The Sentinels Santianna

Slipped away from the sea and further inland, the wolf trotted quickly to the east.

The forest appeared to have suffered some natural disaster, but life had grown back a great deal. It would not take long before it would stand impressively. At least, the pirate estimated it wouldn’t be long. He wasn’t in the business of measuring foliage growth and had no intention to change his career path. There was only one reason Foxtail found himself in the Teekon Wilds and that was to look for Alizarin.

Humming to himself, the ginger-tailed wolf paused to relieve himself on the mossy stump of a tree. He searched the foliage for signs of others, signs of the wolf. If Alizarin was there, wouldn’t he have stayed close to the water?

Kicking up dirt behind him, the pirate’s tune increased in volume.

A flash of red excited her vision long enough to draw her, with sharp and even strides, through the monumental forest; but when she came to where she'd thought she'd seen it, there was not a trace.

Instead there came the drifting of a song — not a tune the girl recognized, and not in any tongue she would know — but it was proof enough that some spirit did inhabit this place. It was enough of a crumb to entice Dianikos to delve deep among the shadows, to pursue whoever sang.

Dianikos was not one to shy away from engagement, and soon she had picked up on enough of the tune to make the holy words of her last rite fit (imperfect, but clean):

O akoúste, óloi eseís oi athánatoi, kateveíte ti chionisméni koryfí. ~ ♫

Giatí edó, sas férnoume ta dóra mas, kai tóra anazitáte tis evlogíes sas. ~ ♪

Óloi chaíre tous theoús, óloi chaíre tous theoús, óloi chaíre tous Athánatous.

Her voice, youthful as it had been in life, held the strength of her convictions; she was certain that it would summon the spirit to her - or the shade, whichever it was that carried the tune within the wood.

It was not Alizarin that made himself known, but the lovely voice of a woman who spoke in a foreign tongue. Were it not for this addition, Lark might have vanished into the shade and continued his hunt further along the coast. Instead, the red-tailed pirate squinted sharply into the woodland. He scoured the brush for any signs of the songstress.

An image appeared, sturdy and tossed by the waters. Foxtail regarded them shrewdly. It had been her voice that had joined in on his tune. The ruffian man did not know what she had said with her words, only that he was soft for a girl who would lend her song to a stranger in the wood.

Aye, you there, the slim-snouted man called out, grinning sharply. You’ve a lovely voice. Come, come, bring yourself closer. Foxtail emerged from the brush to show his figure – relaxed and eager for conversation. The gleam of his eyes was the only sign of danger.

For once, the shade she had found did speak! It was with words she knew, though they sounded different from the heavily Greek-accented common that her sisters had tried to teach her during life. That was enough for Dianikos to feel at ease, though. She knew this realm of the dead had many spirits within it, more than just her own people, as those that died were ferried through the underworld to many different resting places. This one, like herself, must have been waiting for something or someone.

Her eyes lit upon a silhouette as it emerged from among the sentinel trees.

Enrobed in gilded silver. A plush coat, thinly laid across an athletic figure; no doubt, some hero recently lost. He did not look old enough to be a centurion but perhaps he had been felled during some unknown war far from Dianikos' people — perhaps a hero from another age?

You make music too, apóchrosi. I have not heard such music before. The woman was intrigued. The other shades she had seen, they had not spoken at all! Perhaps this one was stronger; perhaps he was newly-dead, like herself. Stuck in a transitional space as they awaited the judgement of ancient gods.