The Sentinels all hope in eclipse

the heat that had fell across the land caused the air to shimmer around lasher as he stood upon a sea-cliff, his eyes fixed upon the sea. no morsel of food had passed his lips in three days' time, and weakness had slithered the length of his limbs, but still he stood firm. the man recalled what the coywolf had instructed him in regards to the sea and its bounty -- there was sustenance to be gleaned from the waters, if only he could summon the energy for such a task.

the man turned away from the precipice and moved toward the barren heart of donnelaith. protection from the sun's glare was minimal, though coolness could be found within the stone dens. but lasher did not seek this as he wandered aimlessly across the arid loam of his beloved woodland.

blue willow -- her visage appeared before his mind's eye, and without a thought the man began to speak to her. "willow," lasher murmured, relief washing him with a welcome coolness. "where have you gone? no matter; you are returned to us." he extended his muzzle to the looming spectre of his mate, resplendent in the blue-black of her silken pelt beneath the lick of sunlight.

unknown to the man, he stumbled out of donnelaith and into the land beyond, a broad, flat plateau that overlooked the saltwater. blue willow spoke to him, and he to her, his tones cheery as he described how their children had grown, how lovely eilidh had become and how constantine's strength was apparent, how deirdre charmed those around her with magick and how emaleth was a silent pillar of support to donnelaith.

and casmir! how he missed the presence of his son. such was the depth of their discourse that taltos did not realize that he had stepped into the blazing eye of the sun, and how it had heated his blood beneath the thinning, coarse fur until his steps became more difficult, and numbness began a slow creep along his limbs, his throat.

"willow!" taltos cried, but it was a garbled, slurred sound, and then he choked a muted cry as his body flung him bruisingly to the earth. horror gripped him as he trembled against the ground, his extended forepaws tearing at the dry grass as his muscles seized, flinging foam from his lips.

on and on it went until the terrified screaming of his mind guttered into a fade and ended.

lasher lay beneath the blaze of the sunlight, complete stillness arranging his lips, and save for the shallow lift and fall of his flanks, the druid was silent and unmoving.

ermahgerd I'm so far behind guys but I have to.  If this starts moving he can be shoved to the back ^^;

Dante was returned from yet another unsuccessful trip, and it was with a heavy heart and weary steps he traced his way homeward.  Hardship lined them all, an there was an unhealthy wastedness to him that his thick fur could no longer hide.  As soon as he returned home, he would force cheer back to his features, fatherhood both requiring and inspiring that reaction.  But now, with no eyes but the trees on him, his walk showed nothing but defeat.

When he spotted the collapsed form against the sand, his first thought was hope.  Food, at last! And enough to feed many.  But as he drew closer, and recognized his fallen leader, hope turned to horror.

He broke into a lurching gallop, favoring the hip his encounter with the bear still bore pain from, and pressed his muzzle against Lasher's ruff.  There was breath, but it was faint, and no response.

He had seen death take many - dear friends, family, it did not discriminate.  Some by his own doing.  But this was different... he felt the icy shard of guilt sink in.  His negligence in these past few weeks, the selfish stepping down and isolation in his own family, meant he had failed to note or care about the burden laid on Lasher.  Neither of them were young.  He should have been there, but was not.

At a loss for anything else to do, Dante sent up a desperate call for help.  He was incapable of doing so himself.

the sound of desperation tore deirdre from her inspection of the plant-life, which had only just broken free from the earth. fear clutched her heart as she thought of what must be amiss, and she veritably flew to the place the call had come from.

a figure on the ground put fear into her heart--for its size and its fur was recognizable even from afar to the daughter of Taltos--and her head flew upward to call for @Lucani by name, though summoned @Eilidh as well. the handsome woman knew of medicines and healing, while eilidh, she had learned, had less experience... but perhaps enough to help.

to react to her father this way was to react to instinct that bid her to aid him. for his sides rose and fell, and after a passing look of thanks to dante, she moved alongside her father. deirdre did not hesitate; she firstly licked the foam away from his lips, her eyes seeking his own. they were partially opened, and she saw the whites of them. next she searched his body for injuries, though smelt no blood upon him. when there was nothing to find, deirdre spoke to her father to see his state: can you hear me, athair? i have called eilidh, and lucani. can you speak?

