07-26-2020, 07:04 PM
Where Tristan’s thunderous steps led, Nimeda flowed easily into the channel left in his wake. The earth trembled away from his passage, and the sharp gleam of a weapon squeezed hard in his hulking grip. Curiosity tinged with something cold, but she only followed. Though when the axe hit the stone in a shower of sparks she flinched at the sound, like the blade cleft bone instead. Her hands pressed tight over her ears, although the screams of struggle pierced deeper than pure sound as Tristan’s arm thrust deep into the fracture. Fear and fascination warred in a gaze that did not peel away. The dream warped, straining fierce as Tristan’s muscles as two worlds collided and reality groaned with the unnatural pressure.
A guttural roar snarled in a language she did not know when he finally snatched free, though the threat in it shuddered through her soul, pulsing out from him like a warcry. At first she did not perceive that he held anything at all in the curl of his grasp, for the shadow of him had darkened to something truly monstrous when he turned from the stone. She stared, lips parted in wonder and horror that kaleidoscoped freely across her expression. Watched too as that secret glimpse faded.
Afterwards, Tristan squatted against the stone. The soft light of the object in his hands began to fade and die as she came closer, but it was the sealed rift that drew her attention first. She reached a dripping arm over his head to run her hand over the smooth stone, stretching up to the tips of her toes before she folded down onto her knees in front of him. Water pooled out where she sat, unnoticed. Her eyes searched his face, as distant as if she searched constellations in the skies, and fingers leaned to trace where the warpaint returned across his cheek, the eyes above gold once more. Her palm cupped and she ran a thumb along his lip, but the teeth revealed were once again human. Her touch lingered. She blinked then, maybe because the sudden desire was unfamiliar when the call of it was her own, and finally realised that it was a heart he held in his hands.
"What did he ask of you?" Tristan had spoken of love and fear once before, about the uncle to whom the heart had once belonged. She did not even know why he had come to stand a stone pillar in this world and the Other both, though she doubted she would find the story pleasant. Nimeda had never been an instrument of justice, unless at the behest of others in ages long past, but neither did she grieve its brutality. Whatever had been asked and denied must be worth the price demanded. She was not squeamish of truth death. And she perceived something else as she reached out to touch it for the pure curiosity of knowing what such an impossible thing felt like.
Thorn Paw had begun to accept that WyldFyre would always return to his first den in the dream. He may not like it of course, and he never let it be forgotten that he didn't, but as long as the pup continued on his rightful path the old wolf no longer battled it. He had been pleased the first time WyldFyre brought Long Eye to the den, and now there were other wolves to run with; those who lived truly in the world beyond, and welcomed the two-legs finally into pack. It swelled Thorn Paw with pride, but also reminded him of the ache in his bones. Often now he left the running to the young ones, content to know that WyldFyre would finally know true belonging. Perhaps a mate would soothe tempestuousness where the kinship of an old wolf could not. The promise of pups might even finally break loose those lingering bonds to the Twisted One's grave. Though admittedly two-legs were usually slow about it, even when primal urges joined them frequently. Long seasons might pass before that joyful news. Thorn Paw just hoped he was still here to see it.
He still kept his vigil at the cottage from time to time, but preferred the warmer climes of soft grass and shady trees, where he could still hear the howls of his brothers and sisters rather than Ice Land's echoing silence. It was where he rested now, in a den that had once housed his pack in the world beyond the wolfdream and still stirred fond memories of pups and good hunting. He drifted content, until the tremors of distant howls finally twitched his ears. The sending was confused, fraught with gnashing teeth and impossible things, uncertain of the enemy, but it was the image of a burning wildfire stinking with the sulphurous smoke of a twisted one's taint that finally urged Thorn Paw to his feet.
I go, he said swiftly, snapping others to stay back from the danger.
He bounded and shifted to the first den, a snarl pricking his lips even before the confusion of scent became clear. Hackles prickled a ridge along his back. The Twisted One’s stone was impossibly scentless, and WyldFyre smelled different in a way that pulled a confused growl from Thorn Paw’s throat. He stalked closer, uncertain, and dismayed further to recognise his brother’s company. He had warned WyldFyre away from her reasonably enough. The forgotten one smelled of sweet water and sun now, but pack's memory was long and they knew good reason to be wary of her. Like another predator stalking the same territory the wolves watched her, but from a distance. There was no reason to interact with her. He had told WyldFyre all this, and had believed him to understand.
Disappointment pricked his ears low. Once more the pup chose not to listen, and the old wolf was insulted by the disregard more than he was angry at the discovery. The scent of recent mating cloyed. WyldFyre was a full grown male, and Thorn Paw did not question the urges, only the choice. Not for the first time the old wolf lamented how late they had found this pup, and how belligerent he proved to be with even the simple things. He fought everything! Else the Twisted One's blood steered him wrong, poisoned his truer nature. Thorn Paw did not judge that taint, for Wyldfyre was pack in all the ways that mattered, but he wished his brother would accept that he was wolf and nothing else, whatever lies his blood told him.
What has happened? Our brothers and sisters swarm like they rally to the Last Hunt. A threat sounded out through the wolfdream, but I find only you. Has the danger passed?
The pillar was empty. A heart rested in Wyldfyre’s hands like he had wrenched the last snuff of life from the enemy. For a moment pride burst, but something was still wrong.
