something?

There have been omegas in the hall and long houses before. And on such days they always had a bag with some tricky herbs that kept the local alphas from going crazy about the fantastic smell of their heat. Surely, - mused Mew to himself, - such a child of the forest as Gulf has long found the right remedy for his problem.

He finds his brother leaning back against the wall, with his knees tucked up to his chest, covered with an old shawl. Noticing him, Dragonfly stubbornly purses his lips and starts playing with his squirrel, pretending that he doesn't care about Mew's presence nearby.

"Won't you even greet me?" the alpha addresses him through a hoarse cough. "What is it that you smell so pungent?"

Without looking at him, Gulf replies:

"There is nothing for such an important alpha to do in the kitchen. As for the smell, Mild doesn't complain. I wasn't expecting you."

"What the ceremonies… And you can't say that less than a month ago he aimed an arrow at my heart and took silver for his services as a guide."

Gulf frowns, finally shifting his gaze to Mew:

"If I aimed at the heart — I would hit the target. Take my word for it. But you really should leave now."

Actually, Mew is amused by how this omega always switches to formal "you" when he is angry and offended, as if he wants to build a wall between them with these ceremonies.

"I hurt you, didn't I? Then, at the archery range?"

"No. Just don't joke about something that will never be true."

Still hurt ...

"All right. How are you, anyway? Maybe you need something... if it hurts?"

"Oh, it's not pain!" Gulf snaps shrilly. "It's just... in a word, what am I going to explain to you? And... what are you? Do you inquire about all the omegas on such days here?"

"No," Mew answers without hesitation.

"M. So, was I especially honored?"

"You could say that."

Gulf grunts without softening his gaze, and Mew seizes a moment to see him so... weak and struggling with his own pride. He was used to alphas like Sverre often making lewd comments about the face and body of some cute omega. But for some reason, the memory of that particular incident in the Honey hall always resonates so painfully in his heart.

It's because of Gulf that he wants to clench his teeth and imagine how he kills a drunken scoffer before he dares to bring his sweaty paw to strike again. But what annoyed Mew more was when some alpha from his hird showed that he was worried about Gulf, while Mew was sure that they only cared about themselves and their dicks, and no one else.

"We're going on a raid soon. We rarely take omegas with us, but you're a special case, right?"

Gulf's eyes really do look like dragonflies:

"Do you want to take me?!"

"I want to."

And again this proud resentment:

"You or your hird to entertain? No... I'd rather keep an eye on Mild."

Mew understands that he can't take this omega with his bare hands:

"Have it your way. I won't force you."

Mew adjusts the sword behind his back and is already heading for the exit when he hears:

"What? Don't even talk me into it?"

The king grins without uttering a word. Slowly, he begins to understand how to behave with such a rebellious younger brother.

***

Gulf has never been near even the cold sea in summer. And he had never stood on the deck of a ship in his life, which at first reminded him of monsters from ancient legends. But the journey itself turned out to be the worst. Not used to the pitching, the North-East and the smell of sea salt, the omega was turning his guts out every hour. Mew just shook his head: of his hird, of course, there were those who laughed at the unfortunate child, the alpha himself was already beginning to regret that he had invited him with him… But he didn't know how to leave him "without proper supervision" either. And no matter how much Mew convinced himself that it was all about the word given to his father... it was self-deception. Consciously or not, he wanted to take care of his brother.

Seeing Gulf's torment, Mew wanted to take him below deck, but it's even harder to breathe there.

"Come here—" he says decisively in a deep voice, taking Gulf to an empty corner, away from the noise. He sits down, but Gulf hesitates before being pulled towards him so that his back is pressed against Mew's chest. The latter wraps him in his own coat, which gives a feeling of warmth, but it seems insignificant compared to the feeling of warmth that comes from the alpha's body.

"The-e-y all..." the omega's jaws are still cramping from the cold, "the-e-yy a-all l-laugh ov-v-er m-me..."

"Don't listen to them," Mew seems to be ordering, or maybe calming him down before wrapping his brother more tightly in furs, "I'm with you."

Perhaps for the first time Gulf obeys without the usual objections. Instead, he focuses on the measured beating of Mew's heart under his ear and the sound with which the ship crashes into the water, moving further in its voyage, leaving its native shores far behind.