next she spoke to dante as she brushed her muzzle against lasher, feeling the heat within his body. we must move him to shade, she instructed, looking to him. perhaps we can do this together. he cannot drink yet--we must work to cool him... until lucani and my sister come, do as i do--it will suffice. deirdre looked to dante, knowing she commanded a superior in ranks but also knowing that in this matter she must do so. if she was worried, if she was frightened, she did not show it, nor did she allow herself to feel it. to allow fear to grip her would be to concede to the ills that might befall him if she did. she was a witch, and a powerful one! he would be saved; if she could bring the earth to return, surely, surely she could do this thing, too!

deirdre stood over lasher, using her tongue to cleanse and cool him both. this was but the first step; when others came, she could collect her stones and the coconut that she could put fresh and frigid riverwater in, or perhaps waters from the sea! the girl looked to dante, gesturing to her father and permitting him to do as she did. after this, when we have covered the length of him, we will move him. he cannot be in the light of the sun, he is overheated... and though she was not sure what else had happened here having never seen a seizure before, she knew for certain he could not be in the heat, for he felt like a remnant flame of the fire that hovered above them, and this did not bode well, but he would survive this! this thought she projected, gathering her power to the pit of her belly as she sorted through the spells she knew to find the proper one.

pp consent given!

When the girl arrives she is too late. She rushes upon Deirdre and stares with her mouth cocked open in a silent scream. She tries to force words or actions but is unable to put thoughts into actions and ends up looking completely useless. She shakes her head and looks from Dante to the girl, and then to Lasher. Finally, one of Deirdre's words register with the poor girl and she sucks in a loud gulp of hot air. "I can get water," she says breathily, her white eyes fearful and uncertain. She knows, from her small amount of medicinal training, that he is too unwell to drink just yet. "Too cool him," she adds in an attempt to save Deirdre's breath. She has no leaves or moss to carry water in now though, and although she is far above the young pup, she awaits for commands on exactly how to help her beloved Taltos.

She felt the jolt as the wraith fell, the energy drawing her from her sleep and making her jump up. She was moving as fast as her long legs could  take her. She heard the two women as she approached, the Witch giving a breathy sigh. A gentle nudge to the dark male, nuzzling pressing against his stomach for a moment, feeling the heat there had her frowning. "His feet - water will help cool him, it will draw the heat out." She explained. 

Rowan was shivering, frowning as she looked over him. His eyes were unfocused, whites only visible - she could understand his fatigue might have caught him. The heat did not help. "His stomach, wet it too, we have to be careful not to make him too cold too fast... Shock can swing both ways." Rowan said as she looked up at the wolves gathered. Silently she felt out for the male, for his strength, for his spark - without words invoking the male. If you are here to serve the Mayfair witches, serve us. Do  not leave us.  

Lucani had been catching a few rare moments of rest when an urgent howl went up — and it was almost as if she had been expecting it, though she was not sure why. Requests for aid were common now in Donnelaith and thereabouts, those nightmarish locusts having torn the health from them.

She uncrossed her forelegs and darted for Dante's call, which was joined in turn by a specific request from the now very familiar young voice of Deirdre. Upon the scene, the patient was crowded... people talking, fretting or else being calm and measured. Words thrown here and there, actions considered. She could not see the patient, but it was not her place to barge through or bid make way. So having heard the word "overheated" as she'd arrived, Lucani left swiftly and dipped herself fast into a deep crook of stream until most of her fur was dripping.

Then with equal pace the skinny female returned to the crowd — I have water here, she stated clearly so that they might let her through. She made her bid to press her wet fur against the patient and let drops drip onto their lips, and then the pronoun ambiguity was up. It was a he. A him. She saw him now.

It was Lasher.

If I'm wrong to jump let me know <3  cue dante to the background.  Feel free to skip him unless directly addressed

Thankfully others were quick to heed his call, Dierdre coming to take handle of the situation first.  Having absconded his rank, he saw no challenge in her orders and dipped his head, following them without hesitation.  This was not his area of expertise, even if he had still led.

He helped his daughter to move him to shade, then immediately stepped back to give space.  Already there were too many there, all willing to assist and all infinitely more helpful than him.  Tense and worried, he hovered back.  He couldn't do much here, and might be better served elsewhere, but he wanted to see if Lasher would be alright.

Eilidh was on the far side of Donnelaith when Dante's call reached out to her, so it took her some time to move across the barren landscape. But when she arrived, the others were already in a frenzy of commotion. Eilidh went immediately to her father's side and looked between Deirdre and Lucani, a whine passing her lips. What happened? Her heart fractured at the thought of her father's death, and her green gaze turned toward Dante, her father's steadfast friend. What can I do? she asked again, turning toward Rowan and Lucani and Deirdre.

Cameo!

