Bramblepoint Withering

The boy left the Caldera while the others rested, not wanting to disturb their grief, or to draw attention or concern. He moved off into the thickets of Bramblepoint, knowing he was close enough that his scent would mark him as safe- but that he might be out of earshot as well. He doubted any of his packmates would follow him- still they wept at Bronco's grave, and tread around, quiet and somber. 

But quiet and somber didn't work for him. 

Inside him, a deluge of flames writhed. He paced and lashed out at branches as he passed by them, his ears flattened tightly against his skull. With each hissing breath he exhaled a plume of misty breath, hot with anger. Around and around he went, and each time the peak in the distance came into his line of sight, he roared at it. As he turned to pace away, his voice fell into a sob, and in agony, he wept until the tears became hot with anger again. 

He hated them. He hated every single wolf who had needed his father to fight because now, they lived- and now, his father was dead.

To be honest, Dwin was not good at grieving or offering condolences, because after the fifth "I am so sorry this happened" the words no longer felt sincere. There lied a man, who had had a decently long (for a wild wolf) and fulfilled life, and besides the fact that he was dead, the even sadder thing was that from now on the memory of him being here in this world would fade. In a sense no one was truly dead as long as they were not forgotten, but in reality, the more time passed, the less detailed description anyone could give you. And in the end your whole life was defined with your name, surname and a line between two four digit numbers. 

Dwin had not intended to follow Ponyboy, because he was half-way through becoming an fully fledged adult and was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. In the sense that, even if she was there to watch him over, he was no longer in the size and weight category that would make it easy for anyone to grab him and bring him home. She just happened to be outside the territory herself, because just like it was for the boy funerals for extended periods of time were not her thing. Yet, sensing his frustration and watching him charge through the thicket like a bison on fermented fruit, she had decided to keep an eye on him. The beast had still not been found and to her knowledge it had attacked another wolf recently. 

Therefore she stayed and quietly observed the boy deal with his grief. 

He was mildly satisfied whenever he made a grab for a dried stick and cleft it cleanly between his jaws. He was not so pleased when the middle section of the stick wedged itself between his teeth at the roof of his mouth and so he paused in his rampage to fuss and growl, digging at the stick first with his tongue, and then lowering down into a bow so he could pry it out with his claws. He scraped the roof of his mouth in doing so, but the stick was dislodged, and then sent skittering off into the bush with a swipe of his paw. 

More frustrated now, he paced. "They don't know. They don't even....KNOW." He murmured to himself angrily, punctuating his speech with another snap of his jaws, or a stone sent tumbling away with a swipe of his paw. He paused and gazed toward the mountains, silverish and austere in the distance, and bared his teeth, hissing hot breath through them. Tears blossomed, hot in his angry eyes. "IT'S YOUR FAULT!" He belted.

Sadness had not stirred Dwin, but the boy's desperate anger at the world did resonate with her. Her situation was undoubtedly better than that of Ponyboy, because her parents were still alive, but she recognized the all too familiar wish to blame an outside force for the circumstances that were out of her control. Often, when she was in the most self-pitying mood. Venting usually helped and the next day life seemed less dull and she saw more clearly, where she herself could improve.

Dwin wondered, if there was any way she could help the boy or should she simple leave him be, staying near nonetheless. Bronco was gone and the least she could do was to make sure that no rogue big cat harmed his son. 

He screamed in anger, his voice growing hoarse as he ran out of breath, only to draw in another, warm it with rage, and belt it out across the plains again and again until he could manage little more than a long, whispery shriek. He spluttered as tears ran down his cheeks and he imagined the persecution of those who were guilty; and found them incapable of offering him anything that would ever settle the debt. That should have been enough to make him realize there was no reason in making sure they knew they were guilty- but he wanted the acknowledgement and the pity nonetheless. He wanted an overflowing river of apologies even though it would never be enough to lift and cause his grief to float away. 

He turned abruptly and as he did, he caught sight of silver fur. He, like all the others, still dreaded the fearsome cat that still prowled the wilderness and without a second to rethink who or what it was that he saw, his fight-or-flight response completely bailed on him. Suddenly, his voice returned and he opened his mouth as wide as he could and screeched in terror.

"Geez, kid, you'll make people deaf in this universe and the next," Dwin murmured to herself, as she stepped out of her hiding place and approached the kid carefully. She stopped at a safe distance, because the kid was clearly not in the best state of his mind AND he was an almost yearling, who was almost the same size she was. 

"Screaming your soul out truly helps, in my experience," she said, meeting his gaze. "But unless you do not want to attract an unwelcome audience, maybe there are quieter and just as effective outlets of your grief?" she asked. In other words she offered him a helping paw, but, whether to accept it was up to Ponyboy. Dwin was not going to force her company, where it was not needed. 

