Raising a Wild Pup
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Akela is 3.
Summary: Geralt deals with a tantrum, watches the sun set, and goes swimming. In one evening. That's his superpower. He calls it fatherhood.
Akela was a good girl.
As good as a three-year-old could be, that was.
She ate well, slept like the dead as long as she was in his arms, never wandered off, and was—generally—a model child.
But of course, as it was with most three-year-olds, even the well-behaved ones had their moments, and she was not immune to them.
It was summer, and the nights were warm, therefore he had no reason to worry about sleeping outside. On cold nights he would rent out a room in an inn; Akela's health was and always had been paramount since the day he'd laid eyes on her in that wicker basket. Not to mention he'd quite forgotten the vulnerabilities of humans—especially little humans—and the small fact that being open to the cold for hours could make them sick.
In fact, he'd quite forgotten a lot about humans, and had only realised that after he'd taken the girl in.
One thing was for certain, though. His parenting—or whatever he called it—was done on his own terms. After all, he'd had nobody to learn from. If he followed through with his own mother's tendencies, he may as well have left the baby in the basket. He couldn't remember what she'd been like before she'd given him up, but he doubted any of it had been what you would call exemplar. There had been Vesemir of course, but as much as Geralt appreciate his mentor, the nurturing qualities surrounding his childhood at the Keep weren't particularly ones he wished to idolise, either.
Since when did he have the time to learn, anyway?
Like he'd said, Akela was a good girl. So, he'd done well.
Tantrums, he was pleased— and proud—to say, were a rare occurrence in his life. Thank fuck.
But, as he'd already said, even the well-behaved ones had their moments.
He'd found a spot in the woods by a lake to make camp and was at present moment untacking Roach. Akela had toddled off a moment before with some blankets. She liked to help, though usually with the dangerous things, so he always made sure to act as though laying out blankets for beds was the most important job in the world.
She finished, quickly this time, and bounded back over to him not a second after he'd removed Roach's bridle.
"I help?" she asked, curling the tiny fingers of a little hand around his trouser leg.
Geralt handed the bridle to her, careful in ensuring it wasn't too heavy for her to handle before letting go. "Bring this over there," he told her, and she gladly did as was asked, turning and racing off. He watched her for a moment, heart making the tiniest of leaps as she tripped over a rock and almost went flying, but it settled as she righted herself and continued as though she hadn't stumbled at all.
He returned to Roach, patted her neck, and was halfway through unbuckling the girth of her saddle when he felt those fingers at his leg again. "I help 'gain?"
"No, it's alright. I can do the rest myself. Why don't you go and wait for me back—"
"Gee, I help!"
Geralt turned his head down and raised an eyebrow, hands halting at the buckle. "I said I can do it. Go and wait for me back at the blankets for your dinner."
He'd known what was inevitably going to come from the moment she'd interrupted him. The little thing was very intent on helping him with things; so intent that she'd start crying if she was told there was nothing to help with. Geralt could calm her down easily enough when that happened… it was the rare yet occasional outburst that changed things.
He tried not to get angry or shout when she did—what good would that do except convince her that if he could have a tantrum then so could she?—but simply remained calm and, with all his willpower, did his best to let it blow over. After all, she never had tantrums unless she was tired or hungry, and he knew both of those problems would be resolved soon enough.
Akela's eyebrows furrowed. "No!"
His hand reached down to pat the little one still attached to his clothes. "Yes. Go."
"No! No! Gee, no! I help!"
Sighing, Geralt slid the saddle off his horse. "Akela. Please go and sit down."
The little mite looked just about ready to blow, but the moment he moved to stare down at her in warning, she clenched her tiny jaw, balled her tiny fists, and turned, storming off quite dramatically.
His eyes followed her, making certain she wasn't in enough of a mood to stomp off somewhere he couldn't see her, and made a noise of masked amusement when she plopped herself down in front of a tree, arms crossed and narrowed eyes glaring harshly at thin air.
He finished with Roach minutes later and proceeded to make his way over to the blankets Akela had sloppily lain out on the ground. He sat down, fixed them, and then bent his legs, wrapping his arms around them and staring out at the lake.
The sun was setting. He loved watching the sun set. So did Akela. She was an inquisitive human, and her eyes would always widen when she saw the 'big yewow ball' suddenly disappear in a magical haze of reds and oranges. The colours would reflect in her big eyes, and he'd turn and just look at them, because they were so beautiful, and he liked to be reminded sometimes that his life wasn't all bad.
A little sniff alerted him to the fact that she was still sulking to a tree. She looked so small, slouching slightly, arms still crossed over her chest, hair still tied in the braid he'd put there that morning.
"Are you going to come and sit with me?" he called out to her.
She glanced over her shoulder, and he barely refrained from grinning at the supposedly frustrate look on her red face. "No!"
"Why?"
"I angry!"
He turned back to gaze at the sunset. "Why are you angry?"
"You say no!"
"Yes, I did say no, and if you come over here, I'll tell you why." He didn't look at her. He stayed staring ahead, waiting for the inevitable.
After about thirty seconds, he heard the little crunching of leaves as she raced over, and hummed victoriously to himself.
"Hello, there," he said. She was stood next to him, dried silvery tear tracks running from her eyes. "Are you feeling calmer?" When she nodded, he crossed his legs in front of him and received a lap full of Akela in no time. He still found it amusing how she more or less had to clamber up onto him, even while he was sitting down. He'd never thought himself that big until he realised just how little she was.
He wrapped his arms around her once she'd shifted into a comfortable enough position. "I sorry, Gee," Akela mumbled after a while, "I jus' wanna help."
"I know you do," he told her. "But sometimes it's easier to let me do things alone," he told her, craning his head to look down. "And quicker. It means you'll get your dinner faster." He briefly blew at her ear, and she giggled, curling in on herself. "So, next time I ask you to do something, what do you do?"
"Uhh… lis'n."
"Yes. You listen, and you do as you're told. And you remain my good girl."
She nodded, moving up just enough to grab his cheeks and place a messy kiss on the tip of his nose. He smiled, brushed the hair from her face and waited until she'd settled back down before pointing out towards the setting sun. "Look at that, Akela," he said quietly.
"Is b'tiful, Gee."
"It is beautiful."
She suddenly jumped, as though something exciting had abruptly come to her mind, and turned in Geralt's lap. He looked at her expectantly.
"Gee! We s'im? P'ease?"
He contemplated that. Only last month had she began learning to swim, one of the first survival skills he would be drilling into her as she got older. She was already quite good, which didn't surprise him.
Truthfully, he had been about to say no.
"Is okay if you say no, Gee."
Oh, what the hell? She needed a bath anyway.
"Alright," he relented. The little girl's face lit up with happiness and a huge, toothy smile graced her lips.
He stood and walked slowly down to the lake, an ever-watchful eye on Akela as she bounded on ahead, reaching the water in no time and happily splashing in the shallows as she waited for him to reach her.
And, as he walked, his eyes found the beauty again.
In nature's canvas, held up by the dimming sun, painted a lustrous melange of all those eternal colours and melding into the epitome of sublimity.
In the whispering breeze which surrounded him, heading towards the sun to bid her a good night.
But most of all in the little girl, whose giggles warmed his heart, soothed his soul, and reminded him of what he was living for.
