Redtail Rise Moon Singer

Moon Runner did not leave Redtail Rise.

Home, the spirit said to its vessel.

The white wolf watched the horizon, her mind silent in response.

The sun set and the moon rose. A waning crescent – just a sliver of pale light in the dark sky.

Moon Runner tipped her head back and howled an emotional serenade. A solo.

I should, uh…

When he glanced over his shoulder, his latest hookup was already trotting away through the trees, with nary a backward glance. Bushtit stared after her, then snorted. A grin broke over his face even as he shook his head and turned, his pale paws carrying him steadily westward for a while before he steered in a more southerly direction as the day waned.

He would find a way to cross the mountains in the morning, he decided sometime after darkness fell. Bushtit slowed his gait and rolled to a halt, eyes piercing the darkness as he searched for someplace to shelter overnight. He saw what looked like some woods a few miles due south, though before he could take a single step, a song rose up from somewhere behind him.

He turned his head first, then the rest of his body followed suit as he pinpointed the origin of the howl. It came from a rise north of his present position. Bushtit listened for a moment, his ears quivering, before he indulged the instinctive urge to howl back. He caught a glimpse of a pale sickle in the sky—the new moon was days away—before he squeezed his eyes shut and turned the distant stranger’s solo into a duet.

With one last note Moon Runner’s voice faded as a cloud of frozen breath dissipated into the dark night.

She felt the taiga’s wind tickle her guard hairs. The moon’s glow made the snow crust sparkle.

Her voice waned. Quiet. She was alone.

But then!

— But then!

A song replied.

Moon Runner took a breath and sang louder, her spirit renewed. She harmonized with him and their haunting voices filled the barren winter-scape together.

Would he come to the Rise? Would others?

Her ancient spirit beckoned him.

Run with me.

His song faded as his lungs emptied of air. In the subsequent silence, he pricked his ears and studied the distant rise. Abruptly, Bushtit realized he’d stood upon it once. Sometime the previous summer, just before he’d decided to depart the Teekon Wilds, he had met Sienna at its crest, a queen seated upon her throne. Was that her voice breaking into a second verse?

Bushtit drew in a deep breath and rejoined her, their voices weaving in the wintry darkness. Hers enticed him closer, though the yearling didn’t move from where he stood on the frosted plain. He was tired from a long day’s travel. He had many more miles to go, come morning. He couldn’t really afford a side quest.

But he could spare the breath to query after her—what had she called it?—empire. Bushtit still assumed he was speaking to Queen Sienna, to whom he offered his regrets at being unable to join her properly in her throne room.

There was a lilt to his final verse.

A questioning note.

Moon Runner knit wildspeak into her next chorus, to tell him all the wonders of her home.

Cold snow, winter air.

The hawk flies above, the elk rush through, trout swim in the streams.

My home. I am Wealda.

Wealda.

Wealda.

This land has my soul.

I have no earthly name.

I run with the moon. I sing with the stars.

My spirit is strong. It is wild.

Wealda.

He kept his ears pricked even as he looked around for a suitable place to sleep. He found a rather scraggly cluster of shrubs and began digging a shallow bed for himself beneath one as Sienna sang in the background, painting poetic pictures about her domain. He smiled to himself as he listened, even if he didn’t totally follow the bit about wielding.

He settled down in his makeshift berth with a sigh as her verse drew to a close with one last declaration of her strange title. He thought back to their brief rendezvous on the rise—unaware, of course, that the singer wasn’t Sienna at all—and tapped his tail tiredly. He barely knew her, yet he was happy for her obvious success.

“Enjoy your empire, Wealda!” he called back, tucking his forelegs beneath his chest. He yawned, his head already drifting toward his snowy pillow as he tacked on, “Good night!”

In the end, she could not lure the wandering soul to her keep.

His final note was an adieu, but Moon Runner’s spirit was unbothered. It was simply not meant to be — though she had enjoyed their duet.

She laid down and rested her chin on crossed paws before sleep overcame Wealda.