Wheeling Gull Isle haiplana

a trail of prints announced where skaigona had left the gathering. it was not new energies; it was not healing; it was desperation. the stricken nature of anselm's face, the way he had left with his father — tears blurred her thin face as she stumbled quickly in the futile steps of what she knew to be her final pilgrimage.
small game and birds fed her; late eggs; and then nothing, nothing as the tawny sand turned cold beneath her paws and she found the coastline empty, inviting her up to the tributary of rivers and out to where the landbridge loomed greyly in the dawn.
for a long moment, skaigona only stood weaving to and fro, staring at the dark lapping of waters she had not seen for so long.
one step. another. more than surreal, this return. 
for a singular purpose she had come back, and now as fever burst inside her arteries, skaigona knew she had been right. thin spit of ground dipped back into the saltwater; she turned her weakened head up toward the beautiful scent of sea lavender.
tears burned her eyes. caracal. caracal. i'm here. i've come back.
falling twice upon her climb, betrayed by legs that merely crumpled beneath her, skaigona fought her way to the base of the greenhills.
a shocked intake of breath was her only companion, as voice rose without power; "@Malakai?"

Those which sought to claim the island as their own slowly seemed to fade away, as always Malakai thought they might. On the island and with just the three of them, at times he felt they were still there, somewhere, but now their scents did fade. Malakai was alone again. No - Malakai walked with God only, again. For he could never truly be alone, with his light upon him. With his whisper in the wind. He would be forever the always the only one who Kai needed to pull him through. 

The young man breaths deeply, the smell of salty air so fresh and free and - ....mother? 

Ears perked high on his skull, sniffing the winds deeply as he traced the paths along the foothills and down into the direction of the woman he had not seen since he was five months old. 

There was little left of the mother he knew once he could see her there, broken down at the foot of the greenhills. Above, his muzzle wrinkles in quiet snarl. Mother, Yet no ounce of love in his voice even as he still addresses her as such. Have you come to repent?

it would not do to crumble here, to let herself weaken and drift before she had reached the lavender again.
but her ears knew this voice; her heart knew it, and she looked up wearily toward a boy she loved and yet hardly recognized.
sinewy, built for the march, his two-toned eyes were zealous in the failing light. her own loving expression must be enough for them both, then, and skaigona struggled to her feet.
"i've —" come to die.
"i've come back to pay my final respects to your father. and to you, malakai," she murmured, tones tinged in pleading.
in hitching steps the frail red-nape began to climb the greenhills.

Dad is in heaven, now. You could have paid your respects anywhere. Malakai had spoken to their father before. Spoken to him like he spoke to @Judah, to God. She could have prayed. Could have spoken to him from anywhere. But, respects to him, too? Yeah right. 

And what respects to me would that be?? Malakai snarled again, backing away as she drew nearer up the greenhill incline. He didn't even want to be anywhere near her. All this time, he thought he might crumble at the sight of her. To see his mom again... but all he felt was hate. 

You should leave. His eyes turned away, furs bristling. This is a holy place. Not meant for you anymore.

"malakai — i'm — god called me home," she called to her son, her bitter beloved boy. the hate in his eyes was righteous, as was his anger.
"i don't have any right to ask anything from you, malakai," skaigona cried, stilling her trajectory toward him. "i'll go. i will. just let me — just let me sit for a little while with — with him."
her hindquarters were sinking beneath her, weakness coursing, ravenous; skaigona did not fight her collapse, only hung her head to grab draughts of air that seemed to hurt her lungs.

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He scoffs at the very thought of God calling to her. Yet, in the deep of his darkening heart, he knew that God spoke to all. All, were his children, no matter how many wrongs they had done. No matter how far from his path of righteousness they had traveled. No matter how pathetic in their own self pity... 

God forgives.   

Malakai was not him. 

NO! The yet still boy in him cried. He side steps, blocking her path along the greens. You don't get to do that! You don't get to shit on everyone's lives and then think you can still do whatever the fuck you want because everyone will feel bad for poor sad you.

No. He snaps again with a click of his teeth. You don't get to see him again. Not in this life. You must atone. 

And here he would be, the hand of God. The righteousness in wrath. He would lung down at her, to seize her scruff and jerk her back and worth before tossing, to send her rolling back down the hill. 

Only God forgives.

this was how it should be.
oh, malakai! his baby voice lifted in hymn echoed through her mind just as he bore down upon her with horrible vengeance.
skaigona did not fight; instinctively, weakly, she raised an arm to ward off his teeth. 
but it was not a true obstacle. malakai lifted her as if she weighed nothing, fangs tearing through her thinned fur.
cold air struck her face.
hard earth struck her body.
skaigona cried out then, bone bending until it broke; once inside her and once in her wrist. she lay in a sodden heap of white below the greenhills, sobbing, but there was no hatred in her for malakai, not even anger.
i deserve this, the holy voice within her head insisted, and she nodded at nothing.
tears scorched her eyes as she concentrated on her breath, ears lifted to monitor in panic for her son.
even then her arms ached to hold him, her heart to sing its love.

A shell. A broken, beaten, battered shell of the woman that he once knew as their mother. No more than bones, skin and white fur streaked with ginger down her backside. Her backside which he now straddled as he grabbed her by the back of the neck and pushed down to hard that he might crush the air from her windpipe on the other side. 

A shell. A broken, empty shell of the boy that once danced at his mother's heels, singing of the glory of God. Likely driving her mad as he flood her with questions of all, any and everything he had ever known about their heavenly father. 

Tears streamed down his cheeks now in rivers. He could not see beyond the salt of his own making and all that anger of his mother having brought in more pups which had ripped their family apart, the disbelief of his mother's abandonment, the anguish of loosing his brother and father, having nearly starved to death in winter as he waited for a family that was no longer there, all went into the tightening of his grip and force of his push. To suck the life out of her the way she had sucked the happiness from him.