Arrow Lake bile quartet

fargoing did not appeal to lestan any longer. his wanderings led him as far as an alpine lake in which he washed himself thoroughly.
breath a rush, teeth chattering, lestan doused himself a second time, squeezing eyes shut as he tried to bring the talisman back into his mind — his his his his.

There was absolutely, positively no reason why Hex should have left the Ridge—and even less of a reason to be this far away. Maybe one day. . .but not so soon after his misadventures. Hadn't he learned his lesson?

The spirits, though. They insisted. Following their tug, he traveled cautiously, skirting the Vale and descending slightly toward a glittering alpine lake. He breathed a little easier at the lower elevation and was heartened by the prospect of a drink when he caught sight of the man in the water, bathing.

Witch, came the voices, purring into his ear.

Hex's dark lips pursed in quiet contemplation as he stood, watching from afar. After a few minutes, he approached the water's edge, several paces down from where the stranger was submerged.

Should their eyes meet, he'd give a brief nod, then lower his head to lap at the rippling surface.

his;
his;
akavir?
lestan tensed in horror and relaxed in relief, one which turned back to horror when he saw that the wolf was not his cousin at all, only one who bore akavir's look uncannily.
knowing beat in his breast.
the talisman whispered;
"are you a mayfair?" dead-voiced and empty-eyed, standing as if the water did not eat cold into the bone of his ankles.

"Are you a Mayfair?"

The spirits say so, he replied evenly, though a chill ran down his spine as the man voiced the name, his hairs on end. No wonder his paws had been drawn here. Inexorable, magnetic. . .

Hex took a few steps further to the stranger and finally caught the scent of him, though masked as it was by water. He knew that smell well, and regarded the other wolf with a different kind of look, chin slightly elevated.

You're from the Creek, the shadow remarked. It wasn't a question. One of my father's packmates.

Why had he come up into the mountains?

yes no yes no yes no yes
pupils; dilated; pinprick; dilated.
"if he is your father, i am your uncle."
the other's look was held, analyzed. lestan wanted to shake himself from the malaise of the missing talisman but could only stare at his cousin's lookalike. "what spirits?"
only one fel entity had ever plagued the house of mayfair and it bore the name lasher.

My uncle? Hex repeated, brow furrowing as he tried to work out what that meant. A brother to Akavir. . .perhaps. But why hadn't he known of him before? Maybe the man had come in his time away.

What spirits?

If I knew, I would say, he answered. A bit cryptic on his part, but not on purpose. What had transpired in the tunnels was (and might always be) beyond his comprehension. All he knew was that he had been delivered into the light once more. . .but also that they'd stayed at his side, in his ears, within his mind—

Never, it seemed, to depart.

They called me witch, he explained, and Mayfair. Why are you here, and not the valley?

There was something strange about the wolf. His eyes weren't quite right, nor was his stance, the way he inhabited his bones. 

Perhaps even more alarming was how much Hex saw of himself standing before him.

mayfair.
mayfair, mayfair
"there is a curse on us, boy," lestan rasped, not hearing the question, toes clutching the ground of the lakeside. it remained to be seen whether or not he might remember this interlude; for now he was all tremor and dilation and the remembered pure terror of the golden bird and the howling cat.
"mayfair is witch. witch is mayfair. the power lives inside, beside the curse." dry lips lapped with an equally parched tongue; "akavir doesn't believe it. how could he? but you must. if you are mayfair then you must find a way to be rid of it."
"or," lestan hissed, "it will follow you to the end of your days. the end!" look at him! a caricature of a man, a shell of a wolf; his fate was that of every mayfair if they did not believe.

The words—and voice—that emerged from the man's maw were so similar to the spirits that haunted him day and night that it disturbed him, greatly. 

Part of him wanted to dismiss it as the ravings of a madman;

But he knew, down to his core, that it was in some measure true.

But how much of it?

How do I get rid of it? Hex asked, deciding to push the conversation along these irrational lines rather than bringing the pair of them to reality. At any moment, he could walk away. . .but he was admittedly too curious to take that step just yet.

"you need a talisman."
"once i had such a thing. it was stolen from me by another witch." brow arched; this moment held irony but no humour, not for lestan.
akavir; his face blurred and became the boy, and then the boy was his cousin, and then he was —
"a talisman," lestan repeated with a shaking voice. "carry it with you. the dreams. the — whispers," eyes darting. "they — lessen."

No wonder the man was in such a state. If he believed this talisman kept the madness at bay, and it had been stolen, he must feel bereft. Hex blinked at him with more than a little pity—though curiosity, as well.

He hadn't felt cursed by those spirits whispering to him. On the contrary: they kept him feeling as if he had company through the day and night.

What kind of talisman? Hex queried. He took a step down into the water, then another, letting the water swirl 'round his legs. It was cold, bracing, anchoring him to the present. And what can you tell me about the Mayfairs?

Clearly, Akavir must be one. Did he feel this same sense of. . .power? Did Mae or Nicodem?

"there is a spirit who served a witch. lasher. his sins doomed us," and here lestan's eyes filled with sorrow. "his sins robbed our peace. each generation a witch is born." honeyblue eyes, pupils dilated, fixed to hex.
was this such a witch?
"anything that is given to you in a dream," lestan went on with no elaboration; "if you wake and it has been given to you, that is your talisman."
he turned then, listening.

The man's eyes were as bright and garish as a cloudless summer sky, and he felt them boring into his skull as they spoke. He was slightly put off by it, but held his ground, returning the gaze measure for measure.

Only one a generation? Hex repeated in query. Perhaps, then, Mae and Nicodem did not share his gift after all.

Nothing had been given him in a dream yet—at least, nothing tangible. He shook his head in reply, and was surprised to find that he was disappointed. The man could be speaking absolute nonsense, but his lack of a talisman—

—he suddenly felt bereft—

Maybe it will find me soon, he replied, and sank deeper into the water. The icy temperature rode the knife's edge of pain and pleasure, and he gritted his teeth against the sensation.

"perhaps," lestan muttered. "the talisman has its own screaming voice and will burn your flesh. that is how you will know it."
a forlorn look into that face to akin to his cousin's, and lestan turned, moving out of the icy water in a daze, drifting through the nearby trees until his dark form was swallowed among their shadows.
this memory too, his mind would rob from him.

It seemed as soon as the man had emerged within his sight, he was leaving it. Hex watched the Mayfair go, still chest-deep in the frigid lake, and it was only after a few heartbeats that he left the water and gave himself a good, long shake, droplets flying.

He ran his tongue along his lips in a pensive manner, looking where his cousin had disappeared into the rocks, and shook himself again. Then he found the trail again; it was long past time to head back to the Ridge.

Shouldn't have been here in the first place. But the spirits had spoken, no?

He had much to consider from this strange, enchanting encounter.