It was nearing the end of the warm seasons when his world was shaken down to its foundations yet again. Mogar and his mother had been preparing their winter den; lining it with new furs and stocking up on dried meats, fruits and grasses. It was routine, it was familiar. It was ruined by the coloured people. When the first of the cold winds swept over the city they had stumbled their way into the forest and invited Mogar and his mother into their den in the city for the cold seasons. They tried using the promise of plenty of food, a special room just for him and his mother and more than enough space for his furs, if he did not want the wooden bed they offered, to try and sway him. They must have heard him wrong when he said he would ask his mother and come to them before all the leaves were orange if she said yes, because two days later his home is filled with five unfortunately familiar voices.
The blue one is as loud and energetic as ever, pulling a red wagon with squeaky wheels and a worrying amount of precariously stacked boxes nearly spilling out of it. He keeps talking about adventures and justice and friendship. Behind the wagon the green one is supporting an especially wobbly stack of the boxes and grumbling about turf and attention stealing furries. But Mogar frowns when he hears the curious female chattering away about behind-the-scene-coverage and family ties having something to do with instincts and vigilants. He does not understand all of what she is talking about but he does not like it.
The one who usually reeks of urine and sadness is mostly silent unless to tell the coloured people to be quiet or to 'hurry the hell up'. But his stink now is more of the general city scent and the smell of sadness doesn't linger around him anymore. He is looking at the younger ones with a slight smile on his face. Mogar shifts on his perch in the canopy to try and follow their path when the ponytail lady runs up to the small pack and begins pushing them along the way to reach the new home that they had helped him build when the coloured people and the curious female destroyed his old treehouse.
Then there is a round blue and white thing in his face and he is falling out of the tree he was perched in. His back stings and there's a slight ringing in his head as his lungs try to suck in air. The faces of the small pack he has been tracking start crowding into his field of vision, closing around him and for a moment it's too much. He is being overwhelmed by loud voices and sharp, unnatural, scents. Another voice cuts through and the coloured people are the first pushed away as the ponytail lady comes into view. He stares at her as she scolds the others and hauls him up to his feet. She drags him along, even as he digs his heels in and growls low in his throat.
"Oh muzzle it will ya? I'm already dealing with two children, I don't need to add a dog."
He glares at her with the barest hint of teeth but keeps any growling and grumbles of protest to the slightest rumble at the back of his throat. She nods and lets go of his hand, back to keeping the rest of the small pack on track. She gets them working on packing up all of his belongings once they reach his new treehouse. There's not much, but she doesn't comment on it like the coloured people do.
What she does do is make use of the coloured people's energy to haul boxes full of what worldly possessions he has. And she fixes him with a stare that has him obeying with bowed head when she demands to see the den he had planned on staying in with his mother. She plans to pack that up too. He stands back with his mother and the one who now only smells of bitter drink and contentment to watch as she shows the other three how to carefully wrap his furs before placing them in the boxes. She does not stop directing and wrangling the discordant group until he and his mother are standing in a room at the coloured people's den that looks like they scooped the cave the two usually spent their winters in and stuck it into the ground beneath the building.
"I tried my best to make it as close to the real thing as possible." He jumps at the sudden voice next to him, so soft it doesn't even echo in the vast cavern. His mother looks completely unfazed.
"You made this," he gestures to the cave, "For Mogar and his mother?"
"Well, yeah, the dweebs burned your house down and did a shit job of rebuilding it so someone had to clean up their mess." She frowns a little and shrugs. "And I guess you guys are friends too, almost one of the family." She gives him a small smile and a wink. "Almost." Mogar just stares at her until she frowns again and sighs. "What?"
"Why do you take care of them so much? Are they your cubs?" He doesn't quite understand why this makes her laugh, he just knows that he likes the sound.
"Oh this is going to be interesting," she wheezes out. "I cannot wait until Gavin decides its safe to ask you shit."
"Oi, Mogar!" He turns to see the blue one with Mogar's sword in one hand and one of his daggers in the other. "Do you think I could throw the sword like a knife and like, pin into the wall? 'Ave you ever done anythin' like that? Can you show us?"
"Mogar just stared at him. This man, this warrior who had vanquished the Mad King, this force of nature who Mogar had seen nearly destroy himself in his quest to protect this city, was going to die because he didn't know how to use something as simple as a sword. He turned to the ponytail lady who was still smiling at him and the coloured people's foolishness. "Is it too late for Mogar to return to the forest?"