He was unaware of the turmoil that had stumbled upon the pack, at least until he saw the gathering, and at first Renoir thought that the herds had returned. That someone had found something edible that would ease all of their troubles. His heart was light and filled with mirth at this thought; he stepped proudly among them, seeing each wolf in passing but not registering what expressions they wore - nor hearing their words fully - until he saw the prize that they worried over. It was no meal. It was Lasher — and his pitiful state made Renoir's heart burst, deflate, and sag uselessly within him. All sound vanished from his surroundings as the shock of this discovery hit him, and he was left to stand uselessly off to one side while the rest of them busied with the body. Was he alive? Was he struggling to stay with them? Had he gone and left Renoir behind, alone? 

Was this his fault?

He said nothing, did not move save to sink back upon his haunches, and felt guilt where the glee had once filled him. Without a word to anyone Renoir hoisted himself back to his paws and left — he ran, as he had run from his home before. He hid, as he had with Sisley. Flashbacks to Zanjheim were flooding his mind along with the last precious memories he held of Lasher. Renoir refused to accept that the darling man might be gone, but he was in shock. He was entangled by his many thoughts and feelings, and refused to let anyone see it. So he ran, and he left them to tend to the man whom Renoir had secretly - or perhaps not so secretly - admired.

written to this

he was a child again, though it was not a memory that the man had ever held. there was the sussuration of a heartbeat roundabout him; there was the touch of a murmur upon his senses, and his countenance held a raw sort of peace upon it. lasher did not hear those around him, nor did he feel the touch of his wolves. their frenzied voices formed a backdrop of undifferentiated sound for the slow tumbling of the man.

there was a quietude to the gentle plunge into a deepening world, as if the druid had opened his eyes beneath the seawater and beheld the silent landscape below, safe from the churning of the ocean, safe from the storm that roiled o'erhead.

but he was no child -- this was no belly in which he nestled. suzanne, suzanne! she beckoned, and taltos gasped aloud, writhing, arching in the grey arms of clouds which brought forth the thunder, and the lightning forked about him, and he wept to be born again, to be cast down as lucifer from the heavens, to strike the ground and lift himself a mortal astream with tears and with rain and with the scent of his own birth sweet upon his withers.

mother, suzanne! lasher cried to the summoning witch, she who stood with embrace laid bare for him, for him alone; he ran to her over the reverberation of his own heart, and stood sobbing in her arms as he had that fateful night in donnelaith, in the glen, in the very throat of the storm.

and all around him, witches; deborah, charlotte, angelique, julien -- they came to encircle him with their layering of magicks of of wickedness, of love for their lasher, for their taltos, and they whispered to him in the downpour, and they spoke to him of things he had always cherished but ne'er heard.

he was a lost lamb, and they his shepherds, guiding him from one embrace to the next, kissing his wet cheeks and wiping the tears from beneath his eyes. he felt his tongue curl around the glen-tongue, then french, then the creole of the old city; he spoke and cried out audibly to those gathered around him in the real world, but knew not.

julien stood aside then, and smiled, and taltos knew he must follow. and yet he held back, for his hear belonged to his daughters, and he spoke of them with a wordlessness his old lover understood. but the sweetness of julien's kiss, and the relief it wrought in lasher was not to be denied, and their bodies mingled as lasher felt himself pulled inexorably from the last moorings of the barren land into the rich heaven of his witches.

beneath lucani's body, the druid's breathing stirred no more.

earlier that morning tachyon had revisited the first place he had ever encountered sweet eilidh; wearily he had ruminated the fruitless soil for any sign of the onions she had spoke of. his search was in vain and he was about to return empty-handed when dante's call tore through the air. the tone was unmistakable; tachyon felt a chilling fear seize him.

he made for the group as quick as his exhaustion could take him -- and when he came upon them his worst fears became realized. his heart flew to his throat and he tried to choke back the burn and bile that overtook him; with a whimpering crawl he slid on his belly towards his alpha, his ears flat to his skull in worry. the others would be of more use than him -- he was too weak to fetch anything and too exhausted to do more than sorrowfully lick the prominent ridge of lasher's broad forehead. he laid aside the prone form of the russet druid as quiet sobs consumed him.

Lucani's coat drenches the man, and Aria blinks in surprise as she watches it happen. She did not think to do that, and makes a mental note of the situation for future occassions. But as time slips by-- slowly even in such a chaotic moment-- the pale princess cannot help but feel selfishly. Casmir refused her, and with every passing second she feels that Lasher will leave her to her lonesome. She loves the man-- more out of respect and lust-- but love all the same. If he goes now she will have no one left, and that is a pain she refuses to face. 