You smell to me like the Twisted Ones, Wyldfyre. Has the forgotten one done something to you? He stalked closer like he might chase her away himself. She had no business being here, and his lip curled. Hostility prickled the tone of the last question, but also the expectation for pack to follow now. WyldFyre obediently stepped aside when the forgotten one tried to use him for a shield from Thorn Paw’s view before, and Thorn Paw expected the same to happen now, for they were pack and pack came first.
A guttural roar snarled in a language she did not know when he finally snatched free, though the threat in it shuddered through her soul, pulsing out from him like a warcry. At first she did not perceive that he held anything at all in the curl of his grasp, for the shadow of him had darkened to something truly monstrous when he turned from the stone. She stared, lips parted in wonder and horror that kaleidoscoped freely across her expression. Watched too as that secret glimpse faded.
Afterwards, Tristan squatted against the stone. The soft light of the object in his hands began to fade and die as she came closer, but it was the sealed rift that drew her attention first. She reached a dripping arm over his head to run her hand over the smooth stone, stretching up to the tips of her toes before she folded down onto her knees in front of him. Water pooled out where she sat, unnoticed. Her eyes searched his face, as distant as if she searched constellations in the skies, and fingers leaned to trace where the warpaint returned across his cheek, the eyes above gold once more. Her palm cupped and she ran a thumb along his lip, but the teeth revealed were once again human. Her touch lingered. She blinked then, maybe because the sudden desire was unfamiliar when the call of it was her own, and finally realised that it was a heart he held in his hands.
"What did he ask of you?" Tristan had spoken of love and fear once before, about the uncle to whom the heart had once belonged. She did not even know why he had come to stand a stone pillar in this world and the Other both, though she doubted she would find the story pleasant. Nimeda had never been an instrument of justice, unless at the behest of others in ages long past, but neither did she grieve its brutality. Whatever had been asked and denied must be worth the price demanded. She was not squeamish of truth death. And she perceived something else as she reached out to touch it for the pure curiosity of knowing what such an impossible thing felt like.
Thorn Paw had begun to accept that WyldFyre would always return to his first den in the dream. He may not like it of course, and he never let it be forgotten that he didn't, but as long as the pup continued on his rightful path the old wolf no longer battled it. He had been pleased the first time WyldFyre brought Long Eye to the den, and now there were other wolves to run with; those who lived truly in the world beyond, and welcomed the two-legs finally into pack. It swelled Thorn Paw with pride, but also reminded him of the ache in his bones. Often now he left the running to the young ones, content to know that WyldFyre would finally know true belonging. Perhaps a mate would soothe tempestuousness where the kinship of an old wolf could not. The promise of pups might even finally break loose those lingering bonds to the Twisted One's grave. Though admittedly two-legs were usually slow about it, even when primal urges joined them frequently. Long seasons might pass before that joyful news. Thorn Paw just hoped he was still here to see it.
He still kept his vigil at the cottage from time to time, but preferred the warmer climes of soft grass and shady trees, where he could still hear the howls of his brothers and sisters rather than Ice Land's echoing silence. It was where he rested now, in a den that had once housed his pack in the world beyond the wolfdream and still stirred fond memories of pups and good hunting. He drifted content, until the tremors of distant howls finally twitched his ears. The sending was confused, fraught with gnashing teeth and impossible things, uncertain of the enemy, but it was the image of a burning wildfire stinking with the sulphurous smoke of a twisted one's taint that finally urged Thorn Paw to his feet.
I go, he said swiftly, snapping others to stay back from the danger.
He bounded and shifted to the first den, a snarl pricking his lips even before the confusion of scent became clear. Hackles prickled a ridge along his back. The Twisted One’s stone was impossibly scentless, and WyldFyre smelled different in a way that pulled a confused growl from Thorn Paw’s throat. He stalked closer, uncertain, and dismayed further to recognise his brother’s company. He had warned WyldFyre away from her reasonably enough. The forgotten one smelled of sweet water and sun now, but pack's memory was long and they knew good reason to be wary of her. Like another predator stalking the same territory the wolves watched her, but from a distance. There was no reason to interact with her. He had told WyldFyre all this, and had believed him to understand.
Disappointment pricked his ears low. Once more the pup chose not to listen, and the old wolf was insulted by the disregard more than he was angry at the discovery. The scent of recent mating cloyed. WyldFyre was a full grown male, and Thorn Paw did not question the urges, only the choice. Not for the first time the old wolf lamented how late they had found this pup, and how belligerent he proved to be with even the simple things. He fought everything! Else the Twisted One's blood steered him wrong, poisoned his truer nature. Thorn Paw did not judge that taint, for Wyldfyre was pack in all the ways that mattered, but he wished his brother would accept that he was wolf and nothing else, whatever lies his blood told him.
What has happened? Our brothers and sisters swarm like they rally to the Last Hunt. A threat sounded out through the wolfdream, but I find only you. Has the danger passed?
The pillar was empty. A heart rested in Wyldfyre’s hands like he had wrenched the last snuff of life from the enemy. For a moment pride burst, but something was still wrong.
You smell to me like the Twisted Ones, Wyldfyre. Has the forgotten one done something to you? He stalked closer like he might chase her away himself. She had no business being here, and his lip curled. Hostility prickled the tone of the last question, but also the expectation for pack to follow now. WyldFyre obediently stepped aside when the forgotten one tried to use him for a shield from Thorn Paw’s view before, and Thorn Paw expected the same to happen now, for they were pack and pack came first.
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