Stone Circle And the universe reigned again.

Set around October 7/8/9.
Between  Flycatcher Downs &  Bearclaw Valley leading towards the pack's southern border. References to this major event in his life.

The stampeding limbs of the many elk came and went although the sound persisted inside of him, rebounding with every jostle of his body or thrust of his limbs through patches of snow; he felt the thunderous momentum of the herd even when he was alone, heard it like a drum beat, a visceral extention of his racing heart. It was unwise for the boy to go so far without an adult but he wasn't thinking about that as he sped from the scene of Kazimir's death; the days that followed were a jumble of panic and he could not manage the adrenaline that flooded his system, making him shake, reminding him of the violence of the crumbling mountains and the herd and the pulverized body of his protector — on and on it went, a vortex of traumatic memory that he could not stop. Not once did his mind wander beyond the images of those cloven hooves and many limbs crushing the woman's body, the sound of bones splintering, the call of her voice as she demanded he run. Mesa did not know how long he ran or where he went, only that he follow that instruction until his legs would not obey him any longer.

He was numb to the pain in his own body, the strain of his coltish limbs and heaving breaths. For a brief spell he had become like a hummingbird: panting so rapidly that he couldn't quite get a full breath in, and the carbon in his lungs fought to be released in equal measure, his ribs moving like a bellows as he wheezed breath after breath after dizzying breath—and that was when it happened. His legs felt like they were made of water and they refused to support him in his mania. One step too many, and he was abruptly without support, his hind end raising over his chest as he came over a rounded hill untouched by the disasters of the Wilds, and then he slammed against the dirt, still kicking his paws and trying to run even though the world was no longer beneath him. The boy spasmed there for a minute or two as he hyperventilated, reaching across the grass with one forelimb or kicking at the air with a hind leg until some semblance of calm descended across his heaving sides, and he went limp.

But he was still awake and still manic, staring at the tide of grass rolling around him, towards the spires of some distant stones that looked too alien to him to be real. His eyes rolled in his head and he shut them, gagging on air even as his breathing began to regulate, and before Mesa could do much else he felt a wave of nausea boiling in his belly that shot up through his throat, and suddenly he was dry-heaving sideways against the green.

True to her word, Nanook patrolled the perimeters, while the confrontation with her sister rang fresh in her mind. How long, until her sister's devotion became their undoing? The bison had not returned, the deer had dispersed -- and there was more now, too, wasn't there? Indra was gone, something had knocked Greyback to the ground, and both Merrit and Clay had not been seen in days. The Stones still stood, but their family crumbled around them, yet still, Valette would not budge.

And here she was. Still standing by her sister in the wake of these decisions, and wouldn't she stand by her still, even if the stars rained down and the Stones crumbled all about them? Her devotion would be her own undoing. Life had been safer and easier alone, but life had not been good.

She sighed, and stared into the barren fields. The empty grass rolled on for miles in every direction; she almost forgot what it was like, to see bison spotting the hills, roaming through the herd, grazing with their young. They had not been a noisy lot, but without them, there was an empty space where even their seldomn voice was missing. The bellows they would pass to one another, and Nanook paused, and closed her eyes, and stilled. She knew she would not hear their calls today, but if she concentrated, she could almost trick herself, if even for a few short moments, that the titans had returned, that they would be there when she opened her eyes.

What she did not expect was for the noise that took that empty space, a horrible wretching, nor the pale shape that broke up the endless grass when she fluttered open her eyes.

She came upon him with quick strides, and slid to the ground, "Child, it is okay," her quiet rasp sought to soothe, and she stole her gaze across him with a practiced eye. Unwell; worn-down; her fur stood on end. Where had he come from, and what sickness did he carry? There was no one else in the perimeter; he was alone, completely so, and much too young. She knew to stay away, but she found herself reaching out her foreleg anyway to place a gentle paw against his flank in an effort to comfort him through the worst of his heaving.

His body convulsed, and he wished it was all a dream. He wished he hadn't been there when the herd had erupted over the ledge, wished he had not been caught up in the slurry of spidering limbs and flowing, frantic bodies. That he was still sleeping somewhere safe and warm beside his siblings, or even alongside the three-legged woman; he thought of her in fits too, incongruent terrors between gasps as he gagged on bile. If he hadn't been so bold — if he hadn't thought himself immune — if he — Child.

A stranger's voice.

It is okay, they rasp to him, giving him a new thing to focus on that is so far removed from the chaos he had outrun; he does not fully comprehend the voice, the tone, the space around himself — but Mesa wheezes and breathes, then tries to lift his attention to the dark shape as it comes in close. His thundering heart does not want to relax, his eyes are wide and bright and manic, so when he looks at the stranger he doesn't see the concern on her own face nor the stone-grey marbling of her fur. The expressive brows, the October-sky eyes. Soon he feels something graze upon his back and tries to squirm, but his body refuses to listen; he lays sprawled before her and must accept her comfort whether it is consensual or not. He heaves again — only air, this time.

It does help to have someone near even if they are a stranger, as the presence of the wolf gives Mesa someone to study, which takes his mind off of the alien faces of the elk. The woman smells like fresh green grass and cold, although cold is not exactly a smell; it is like the scent of the wind higher up the mountain, he thinks. There is something deeper there too, like pine smell, but not quite — and by focusing on these little details his breathing slows down, his body calms. He feels an overwhelming, consuming exhaustion that spreads like vertigo through his brain. The boy thinks he might pass out right there beside the stranger, and tries his best not to let himself sleep.

When he can, he gathers his wits and tries to speak - but sputters, breathes, rasping back to the stranger: Where...? His eyes are wide and dull, like frosted glass, and he blinks rapidly to clear the haze from them.

Withdrawing.

The boy staggers to his feet finally, recoiling from the foreigner, her touch, her voice, her scent - and while his body doesn't immediately respond to the sharp return of fight vs flight, he catches his breath, then pulls away, puts distance between them, and races as best he can (wobbly gait and all) away from the territory.