As Lasher begins to babble and call out audibly, Aria finds herself numbingly silent. She steps forward-- past Eilidh who had just shown up-- and presses her nose to his neck. She prods him gently, whispering gentle calls for him to wake. She is of no use to the rest of the healers-- and probably in the way-- but she cannot think of anything else to do. He was a man of many words-- perhaps words would wake him.

But they do not, and for a moment she swears she can feel his soul-- the word that Osprey had given her-- leave his body. It rushes down her spine and falls into the earth, leaving Aria to flex her paws in hopes that he might grasp at her black pawpads. She raises herself, but her head hangs. She stares at his unmoving eyes with sadness, but she feels nothing but numb. 

the end was nigh.

as she aided her father, she felt this. as he spoke to them disjointedly, she knew this. but deirdre was inexhaustable! as others came to aid, she nodded to them, permitted them near to assist. dante had drawn back, and the cover of the trees would cool her father in these moments left of his life.

you could know these things and still not believe in them. for deirdre labored over him, would not remove himself from o'er his figure where lucani was not, her tongue pressing neatly against his furs to cleanse him, cool him--when eilidh came, she rose to speak, to instruct. though she was young, deirdre was calm and resolute that they could each do something--that they could defy these odds, as they had defied the plague.

there was a moment when this changed.

she parted her lips and then her own eyes saw black. black and black and black and then with a blurry clarity, foreign yet familiar, she saw his face, untethered, giant--twas the face she had seen second in life, a face that looked as boundless as his body had in her first days of The Seeing. she remembered that, now. and she was not here, with these wolves, but faraway. going through life with him, until she arrived here again, at the end, at death, and she was boundless, too, and she let herself shatter as she heard The End come from him in his final breath, and she expelled that breath with him, thrusting her head upward and letting out a wild cry to the spirits of her great sadness!

the heat had been great, and there had been hardly a cloud before, but clouds had gathered, and a storm approached as deirdre released her misery into the skies! that tachyon had come was missed, for there was grief, only grief, and she was struck by it--she fought back with her own howls, she did not see the sun be smothered, its light as extinguished as her own this day.

one drop came as the winds howled. she howled with them, would continue to howl until her voice was gone. father!!!!!! she cried to the high heavens; over, and over, and over, and over! even when she was short of breath--even when she was dizzied by this--even when the rain came in a sudden, inexplicable deluge. her cries would not be silenced, and she demanded that she be heard by all. father!!!!!!

she mourned, and the world around her mourned with her in its darkness, as the rain fell, and she listened for the wolves of donnelaith to join her in this. she yearned to celebrate his life, but his finale exhale had been a knife to the sternum that she sought to expell with her heartsong for him. those along the coast would surely hear it, even above the swell before the rains had begun--the sea would carry it, for it, too, had stilled in her fathers final moment, as though it wished for all the world to know for certain what had transpired.

The influx of his wolves, of his family, was not enough to steady his spirit. The witch could feel him waning, could feel the great tug and the shifts from one plane to the next. His words are nonsensical, the visions that he sees are not for them in the waking world. Somewhere beyond the expanse are their relatives, here to ferry him off - to steal him just as they had begun on their own path. Leaving her behind, leaving his daughters behind, it is selfish and it is inexcusable and the ashen woman feels herself still and cold for a moment. 

The storm overhead brews and the world lashes out, the taltos' spell broken over the lands that he so loved, over the family he so carefully cultivated. Drawn from her is a soft gasp, a feeling as it rushes through her the moment that the male shrugged off his mortal coil. He is not with them. He does not hear them. He did not hear her before and he will not hear her now. Not presently. Not with his daughter's wails, her mourning song, not with his pack so close to him and the news that would fly on the winds with the rains.

He had traded this life for the next. Rowan could not bare the child's anguish, but hers is fresh, it is new. She has not felt loss like this before. Rowan has - only months ago, burying her mother, her so called father. She can endure this, though it seems like an impossible task. Many things would be impossible to these wolves in the coming weeks and months. Rowan steps back, away from him as he stills and ceases to breathe. 

In the distance, she sees him, but he seems so happy for that moment - she cannot bear to call him back. The witch can wait.

Dominant was a tangible atmosphere that Lucani had only ever experienced during death. Strings of strange calm had tied up some of those present — and certainly the dark male, their leader. Lucani herself did not feel a sense of great urgency, though she had been quick to provide water, and to silently bemoan the crowds that had surrounded him. The water trickled down from her messily wet coat and dampened him, and perhaps it was right and proper that the druid, so tied with the land, would feel the element one last time before he drifted away.

