King Elk Forest good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter

Lead on by @Delight, Cicero, @Ramsay and @Euron reached the pack territories at last. As he passed the borders Cicero caught a whiff of @Malice's scent there, and a weary though fleeting smile passed across his face. It had been so long; he had last seen her and Burke when they had escaped, when he had helped them, but he knew that they might not see it the same way. There was more that he could have done, should have done, perhaps... But it was all so long ago. Cicero did not think that they would hate him for it now, for it seemed they had built a life for themselves here. His paws were weary, the toes on his front legs purple from the cold but he did not care for it anymore.

Throughout the journey to the pack's territories Cicero's pace had slowed down considerably. He had been driven on by some primal force when he had no idea where Burke was, when he had a destination and a goal in mind, but now the children would be safe. This pack could care for them and even if Burke no longer could, perhaps Malice could do so. He was growing less and less needed by the moment, but wearily carried himself across the borders after a dishearteningly slow journey to the pack's grounds.

"I need to rest," he murmured as they reached the border and with a sigh of relief Cicero lay down beside a tree. A forest, almost like his own dark forest. The forest he knew he would never return to. Eyes closed and his body shook from the cold that his fur was not made for, and that he was no longer very well protected from now that he had been out in the open for so long rather than inside the safety of the dark forest.

His mismatched eyes opened to look 'round for the boys, ignoring any possible cues to get up and continue, for he knew he simply could not. "Euron, Ramsay..." Maegi, he thought, but she was not there. She'd not been there, she'd not joined them in their journey. Hopefully the wolves would not return to tear her face out in the Blackfeather Woods, for they were unsafe for some time to come.

it is not a long journey from the morass back to tindómë's borders but it is long enough that every passing moment makes delight's anxiety about the situation increase. once they are out of the darkness it is easier to see the extend of cicero's injuries -- like, what the hell happened to the guy? he doesn't press for details as they walk, figuring it might be hard for him to talk and travel.

they finally make it back more or less in one piece, only for cicero to immediately lie down. oh that's not very good. the morwinyon gives a quick call for @Anatha, though he suspects the healer won't be able to do much for him now -- to cicero he says, "do you want me to take you to wear burke is buried..?" unsure, exactly, what else he can do for the poor dude in the moment. he looks at the two boys, wondering what strange thing he's gotten himself in to.

He was weary, too, but he sensed a deeper and more mortal weariness in Cicero. His concern did not show on his face, blank as it was, despite the mounting dread he felt in his breast as Cicero called his name and Ramsay's. Euron came forward reluctantly and stood to the side of his father, peering at his tired face as Delight offered to take him to Burke. Euron said nothing. The accusation he wanted to make was clinging to his tongue.

He flexed his toes just to know that he still could.

As the boys drew closer he sighed, content to be with them. Euron's face reflected what he felt but from an outside perspective, the heaviness that he felt in his bones and muscles, the weariness that he felt in his soul. Ramsay would surely follow suit soon. The only wolf that was missing was his Damien. Oh, Damien... What he would have given to once more lay down by his brother's side and dig his chin gently into the dark fur of his dearest companion. How he wished that he could have been by his brother's side still. Perhaps then he would be walking a different path. Perhaps then, his brother would be walking a different path.

Yet his children were good enough replacement in the moment. Cicero did not think he would ever be able to love anyone like he loved Damien, but they had proved him wrong, for he had grown to love Euron and Ramsay dearly. He wondered if they'd ever see Damien again. He was certain he had smelled his brother just before they left in the Woods, but the trail was not fresh enough for him to make sense of. Ah.. Maybe they would see him some day.

The pack's Alpha spoke, and Cicero shook his head. Unless Burke was buried right around the corner, not right now. "Maybe later," he spoke, almost as if he thought he'd find some sort of renewed energy from the short rest. Burke's body meant nothing to Cicero now that he was dead. Nothing but dust and bones. His spirit was long gone. "Malice... Does she still live here?" he asked of Delight. Her scent told him the answer, but he needed to know. He was not sure if he needed to see her again. He was not sure she'd want to see him again.

He leaned his head down on the ground and smiled tiredly at Euron, whose face still reflected all that he was in that moment from a different angle. He waited for Ramsay to come while speaking with Delight; this was but a way to pass the time until he could talk to the boys. Tell them... He wasn't even sure. That he loved them, perhaps. That they should tell Damien about him, perhaps, about his love. Not that it would likely make a difference in his mad brother's mind now. Too little, too late, perhaps. A sad smile engulfed his face as he thought of this, though it made little difference from the sad smile that he already had on his face when he thought of leaving his sons behind in the care of strangers.

skipping/pping slightly ramsay w permission

the boys crowd around their father -- their dying father, his mind spits out despite his efforts to not name directly what he's seeing. the surreality of the situation weighs the moment down around him, dragging out each moment despite delight's inability to get a real handle on it. the role of a historian is to be a witness, but in this moment it occurs to the morwinyon that he's not used to being totally on the outside of a situation. he is as immersed in tindómë as tindómë is in him. cicero and euron and ramsay are not tindómë (well, yet, anyway): he has no idea what the hell they're going through or what hells they've been through.

