Fairspell Meadow of little wings of white-flamed butterflies in my brain

Leave the forest, she told @Sobek and @Sakhmet, in a voice that had lost all color. Get out from under the trees. Go to open ground. She hoped that Anansi's death coupled with her authority would make them heed her words. Still, she kept an eye out for them as she stepped onto the prairie, a white blotch against an ocean of gold.

Maegi walked, hobbling as usual—except nothing was usual. She was numb all over, detached from her body, her two-toned gaze devoid of feeling. She'd done her weeping, emptied herself out. There was no joy with which to fill herself again. 

Sobek and Sakhmet were alive. That was a relief. . .but joy would be to have Anansi back, and she knew that wasn't possible.

Ñuha āeksio. . .ñuha Jaes, she murmured, except she got stuck on the salutation. Ñuha āeksio. . .ñuha Jaes. On and on, a zealous automaton, stopping just short of a request she knew even divine intervention could not fulfill.

And she walked and walked, as if walking could turn back the time.

By their mother's decree they had to go. The forest was unstable; the ravens were gone, the tunnels could not withstand the quakes which repeatedly destabilized the terrain. They had lost Anansi. So when Maegi gave the order, her voice lacking any warmth at all, Sobek knew not to question her. He sought out his sister and together the twins moved, supporting one another when necessary, until the woods were no longer sheltering their small, red-brown bodies. There were two, when there should have been three.

As Sobek marched he found it difficult to avoid thoughts of his pale brother, his mind flashing through the last few moments of his life; the cracking sound of the tree losing its foothold in the soil, the lurch of shadow, the scream cut short and siphoned in to death—over and over these images played within his head, and Sobek was silent throughout. A drizzle had begun as the little family began to march through the edge of the forest and by the time they were away from it, deep within the meadow and so terribly exposed, a cold rain had taken over.

The stars overhead were weeping, which felt right to Sobek, since he could not.

It wasn't long before she was soaked, soaked, and missing the trees she so fervently cursed. Once or twice, she glanced back, but then her gaze lighted on Sobek. She couldn't look indecisive or weak. She had to be strong for her remaining children; this was a decision on which she had to stay firm. How else was she to hold this pack together in the face of adversity?

There was a fairly sizable evergreen bush nearby, and Maegi made a beeline for it, flicking her tail for the twins to follow. Once tucked slightly beneath its boughs (it was not even comparable to the shelter a tree provided) it at least blocked the worst of the wind and rain. She hunkered down, the ball of ice that had settled in her stomach upon finding Anansi dead growing larger with each breath.

When it clears up, we can explore a bit more, she said to whoever had joined her beneath the greenery—or perhaps no one at all. It wouldn't be the first time she'd talked to herself. Find a place to keep out of the rain and snow. We'll need that this winter.

Sorry this is late and small :(

She was speaking. Talking about the future, about finding shelter. There was nothing here but storm clouds and grass, though - and Sobek looked to the sky as if to glare, maybe even to shout at the clouds, but the feeling passed him by quickly enough. He was left feeling cold and uncomfortable and the emotion he might've employed didn't take root, melting from him. He chose instead to double back to where his mother was, and upon doing so he crowded against her and walked in tandem, silent.

Sobek came, and she nuzzled close to him, smiling. Hey, tresy, she whispered, breath warming the space between them. She worried about him in the aftermath of Anansi's death. Sakhmet had run, but he'd stayed. Observed the scene. Had seemed to take it hard. She worried.

How are you holding up? Maegi asked, knowing the answer probably wouldn't be the most chipper. She was prepared to help him through anything, talk him through anything. . .even if she didn't have the words. She'd just be a silent presence, if that was enough for him.

And goddamn it, if he wanted words, then he would have words. If he wanted the moon, he'd have the moon, because Maegi with her stunted paw would leap to the stars and pull the entire thing down for her children. They were all she had left, really.

He was quiet, as always, but it was a heavier silence than what he usually carried with him. Even with Maegi trying to rouse something from him did not amount to much: he heard her, flicking his ears, but he did not say anything for a long few moments which felt like they stretched on and on. The truth of it was, Sobek did not know how to react to the loss of his brother. He had been there - and then he had been crushed, gone. The sound of that tree collapsing played over and over in his head; the gasp, the shock as things settled, the look on his mother's face and her yowling voice as she had been pierced with the sudden loss -- all of these things repeated in his head, but he did not know why. He missed his brother, but he didn't feel anything at the same time. Sobek was numb the way Maegi was numb, but it was more than that.

When he finally speaks his voice is lacking emotion, which is typical but seems more grave now in the cold and soggy world. He doesn't look up at Maegi as he speaks but he is loud enough for his little voice to carry, saying, If we find shelter, will Anansi be there? Sobek was old enough, and smart enough even at his limited age, to know that he was being stupid for asking - dredging up the fresh hurt with his desire to see Anansi again. It was unfair. But for now he sank in to the feigned ignorance of youth, finding comfort there.

One question, and she felt her heart broke all over again. She couldn't even bring herself to shake her head; her lips formed the word 'no,' but no sound emerged. How could she crush his hope? It would be like killing Anansi right in front of him.

I don't think so, tresy, Maegi murmured, touching her nose to the crown of his head. He's elsewhere now. Maybe he can see us, but we can't see him. Only in our dreams.

She shouldn't coddle him. She couldn't dance around the truth. Really, she was coddling herself, for she found herself still unable to cope with her son's death. She was useless in this scenario, and she knew it in her bones.