Blacktail Deer Plateau iii. time flies

Third and final installment of this dream-oriented character arc!

"There are two wolves inside every man," says Dad, his voice rumbling against the back of Grayday's neck. He is a boy again, all elbows and knees and long, gangly legs - and he still fits across his father's forelegs. Any other time, he would be listening in wide-eyed attention to his father's words, soaking up his wisdom like a sponge; but it is late, it's been a long night, and Dad isn't talking to him.

"I don't need to hear this again," says Mur, and out of the corner of his eyes, Grayday can see Mur turn his head away in agitation. Used to be that, when Mur was around, they'd play and have fun - but not this time. This time, there's something cold and sad and almost frightening in his countenance, and Grayday hadn't gone near him at all. But Dad is here, and even if Grayday believes that Mur would never hurt him, he knows he wouldn't be there if Dad wasn't, too.

Grayday blinks sleepily between the two, his eyes sliding over the stars and then back to Mur's face. Dad is saying, as if Mur hadn't interupted, "One is light, one is darkness. One is humble, one is proud. One gives, one takes. Two wolves, Mur."

Mur has an ugly look on his face - so like Dad's, but younger and sharper. Grayday wonders if he looks as much like Dad. If he, like his brother, is a smaller, cheaper version of the king that guards his back. "I don't need your damn proverbs right now," says Mur, a certain viciousness to his tone despite the softness of his voice. "I need your help - if I knew you were gonna beat me over the head with your almighty limmericks, I'd've stayed and dealt with things myself."

He gets the feeling they think he's asleep. He might as well be, for all he takes from the conversation. Grayday doesn't know why his brother is upset, or what wolves his father is talking about - he just knows the deep shame of hearing Mur speak so insolently to Dad - and getting away with it, too.

"These wolves, they fight in your chest," says Dad. "All day and night, every second of your life. They grow with you."

"Dad, please."

"Do you know which one wins?"

Mur lays his head on his paws, and Grayday squeezes his eyes shut as their faces are suddenly right next to each other. "Don't, Da."

Dad leans over to murmur something into Mur's cheek. Grayday finds his face squished against his brother's, and he squirms away as discreetly as he can. Soon enough, though, Dad leans back once more, and Grayday is able to settle back down between his forelegs.

"The one you feed."

Mur doesn't say anything, this time. Grayday peeks out of one eye and catches sight of the sparkle on his brother's cheek. A moment later, a shuddering breath pricks his ears, and he realizes - Mur is crying! Grayday has never seen a man cry before. The spectacle intrigues him, but the two adults are quiet long enough for him to drift back into his sleepy stupor. Eventually, when they speak again, he only catches tiny snippets.

" - all dead, Da, and you can't - "

" - might feel like forever, but you gotta hold on .... can't stop living just 'cause - "

"You don't understand!"

" - is a choice. Every hour, every minute. And you can wallow in it, Murry, or you can take a deep breath, get back up, and live another day. There'll be days where you might have to force yourself, but I promise you - I promise - there'll be happy days again."

Grayday stirs as Mur stands. It's almost sunrise, and Mur is a black shadow against the grey light of dawn.

"What if I don't want to be happy?"

"Then I suppose you'll know which one to feed."

---

Grayday let out a weary sigh as he awoke that night, and for a moment, he simply laid there, contemplating the vivid dream. His dreams were usually far more disjointed, but this one had been almost word-for-word out of the past. He cast a brief thought after Murdock, who had not visited again before Grayday left the pack, but wondered mostly after his father, and the parable he'd not understood as a boy.