cicero's question interrupts his train of thought. he's a little relieved at the negative answer (what was he gonna do, take cicero by the legs and drag him?) but -- malice is a much easier request. "yeah," delight says, and crouches slightly to be closer to the man, "do you want me to call for her?" mentally he runs through burke and malice's history, trying to piece together how cicero might know both of them (the fen? the caldera? blackfeather? something else, coincidence unspoken?).

she is not long in coming, but her approach is waylaid first by her half-eaten meal, and then the hesitation that has her check her stores. there is little reason else that the morwinyon should call for her, especially without any context behind his call. she pauses once at the entrance of the little space, noting the faded and few herbs she has left. they'll hardly be effective, and she does not pause much longer before moving to close the rest of the distance between herself and delight.

her gaze moves first to the gargoyle-boy, settling on him a moment and wondering if he is why delight has called her. she wonders why he is alive, and how, and many things beside; but her gaze is drawn finally to the bleeding man. they are strangers, and men, and one is a monster; she is wary, yet approaches still. she has only to look at him a moment to know the crumbled, faded herbs will not be enough, and states plainly her verdict. "he is dying." it is soft, and she looks to him still as if doubting her own words. gaze moves once over the two boys before falling to delight, wondering what he wants her to do.

He held the accusation behind his teeth still. He tasted its bitterness and its sourness as it spread across his tongue and filled his mouth. If Euron could have chewed it into pulp and swallowed it he would have, but as he clenched and ground his teeth he found that all it did was swell until finally he could not dam it and it seeped past his lips in a quiet and soft voice. "You're abandoning us." There was nothing harsh about his tone despite the nature of the statement. He was seemingly — oddly, perhaps — without judgement or malice. Cicero was leaving them; it may have appeared like he had cast his father in the same light as Maegi with his choice of words, but while he perceived it to be wrong for Cicero to bring them here and to leave them alone among strangers, among strange trees... Maegi had chose to leave. Cicero had not.

Euron moved in front of his father and settled onto his stomach, laying his own head between his paws, nearly nose to nose with his sire and mentor. "It's okay." He said, still quiet and still soft. "I understand. You are tired." His tail swept the ground; a weak wag. "They made you tired." He was aware of his brother's presence nearby, aware even of the other two wolves but they were removed from this moment. "I will make them tired someday." He promised as he flashed his father a wicked grin; his eyes glinted with the same crookedness. There was a pause before he continued.

"I am mad you brought us here and are leaving," he admitted. "But I forgive you. You are good." Euron drew a deep breath and exhaled calmly. Then he reached out his paw and gingerly patted his father on the nose. "So it's okay," he affirmed.

"You can go."

Ramsay is totally skippable because I'm not sure how timely I'll be. <3

He was silent. He had been silent for a long time. Since asking Delight if his pack had killed Burke, since arriving at Tindome, and all through Cicero and Euron's exchange, Ramsay said nothing. He'd noticed it back then, the smell that clung persistently to Cicero, and he hadn't said anything since. It was faintly sweet, a whiff of something familiar but also repulsive, and reminded Ramsay too much of Blackfeather's gruesome borders to be coincidental. He knew it even before Anatha said it out loud, and he chewed his lip in silence.

Somewhere inside him, a small boy curled in on himself and loudly sobbed.

He watched his brother console their fallen father with impassivity that was uncharacteristic even for him. It was like he was cast in stone, and for a long while, he couldn't move or find any words to say. Ramsay had often been the most unfeeling and most logical, if not the smartest, of his siblings; when Maegi and Euron were both distraught and passionate about Potema's continued hatred, Ramsay had chosen not to care. He approached the world in a very physical manner and reserved his thoughts for things that weren't emotional in nature, but now he was stricken with emotion and didn't know what to think, do, or say.

In the end, Euron told Cicero to go, and Ramsay nodded slowly. He crept toward his father, perhaps the only adult wolf who had ever had any real impact on him, and did his best to shuffle close. He sought to drape his chin and neck across Cicero's thin shoulder, but he couldn't reach. The frustration with his body's limitations in that moment made his hackles rise, but all Ramsay said was a murmured, "love you," which he had always reserved solely for Euron and Maegi until then.

your posts were absolutely beautiful. <3 this is my last post here. :)

A healer was not necessary, and Cicero knew it. He had perhaps known all along their journey, but it wasn't until he had laid down here at the borders that he had realised this consciously. Or perhaps it was when he had heard that Burke was dead, and his journey was therefore in vain; the first time in his life that he remembered panic struck him, because he somehow knew he hadn't the time to solve this some other way. Normally he would have simply sought some other way. If not left, then right, if not right, then there was always some other way. Criss-cross through the forest, off the paths, if need be. But now there were no more paths to walk, for when your paws are bloody and freezing off it is hard to travel any sort of path.