She wanted to look away, feeling that those closest to him right now should not be her but his family, those he loved. But some emotional force kept her eyes upon his face, and she actually saw it — she saw the moment he died, close and true. She also felt it, having been breathing in tandem with him, such was their proximity. Around Lasher, sorrow and despair, and harsh new stories being born from his silence.

But Lucani simply looked upon him, sad and soft and quiet.

only post.

It had been an out of body experience to watch the events unfold this; Emaleth, ever in the shadows, ever on the fringes, stood apart from the desperate movements of her family. Her mismatched eyes were locked upon the still form of her father, and in her bones she knew. A cold steel wall went up around her heart, slow with the numbness of shock, but building faster and faster with each heartbeat.

Inside that wall, her heart had shattered and then crumbled to dust. There was a tempest of rage and sorrow that whirled within the metal cage, and the young witch had done what she must to prevent the storm from engulfing her. Outwardly, she remained still. Her voice remained silent, and the child that loved to sing made no noise; for singing reminded her of a time when her father lived and had joined with her.

Ever since her accidental curse, misfortune had befallen Donnelaith at every turn. Emaleth blamed herself, wholly, and the faces of her family personified her crushing guilt.

She slipped away between the darkness of the forests edge, disappearing into its heart. They would be distracted, tending to her father's vessel, and were used to her distance. It would be some time before they noticed.

My last also
Dante could do nothing but stand still and silent, watching the life leave the man he'd called brother these last years.  He had known death, yes... but he did not think one had ever cut so deep.  The world fell away, the other wolves fading, and he suddenly couldn't stand to be there another minute.

He probably should have stayed to lay the alpha in the earth, if burying was the custom.  The man had been his closest friend, confidant, and might even have been a lover if fate hadn't granted his heart to another first.  But he could not bear it, so instead he left, departing swiftily and silently into the depths of Donnelaith's stripped forest.  Here he would mourn, alone, letting out his grief and ire before returning to deliver his mate the awful news.  @Osprey would find out later that night if another did not let her know first.

aiming for Warrior, Guardian, and Advisor specializations

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Chaos reigned. Bodies convened and fretted about Lasher's prone form, and yet Eilidh stood still, watching as her beloved father, her Papa, stirred and then lay still to move no more. Her heart, turned brittle from her brush with heartbreak, cracked and shattered, sending disbelief and anguish coursing through her entire body. Eilidh fell to her stomach with a swift movement, a whoosh of air leaving her in that moment. Sand nestled between her toes, beneath her belly and arms, wormed its way into her very breath. Eilidh closed her eyes and breathed in the salty, seaweed scent of the ocean, and tuned out the world around her.

Words and deeds of others were ignored. In her mind's eye, the only bright spots were her sisters and brother, and distantly, Tachyon. Pain still pinched whenever she thought of him, but somehow, someway, she hoped to mend their rift. Perhaps not now, perhaps not ever, but it was her dearest hope. Now that her father was dead, and her mother gone, that left Eilidh and Constantine in charge of the family. Eilidh, golden child, opened her eyes to search out her siblings, and found two of them nearby, with the dark witch gone. Eilidh's stomach lurched at the thought, but knew she was around somewhere. Emaleth would not leave them.

We should bury him. Her words were soft, quiet, and yet carried the strength of the Mayfairs within her veins. She looked to Deirdre, who had been closest to him, and then to Constantine, awaiting their opinions.

With his fever subsided and his infection under control, Constantine had perhaps woken to the new day with a set mind of refreshed determination. Yet it was Deirdre’s heart wrenching cry that rose through the air to greet him, and like a ghost, the Mayfair wolf came upon the gathered with a wariness he knew to be revealed to him in only moments.
 
He glimpsed the dark form of his father, now fallen upon the ground, and did not think to question – it was evident Lasher would not rise to lead them once more.
 
He was silent in this resolve, his heart piercing with the realization that their time together had come to an end. Distantly, he heard Eilidh’s suggestion – his fiery eyes lifting to study his own steadfast sister and he gave a nod of confirmation. “Yes,” he rumbled then, long forgotten was his own injury. “Deirdre, dear heart – where would he wished to rest?” His voice quieted slightly, his larger form moving to envelop his pale sister in the only gesture of a hug he could give, his teeth preening to the tears upon her cheeks. Emaleth remained nowhere in sight.