His heart thudded and his ears rang. How bewildered gaze lost its fearful edge when he recognized Ceridwen, replaced quickly by embarrassment. Her joking murmur wasn’t heard, and he’d shrank lower onto his heels when she began to share her opinion on screaming.

He felt like an idiot. How long had she been watching, he wondered. He figured probably long enough, that he wouldn’t have to explain his anger. 

He hadn’t thought that he might attract attention- or that it might be dangerous. The idea of it didn’t bother him, and his ire simmered to a boil. 

He jabbed a paw in the direction of Moonspear, his sore eyes grew dark and angry. ”They should know,” He hissed, his voice hoarse. ”It’s because of them, an’ because of Frolic an’ they don’t even know, or care,” His tears were hot as they fell silently down his cheeks.

"Oy, don't feel bad, kid," Dwin reassured the boy, when she saw him shrink and feel embarrassed. "Better out than in, mom says," she added, taking few steps closer and sitting down next to him.

What he said next, did not surprise her, because even she deep down blamed the two reckless kids. It was not fair or right - but the selfish side of her needed the simplest solution. You could never escape all of the what ifs.

"The cat chose to attack. Not the other way round. And the kids could have been in the Brecheliant or Moonglow and that would still not have stopped the cat," she said. "And your father had a choice too. He could have left them to perish - many would have done it and no one would blame them for it," the harsh reality was that very few healthy adults would put themselves in a situation that would harm them abd thus lower their chances of survival.

"But he was a brave man and making that kind of choice would have killed him in spirit. It is far too often that truly good men like your father are taken away, because they have the heart to stand up and fight against evil," she said and felt that she had gone too far in the philosophical plane. Therefore she simply finished with a: "Does not change the fact that it sucks and is totally unfair. And you are right to be angry, just aimed it at the perpretator not the victims."

"Have you spoken to her, them about this?"

He stiffened as she sat beside him, but after a moment where he paused to draw in a breath, he felt himself feeling just the tiniest bit better with her being there. Ceridwen wasn't like the other adults in the pack, after all. She was more like a kid who'd only just grown up, and only because she'd had to because that was the way time worked on bodies. It felt easier to take advice from someone when they weren't talking down to you.

He didn't quite understand all of her philosophies. She seemed to think that there could have been a whole bunch of different things that could have happened, but all Ponyboy knew was what had actually transpired. When she came back to that, and affirmed his hurt, he nodded. 

He sniffed, and rubbed his nose. "No." He admitted. "I don't know what it would do. I want them to know, an' I want them to feel bad. I want apologies, not just for me but for my whole family, and I...I just..." He said, but was cut off by a loud hiccough. He couldn't say what it was that he really wanted- but only because he knew it was completely impossible. He choked a little as he tried to hold back his breath, and ended up letting out a lonely little whimper. 

He just wanted his Dad back.

Dwin, who had spent all of the spring and summer months feeding and herding the kids and therefore hating them for taking away her own freedom, had a change of heart. She was no longer looking at a kid, who knew no better and was more of a burden than joy to have around, but an actual person. It may sound funny to word it like this, but up until this very moment she had viewed kids and their shenanigans more as pets, less as sentient beings capable of deep and complex emotions. But it seemed that this event - unfortunate that it had to be so tragic - had brought them closer in maturity. She was an adult, who had not yet given up all of her childishness. And he was a kid, who had been forced to grow up very quickly. 

"I don't think that is possible," she replied after a brief contemplation. "The same person might mean different things to every person that has known them during their lifetime," she went on. "Therefore - I think that, when we lose them - it hurts us in different ways," she mused. "You lost a wonderful and devoted dad and no one will ever replace him, nor will it change the fact that he won't see you grow up, he won't be there for every milestone you reach in your life. And this is something that will never be truly replaced," Dwin said. "And then there will be people, who will tell you - I am so sorry for your loss - and will move on talking about the weather or something," she was one of these people, but with some empathy at least. "And they won't understand, why you are angry with them, because their relationship with your dad was simply different, but then you would probably be the same, if your roles were reversed," she said, finding it really hard to spell out, the thought she wanted to express. 

"I think - that in time, when you feel ready, don't go to these people with anger, go to them to talk about your dad and collect the stories they remember about him. Mom says that people are alive as long as the story about them lives. Of course, the story won't replace him in being in a physical form, but... on the other hand, this means that there will always be a piece of him that you carry with you in your heart. And no one can ever take that away," she finished. 

In the end it was very likely that Dwin's words had very little effect on the grieving process of Ponyboy. She could only hope that the words she had said now would sink in and resurface at a later time.