Perhaps he had even known when he said farewell to Maegi, when he knew he would not return. The boys were safe, now, or as safe as he would get them. Delight offered to fetch Malice but he shook his head. "She will know once she sees the boys," he murmured thoughtfully. She would know they were his. Hopefully she would remember the absence of hatred within his actions when the rest of the pack turned on her, hopefully it would be enough to make her unfold herself over these children in some way. For Ramsay he feared the most, for his physique was a burden on his own body and on that of a pack; but as long as Euron the master mouser was by his side, surely he would be safe.

It was such a strange thought and foreign feeling to him, the worries of a fretful parent hoping their children would land safely within the world. Euron spoke, when he did, with a tone that was well known to Cicero. Not only from the boy's own mouth but his own, too; he had always been very much like Cicero, not only in appearance, but in other ways as well. The way Euron vowed some form of revenge was endearing though unnecessary to the philosopher, who'd never held any grudges over blood spilt.

He lifted his head briefly enough to say: "If you ever see Damien again, tell him..." he murmured with a tired lisp to his voice; "... Cicero will always love him." But soon his head fell again as he looked at Euron. "I am sorry I cannot walk this part of the journey with you." For he had not intended to go so soon; not really, anyway. Not consciously.

It was strange, the impact words had upon the mind when one was fading away fast. He knew that it was happening, but it was as if everything went very slow at that point. All the words spoken by Euron, understanding why Cicero had to go, most notably his last. It was as if a burden fell from his shoulders when Euron said that it was okay.

As he heard the words — You can go — his head fell slouched against the ground, almost as if Euron had uttered a command of his death. In truth his death was long overdue but the words reminded him that the journey was over and gave him permission, in some way, to leave them the next part of their journey alone. Soft words rolled off his thickened tongue, but they were unintelligible; he was too far gone. There was just enough time left for his mismatched eyes to roll up at Ramsay and receive the final words to fall upon his ragged ears — love you — though it was hard to tell whether he truly heard those last words. Orange and white eyes stared blankly into the void while the wind played with his thin, ragged fur and a last spasm-like shudder ran across his spine.

Cicero Sheogorath Melonii was gone; neither the philosopher nor the beast would ever get up again.

me: this is so touching and heart breaking
delight:

what the fuck. 

anatha's arrival and subsequent statement confirm what delight already knows. it's an out of body experience, watching himself watch cicero and his children, their touching exchanges rendered unreal. he doesn't know them, he shouldn't be a witness to this, it's a contextless death, how does he file it? how does he weave it into the story? every moment is part of tindómë's history and yet set apart from it, interlopers turned significant.

even if cicero had acquiesced to his question the androgyne would not have been able to call for malice, frozen where he's standing, paws like ice. numbly he realises this is, despite everything, the first time he has witnessed death happen before his eyes. the words the father and sons exchange are not his to remember to keep to know, the details slipping, and disassociation is good for granting privacy if nothing else.

the final spasm of cicero's body unsticks him from his frozen state, coming back into himself a little. his eyes are wet inexplicably. he takes a deep shuddering breath, looking first at anatha and then at the children. the children who are tindómë's now, delight supposes: he is not going to let these sad orphans off into the wilds to starve. they need to bury the body but he hesitates, not wanting to step on their mourning, and desperately casts a glance to anatha (what do i do?)

I think we can wrap up

Cicero was gone and for a long time Euron simply looked upon him with eerie calmness, before his eyes trailed the limp and ragged corpse and fell upon his dead father's tail. They lingered there at length, fixated and unblinking, as the patchwork boy ran his tongue thoughtfully across his lips. Then he stood and stepped lightly toward the tail, so that he could press the black leather of his nose into the longer hairs there. His lips pulled back, and his teeth reached, but suddenly Euron clapped a paw to his temple and winced and grimaced, staggering backwards with a groan.

The pup shook his head, and glanced briefly to the wolves assembled around Cicero. His expression was blank, his eyes empty, and then he turned to leave with a hollow statement.

"Going to rest."

There was nothing Ramsay could do to stop the inevitable. With a heave and a sigh, Cicero's spirit left his body to join the daedra on their eternal plane, leaving the mortals to mourn him in relative silence. Delight seemed to fall out of existence as he focused on the still face of his father. He recalled Indra then, telling him that the dead should be buried. He remembered telling her that the dead wouldn't know any better anyway.

After all this time, he still believed that, and thus felt no need to lay Cicero to rest or preserve his body in any formal fashion. He watched numbly as Euron approached their father's tail, recoiled, then disappeared from the gathering. Wordlessly he followed after his brother at a distance; he didn't want Euron's presence necessarily, but he didn't want to be left with the body and strangers, either.

the children do not linger at their father's side -- he supposes he can't blame them. they still bring a sense of unease in delight, something which makes him feel guilty given the circumstances, but are not oddities allowed in mourning? probably, or something. the morwinyon shares a glance with anatha, not moving to stop them as they retreat from the scene, and sets to work with the task of moving cicero. he is not of tindómë and delight sees no real need to bury him with burke (were his children not directly in his care now the androgyne might have just... shuffled him out of the way and left him). instead he pulls him a little ways from the border and creates a shallow grave, just enough to be respectful. 

then he retreats himself to reflect on what happened and what he needs to do now.