"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
They say that fate decides, but Circinae had long buried that notion. If anything, her life had been proof of the opposite - fate would have left her to ravage herself and all those who crept too close. Action had led her to Ruan, to Canaan, to Jah-Lilah … to discovering herself.
Now it rouses her from the clutter of a makeshift nest, something pieced together with bits of clinging moss and soft bracken. Circinae stretches world-weary paws first, parts her jagged mouth to curl a pink tongue in a long yawn, and then finishes with a hearty shake in anticipation for the morning’s run. She has quite a ways to travel; from her re-discovered den in Taiga to Sylva and then the Beach: a busy day. One she’s been waiting on for quite some time.
Leaving her beloved new Kingdom had been best, especially after she had released Canaan from her soul. He and Jah-Lilah had no place there anymore; the withering heart of a mortal cannot sustain the endless love of those who are closer to gods, and she knows this. But, as she pads away on deft toes, she recalls them both anyways - it does not diminish the drive in her pace to fondly think on them both, nor does it ease the ebb of necessary pain - Canaan and his proud wings, his strange sense of the elements, his golden skin that seemed to burn with life and never would be snuffed out. He had given her children and love, laughter and joy, sadness and sorrow. And so much more.
Jah-Lilah, her spark-and-flame, lightning formed by Zeus in the shape of a horse. Her true soulmate but alas, meant to climb the stars for all eternity. Circy smiles to herself at the notion of red and gold painting the heavens. Their babes would outnumber the grains of sand on Ischia’s beaches. Live long and prosper, my Heart.
It’s mid morning now and the subtle shade of brown-gray beneath her feet turns to brilliant orange and scarlet. Quietly the little brown wolf slips past the borders of Sylva and plummets into the heart, right to the base of a mighty boulder where her son, Crevan, rests beneath. Watching him she can see the grace and neverending beauty of youth. He was three now and gown, but as she had surmised with her dual lovers before, so she correctly surmises now that he is touched by some higher power. Immortality suits him, though. It always would. “Crevan?” She whispers, slinking forward as her get raises a massive, pale head to stare in her direction.
He doesn’t hesitate to rise and greet her. They’d met briefly, some time ago. Talked about how much they hated each other, first, and then how much they hated how this life had turned out for them. Crevan had wept at the bitter mention of a spotted mare, Kuma who had come to Sylva some time ago by accident and left Sylva nearly dead due to his own actions. Circinae in turn had wept freely about the loss of Canaan, Jah, and Ischia. Misery seemed to love company.
It was then that they’d decided to go. Circinae had the ability and Crevan had all the time in the universe, so it made sense. They’d set the date, made the time, and now all that was left was going through with it. “Are you ready?” She asks him, tilting a circular head with curiosity over how he’d been wrapping up his loose ends here. “As I’ll ever be.” He tells her, and it still surprises the she-wolf how much he’s changed. How brutish and angry he’d become. “Let’s be off, then.” She says. No time to waste on her end.
When the Beach eats away at the earth and scrub turns to sand, they slow to catch their breath. Evening will be upon them soon and the majority of their journey had been put into expending energy on traversing the mountain range. “There’s no magic, where we go.” Circy explains, watching the widening of his interested navy eyes, “No other kin to slip skins with, no people like us.” She regals, entertaining him as they walk with notions of a place she’s only been to once. And by accident, at that.
But it was there, she’d seen it: white capped mountains and frosted evergreens, thousands of miles of wide expanse and herds of prey and predator. A world where animals were … animals. “Will we lose ourselves?” Her son asks, perking ears and face alike when they come to stand just so at the lapping shoreline. “I hope so, Crevan. I hope so.” She whines, inhaling deeply before turning back to the glistening waves.
This portal is nearly instantaneous, so deep is her desire to see the door opened wide. Neither hesitate to swim through and, when they do, the gate swirls into a popping sort of close at their heels. There is nothing left; faint pawprints that begin to fade as the tide rises with the moon. On the other side there is new hope, the feeling of fresh-fallen snow crunching beneath claws and the sudden surprise of another group of wolves, smokey-gray and wild-eyed, who greet them with stiff tails.
Years will pass, but soon the thread of brown will filter into the solid grays. They forget themselves- mother and son, wolf and pup; one becoming a new mother to countless broods while the other felt, finally, the cementing purpose of being truly in a pack. The howls and hunts outnumber the stars and, somewhere, on a very distant shore, perhaps someone remembers the strange pony-mare and the wolf who breathed fire.
“As a man, casting off worn out garments taketh new ones, so the dweller in the body, entereth into ones that are new.” ― Epictetus
Here lies the last known traces of Circinae and Crevan; death hasn’t come for them, but a new life has.
Circinae’s goodbyes
To Canaan and Jah-Lilah: “I brought the air and the earth together and can rest peacefully knowing that you’ll have each other, forever.”
To Nyxa and Corvus: “Corvus, accept who are and make it grand. Nyxa, there are no words … I failed you.”
To the Rest: “And I did it myyyyyyyy waaaaayyyyyy”
Crevan’s goodbyes
To my Family: “We were a family, perhaps for a moment. But that moment was all that I needed.”
To Merida: “I was too young to ever realize how important you were to me and for that, I’m sorry.”
To Celest: “You taught me that the future is tangible and, more importantly, changeable. Thank you.”
To the Rest: “A path can always be walked in two directions. Someday I might turn back.”
