Arrow Lake requiem

Peace was far from his mind.

The power of holding someone's life in one's hands (as Mesa had felt while fighting off an intruding girl) was intoxicating, especially so for the little warrior who felt they had much left to prove. Juxtaposed to that was the indomitable sense of loss; images of Stigmata buried deep within the mountain - forever its heart, though flesh slipped away and muscle deteriorated beneath the surface - tainted what would have otherwise been a beautiful memory. Now when Mesa thought of his beloved idol he saw ruin; rotted meat and blank eyes. Powerless, for he could not pull time back to that moment and return his father to the living.

Then there was his brother. Mesa yearned for Ego's company too - but this was sliding in to darkness, for the boy could no longer discern a difference between his desire for a whole family, his lusting for power in the face of his percieved frailties, and his subtle and unwanted sense of blame. Did he blame Ego for their father's death? Maybe he wanted to. He certainly didn't think to blame himself; the mountain was more at fault than any one of his kin. Desperate to hold on to what family was left, Mesa had begun to stalk the mountain paths; more-so bludgeon them as he raced along them, shoving bodies out of his way or snapping uselessly, indignantly, if anyone should question his behavior.

All except for Tahani. He had not seen her upon the slopes - granted his aunt was not high on his list of priorities, she had shown him patience and kindness as his fortitude began to wither. Mesa was not seeking her out on purpose. Her scent hit him - weak, likely overwhelmed by the herbaciousness of her gathering - and when he paused to look down upon her, he saw her form prone as if asleep. Nothing startled him at first; the boy lingered, drifting down the mount like a wayward cloud, and as he came close to where Tahani lay he chuffed to garner attention.

When it did not come he chuffed again - louder.

Stillness, silence - a growing sense of nostalgia mixed with dread.

He bends low to sniff at her face, and her eyes are closed. Mesa frowns and on a whim (a selfish, needy, childish desire) he drops against the stonework and tucks in against her limp body. There is where he waits, waits, waits... And when no breath stirs from the woman, Mesa plants his chin upon his spreading limbs adjacent to her own, letting himself quietly mourn for her.