afternoon of the day following a night of own cries, kukutux rose her voice in a single trailing note that meant to reach the ears that had gathered. though she did not venture far from the ulaq, though she observed the taboo of not speaking aloud until the mourning had passed, the duck knew that they were present. the wind had brought her the presence of those whom she knew, and of those whose faces she had not yet come to know.
the note carried, swelling into a dirge that descended into a tremble and then dissipated across the valley.
i will be your moon. sialuk will be your star. this will be our land: moonglow
The note that carried on the wind now was different from the songs of mourning, it came to him sharply, and he raised his attention to hear it. The message was clear, and so was his response — a low singularity of his own, to say: Moonglow. I am your spear. To hunt for them, to defend them. Whatever they may need of him.
The call came and roused the herbalist where she slumbered in the snow -- beige head lifting so that her gaze could trail in the direction of the ulaq and Raimo's sleeping place. Her own notes, warbling at first but stronger as she grew confident escaped in a billow of ghost-white.
I follow, moon and star.
As voices rose in chorus, it reminded her of another night, not so long ago, when a similar song had stirred her from sleep in Firefly Glen. She listened for a moment without joining, a sharp pain stabbing through her breast as a strange voice declared, I am your spear.
She was happy to hear how many they numbered. Kukutux and Sialuk may not even need her support for long. Meerkat didn't have the heart to sing with them. It was in pieces, most of them elsewhere. The biggest one belonged with Bronco, always; another lived at the caldera, from whence she'd just returned within the past hour; and the rest were broken, jagged and scattered elsewhere.
But she managed a wan smile, the bits beating in her breast glowing warmly as the melody carried on without her.
Once again, he heard the hallowed, haunting tones of Kukutux, the woman who had remained in mourning throughout his initiation into the fledgeling pack. Progress, though, took place- in claiming the territory as Moonglow and declaring herself and Sialuk as their leaders. The name she had offered gave him comfort; it was a peaceful name and he hoped that it would create a legacy of tranquility and harmony. So with the others, he raised his voice as well, echoing the tones of Lótë in stating "I follow, Moon and Star."
Zane huffed a small, somewhat uncomfortable laugh at the formalities that the rest of the pack howled. He didn't have much of an interest in such things, nor did he have the vocabulary.
Felt a bit cult like, really. He wasn't signin over his soul or nothing like that, just a bit of help until he felt like moving on.
So when he howled, it was just to join. No words, no fancy promises, just letting them know he was here.
In the end no one else from Moonspear had joined the mother and daughter. Other people had and all this time Norah had observed each of them carefully, drawing first sketches and making drafts of their files. She found it somewhat funny that fate had fulfilled her wish for entertainment. Just a week ago or so she had been bored out of her mind, on the verge of leaving and then - wham! - here she was. Her old home in smoking rubble and her among new people to study and manipulate.
She heard them howl, declaring themselves to be the moon and the star (where's the sun), someone told they were spear (here she snickered at the double-meaning her rotten mind came up with) and the rest either repeated the words or just howled. She chose the latter. Not say or promise anything, but join the song to blend in.
Still wretched with grief, Sialuk managed a single, soft, wordless howl of her own. It was quieter than the others, her voice still hoarse from singing the previous night's song, but hearing the others did lift her spirits some. Here, they would survive. Here, they would live. Here, they would honor the spear's fallen.