Grief settled over her slim shoulders, grief for her father's death and the chasm that had seemingly enveloped the entire pack he had left behind. There was the camp of peace, where no skills of war were welcome, and the camp of common sense, that said we need to be prepared for anything that might come. Eilidh's heart was torn between the two, but she also knew that her father had encouraged her and her siblings to learn to fight, to learn the skills of sparring, in case they were ever needed. In that way she agreed with
@Constantine.
That morning dawned foggy and cooler than it had been in days, and the wraith moved through the sentinels, winding through the mist that clung to every tendril of fur, clogging her lashes with dew. The weather matched her mood, and Eilidh didn't mind it. Her bones were visible beneath her fur, jutting out at unnatural angles. The famine had gone, but she was experiencing her own type of famine in the grief that gripped her. Instead of sobbing all the time, Eilidh was simply deadened. The light that once shone in her eyes, in her heart, had nearly been extinguished. She wasn't sure if it would ever return, but for now she jealously guarded the ember buried in the ashes of her soul.
The morning soothed him – the swirling fog that shrouded the tall trees were an aching reminder of his father’s passing, and while he did not believe that the realm of spirits were a tangible source that one could witness or correspond with, but if there was ever a moment where he could feel his father’s presence, it would be now.
But perhaps his father would wish nothing to do with him after everything that had transpired – much like his twin.
He caught view of a pale creature, drifting among the veil. He blinked, uncertain in that moment if the creature was Deirdre, or one of the newer recruits of Donnelaith – but surprise took him when he finally noted it was Eilidh, her thin frame barely visible in the fog. She had kept to herself since the passing of Lasher – Constntine had given her space, but looking upon her bone-thin form now, he ached to realize how quickly she was withering away. “Eilidh,” he called gently, his own paws carrying him forward in hopes of closing the distance between the two – and that she would not vanish from him like a ghost in their ethereal clearing.
Perhaps she was a wraith, and this was her afterlife. One without her mother or father, without Tachyon, without all the pleasures of friendship and family she had come to cherish. It was not a good afterlife; she haunted these woods as a wraith would, flitting from tree to tree, without speaking much to anybody. But Eilidh knew she was no wraith; the dull hunger in her belly told her as much. But her soul had faded, slipped into a dark corner of herself, while grief strangled her from within.
A voice called her name, and she turned to look through the mist, toward her father. She blinked. No, not Lasher, but his son Constantine. Her brother. A bare twitch of her ears told of her recognition, and she plodded toward him. Brother,
she whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse. She stepped into him, pressing her slim chest against his, burying her nose into his fur. She inhaled deeply, remembering the world that awaited her outside of her grief. As she stepped back, the moment of clarity fled, and the fogginess of these past weeks settled over her again.
It was not the syllable she spoke, but the broken voice in which spoke it that caused his heart to wilt. Eilidh pressed to him, and the Mayfair returned the embrace, his own nose burying itself to the back of her nape and in to her fur as he breathed her familiar scent. It was only a stolen moment – for his littermate would step away from him then, and she seemed just as lost as he had seen her only moments before.
“Have you eaten?” Concern laced his voice – she was not taking care of herself, but this was not what Lasher would have wanted.
An ear flickered at his question. Had she eaten? Perhaps some time ago, but not recently that she could recall. Yes.
Her answer was truthful, but not as truthful as he would've wanted. Yesterday, I think. Or before...
Confusion settled into her hunger-addled brain, and her thin form moved quietly among the brush as she settled to her haunches, thin as they were. Eilidh had not idea how to come out of this funk, and no idea if she even wanted to. Her father would want her to live, but something about his death had broken her, and she wasn't sure it would ever mend.
How are you?
She glanced up into his handsome face, so much like her father that it hurt, and quickly looked away.
Her answer did little to instill any confidence in the wolf. His fiery eyes laced over her with concern, his form still as he considered her question to him. He felt she was pressing the subject from herself to him – and while he gathered she did not wish to discuss her feelings with him just yet, he would not fully let the conversation stray away. “Worried about you,” he admitted, his tone growing quieter.
And yet, with that point made, the Mayfair dipped his head slightly, releasing a soft sigh. “And lost, Eilidh. I feel lost,” he confessed in that moment, a frown storming across his features.
Eilidh felt lost in a fog, one that she desperately trying to fight her way out of, but failure dogged her footsteps. Waking Eilidh did not know of this attempt at escape, but deep within her mind, the real Eilidh clawed for freedom, for the life she once had. So when he spoke of his worry for her, the tiny version of her true self flickered, and it showed in her gaze. But soon the fog rolled over the tear she had made, and the cold stillness returned.
And again when he spoke of being lost, Eilidh's true self flickered to the life within her breast. We are all lost, Constantine. Without Pappa, we are lost, and I fear we may never find our way again.
It was the most she had spoken in some time, but her words held truth within them. She sighed, feeling the mist cloud her mind again, though this time it parted where her true self stood. How are you lost, brother?
He could not unburden himself fully to his sister -- could not place that weight upon her also. Eilidh was but a shell of her former self, and the ebony wolf looked to her, worry evident in his features as he considered how he might be able to coax her back once more.
But as lost as she herself was also, his pale sister would always care -- that much was obvious in the way she questioned him now, and his muzzle tipped downward. "If he were still here, Eilidh, I fear I would still be lost -- Taltos, the way Deirdre speaks for him now -- he is not a man I knew, it seems. I think I lost that insight when I chose to explore the world.. and now I hate that I chose to do so."
Eilidh shook her head, understanding where both her siblings were coming from on this point. Father would want us able to defend ourselves. We did well enough when those wolves attacked, but he knew the value of defensive skills.
Eilidh sighed, fearful her words were condemning her sister's viewpoint. Deirdre was but a tiny speck of a child when the wolves attacked her. She wouldn't remember the ways in which we fought tooth and nail to save her, to kill those trespassing bastards—
It was the most emotion she had shown in months, and she paused to catch her breath.
After a moment, she glanced back at her brother. In all fairness, she knows little of what she speaks. Father fought for her, and he would've had us fight for her and Emaleth, for any of our wolves, if it had come to it.
The true problem laid within the last of Eilidh’s words – Deirdre knew little of what she spoke, and he had feared the case as such. But her belief was pure, and it was with those intentions that he and Aria would leave Donnelaith to her – in time, when it occurred, he would only hope it would not be the pack’s demise.. but its saving.
“Eilidh.. did you know the she-wolf Rowan? The one who claimed she was related to the Mayfair’s?” Had his sister even heard the news of her carrying their father’s unborn children? If she did not – surely she held the right to know that Constantine and Aria had ousted her from their ranks and sent her in the direction to Silver Creek. Whether she made it or not, he had been unable to say.. she had been as swift as she could to escape his presence.