Greatwater Lake each morning I get up, I die a little

@Murdock how's 'bout a brother vent sesh/tell-all/spill the beans on our terrible past thread :) warning incoming emo Shale

A pebble.

That was all it took to bring the memories of her rushing back, making his body ache with the weight of them. One pebble.

But worse than the physical pain was the emotional turmoil he now was feeling, staring down at this smooth, shiny rock. Its dark gray surface was polished and gleaming, reflecting the sunlight, winking back at him as if in jest. Suddenly incensed, Shale kicked it away; it bounced and skipped into the water, where it sank to be seen no more.

Seen no more. But not forgotten.

She had once given him a rock that looked quite like the one he had just tossed into the lake, presenting it to him with a wry grin while on a hunting trip. It was the beginning of their courtship, and they were madly in love, untethered to reality by any pack or children. They flew across the countryside, one sleek silver, one ruddy brown. And lived.

Shale felt as if he had not lived since she had went away. Not a single day. Worse than not living, it felt as if every day brought him closer to death; he felt worse about life with each dawn. Seeing Murdock had boosted his spirits a bit, but had not removed him from this moons-long cycle of anger and guilt, depression--oh, most of all, depression.

Maybe the presence of Grayday would not be enough to lift him out of the abyss. Perhaps his life had ended the moment her soul had taken flight, and would not return to him, even after death.

Murdock padded up beside his brother, tail wagging in idle pleasure. Their trip had been pleasant, thus far, and it was nice to have such quality time to catch up with the boy. They'd be busy, back at Easthollow, but they had time now to shoot the breeze as idly as they pleased.

"What'd that rock ever do to you?" Murdock teased, but as soon as he caught the look on Shale's face, he grew as solemn as the younger male. As dismissive of his siblings as he often was, it hurt the male deeply to see them so forlorn. "What happened, Shale?" he asked quietly, sitting down beside the silver-toned wolf. "Ya can't keep it bottled up. I've seen you agonizing over something since we met in the woods. What's wrong?"

Mur coming suddenly to his side shook him out of his solo angst, and he lifted his gaze from the ground, feeling hollow. Ya can't keep it bottled up. Why, sure he could! This was something he wanted to keep bottled up--forever, if possible.

Then again, this was Murdock. His brother. And though they had never been very close, he still was blood, and blood was important. If any wolf should know of his plight--apart from Day, and possibly Spot--it would make sense for it to be Murdock.

He heaved a tremendous sigh, the sound of it weighing heavy in the air. "Man, I. . ." He stopped, not knowing how to continue and still looking out toward the lake, away from his brother. "I don't know where to start. How to start. What to say. . ."

Finally, he cast his eyes toward Murdock. "Have you been married before?" he asked abruptly, his voice gruff. "You don't have to answer, if you don't want. And it's okay if you haven't. . .but I think you might understand better if you have been."

Murdock's stomach did a strange flip-flop at the question. It had been a long time since it had hurt him to think of the family that he'd lost, but to think of the same thing happening to Shale was a different matter.

"Chemukh. You met her, when you were still a boy. Dark girl, green eyes. We were young and in love when we had a little set of kids. And a month later, she started seizing and shortly after, died," said Murdock, a little pang going through him at the memory of her frothy jowls and still, cold eyes. They'd thought it might be the ravening disease at first, but Murdock now knew firsthand what death by jimson weed looked like.

He didn't share her true cause of death with Shale - that would lead to a whole different kind of story, and Murdock didn't want to get into it when Shale had his own demons to exorcise. Instead, he waited patiently, the look on his face inviting no discussion on the topic of Chemukh - for now.

Chemukh. The name rang through his mind, a bright chime, as he began to search for a mental image. Mur had mentioned her before, when they were traveling, but he couldn't remember meeting her. Ah, well, Shale thought, giving up for now. Too young to recall.

"Mur, I'm sorry," he murmured, eyes sad. He did not inquire further; Murdock's expression said it all. Instead, his mouth quirked, giving away the storm of emotions within him. "So you. . .will. . .understand what I'm going to tell you. I don't know if I'd tell you if you didn't."

He looked at the water, watching the little waves lap onto the shore, cool and bright. "When I left home, I did so alone," Shale began, thinking of the morning he had departed. It had been an unseasonably warm summer's day, the sun hot on his back. "I didn't know where I was going, or what I was looking for. I just knew I needed to leave. I had no future there."

Turning even further northward, Shale had entered another mountain range and picked his way through the crags, eventually stumbling upon a small pine valley, a verdant green oasis amidst the gray and rocky environment.

"I found her there," he said, and her face appeared suddenly in his mind, brown-green eyes sparkling as brightly as the day they had first met. "Lucy." His voice broke as he said her name, and Shale dipped his head low, tears swimming in his eyes.

Aw, hell. Murdock didn't want to do this. He'd spent the last several years not thinking about what had happened, and it had served him well. He might not be entirely over it, but it was a weight he'd learned to carry, and when he didn't think about it, it was almost as if it wasn't there.

But now they were talking about Lucy, and Murdock didn't want to wonder how similar their stories might be. He pictured his brother's mate as a dark girl with green eyes, and a smile as sweet as the sunset, and he knew he wouldn't get through this conversation with all his scar still intact. But they were brothers, and if Murdock could ease the weight on Shale's shoulders... well, he could carry a bit more baggage, he supposed.

Murdock settled in to listen, two-toned eyes fixed intently on his brother.

He saw Murdock's expression change and retreated a little, like a turtle into its shell. Surely if his brother had shared the same sort of heartbreak, he didn't want to relive it all over again, right? Nevertheless, Mur settled in for the story, so Shale supposed he could give him the short and not-so-sweet version. Maybe it would hurt less, to keep it brief.

"It was a quick courtship; we were married very soon, not even a moon after we had met. She had no family, and I had no desire to go home. So we carved out a life for ourselves in the mountains."

It was the absolute best of times for Shale, then. Exploring, hunting, making love. She was pregnant by late fall and gave birth to the pups in the midst of winter. Perhaps that had been a mistake.

"We had four babies--two boys, two girls." Shale thought of giving voice to their names but his words stuck in his throat, choking him suddenly. No. . .they would remain unnamed to all but him now. Him, and her. "They were beautiful. Perfect. The building blocks for the pack we were to build."

But a disease struck suddenly, affecting only the herd of elk that brought so much life to the valley. Animal after animal fell victim, and wolves began turning to the small game for sustenance. It wasn't long before overhunting whittled away the rabbit and squirrel population as well. Shale and Lucy thought of leaving, but it was too dangerous a journey to undergo with four small pups, their eyes barely open.

"She was starving, and her milk didn't come," he murmured, seeing vividly now her wasted teats, the outline of her ribs against her sleek brown pelt. "One by one. . .they died. And we left, to find food. . .and she died, too." His words, hollow with finality, rang through the silent air, the only sound save the winter wind.

Murdock's ears flipped back as Shale went on. Young love sprang up so quickly, and yet, seemed doomed to be cut off before its fruits got the chance to ripen. Why? Murdock wondered, not for the first time, but for the first time in a while. Why do these things happen? What have we done to deserve this? But there were no good answers to those questions, and so the male returned to his solemn vow not to think on it, if he had any other choice.

But his heart was still sore, and when he spoke, it was words he didn't know he still carried with him. "Chemukh died first," said the earthen male. "The kids were still young, just a month old. I tried to give them meat, but they couldn't take it. When they started to cry, I laid 'em low. Couldn't stand to see 'em hungry, see 'em start to wither away like that. Kinder to end it."

His voice was gruff, his words matter-of-fact. But this was a topic that still deeply disturbed the aging male, and one that he had trouble contemplating on the best of days.

His stomach sank lower and lower as Murdock spoke, telling his own story of despair, of death. Chemukh. The babes. He had said their names once before, and Shale had not pursued the subject. Now, his older brother had freely given the tale--and his eyes belied the neutral tone with which he spoke.

"After Lucy died, I wandered aimlessly for moons. I feasted on rotting carcasses. I barely slept; when I did, my dreams were unspeakable and horrific." Shale shook his head, looking down. "I lost all hope, then. I'm not sure if I'll ever get it back."

Despite himself, and every other touch he had given his brother in the past, Shale opted for something more gentle and sympathetic as he placed the top of his head against Mur's shoulder, butting it softly before retreating. "I'm sorry, Mur. I'm so sorry that it happened to you, too."

Shale shared what the death of his mate had done to him, but on this subject, Murdock would never speak. There'd been blood, and another woman, and more children now long laid down in their graves. And after her, he'd not lived as a hermit, but had returned home to his father's land, forever chasing as the heels of his sister, cousins, nieces - anyone who would give him the time of day. Blood, at least, was loyal and true, and at this point in the male's life, had long been a crutch and a fascination for the aging male.

"I feel like an old man," the male sighed, picking himself back up and beginning to trot away. He gestured for Shale to follow. "There's nothin' to do but keep going, little brother. It gets better with time." 

"You and me both," Shale responded, though Murdock was a year his senior. Truly, though, this past year had felt like ten, and he woke up most mornings feeling stiff and chilly as a lake in midwinter--frozen solid, cold to the core.

Mur rose to his feet and trotted away, gesturing for Shale to follow. With a small groan--he felt as if he had been rooted in place, telling that tale to his brother--Shale did so, giving his pelt a compulsive shake as he caught up to Murdock.

"It will be good to have the family back together again, when we find Day," he remarked, casting his amber eyes sideways at Murdock with a smile.

Nothing could replace the Lucy-sized hole in his heart--but the presence of family might come closest.

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