The Sentinels honey and sulfur

@Deirdre <3

his talk with peregrine had left the man worried for what would become of the once-closeness he had maintained with his little witch, and he knew he could not depart donnelaith until he had mended, or at least attempted to right, the wrong that had been wrought against her. the child was old enough now to walk at his side, and so lasher paused at the mouth of the whelping den and gave a low howl for his little spirit.

her heart froze within her chest at the sound of her father and his summons. she had grown attached to tachyon, but tachyon had gone from her to some other place and though she waited for him the moment she roused to the moment she was brought back home he had yet to return. on the fifth day deirdre wept herself into a deep sleep, but her emerald eyes were wide at the mans beckoning. deirdre loved the man greatly, though her mind was a confused and tangled place at present, and as she lay there she thought to ignore him entirely. her head turned upon her foreleg and she noted the eyes of her sister upon her, watchful as ever. deirdre knew her sister waited for her, and yet she still was not ready to share this burden; the monster she feared would come again, that may already have come again and taken her tachyon from her.

deirdre thought of the wisdom her father possessed. she thought of the owl that had spoken of knowing all. she could idle no more, nor could she be a victim to her fear. a shaky breath came from her before she rose to all fours and moved toward the denmouth, staring openly at him. her fear was difficult to dispel upon seeing him, but she no longer quailed when looking upon him. the echo of his snarl in the labyrinth of her mind played, but deirdre steeled herself, and did not look away.

wounded! he reeled from deidre's avoidance of him -- he would not press her, no. that would not do. but he missed fiercely her piping little voice, the lilt of her laughter, her constant questions -- he felt removed from the both of his witches, and mourned this daily. and he beheld the fear upon her face, and sensed the effort it took for deirdre to remain in his presence.

lasher wished to pull aside and let her alone, but peregrine's words reverberated in his mind, and he steeled himself. "would you like to walk with me, mo spiorad?"

his soft voice was met with a cautious nod. she did trust that her voice would not betray the truth, and so she kept to her silence for now. deirdre warily moved nearer to him, ears splaying atop her head as she wondered at where it was he wished to walk to. the cub breathed in quietly, and asked him with the tilt of her head, have you spoken with the flowers? for she had taken to talking to them, in the absence of tachyon; they came to her in dreams, and perhaps he had conversed with them as she had. they... do not know where tachyon is. do you?

the flowers, of course such a delicate one as she would speak to flowers. lasher wondered in his heart what she thought of such things, what the spring blossoms whispered to her as they flowed forth from the last coldness of winter's breath. yet he noticed also the wariness of her step, the careful tilt of his little witch's ears -- he was moved to sadness by this, but removed it from his tones, invoking a cheerier clime with his words.

"oh, yes," the druid said softly. "they have whispered to me that he has gone, but only for a time. he will return." a smile lit his features; hopefully deirdre would smile at this small jest.

deirdre forgot fear as he spoke in an affirmation of knowing where tachyon was, and when he did not reveal it she drew nearer to him, mouth agape. they did not tell me! perhaps they did not know, then, but knew now. it was no matter; the man before her did, and she was not so surprised. the man knew all, and had never disproven this. that this was jest deirdre did not know, she trusted his words to be truth. she smiled as he did, a small flicker of joy lighting the cobwebbed darkness that she had hosted for too long. when? can we bring him here now? why did he go?

"ils gardent bien leurs secrets," lasher laughed, for she had warmed to the game. yet he did not know where the man had gone, and did not wish to lie. "ils ne seraient pas me dire." he slipped easily into the tongue shared between he and his witches, for he intended them to be fluent in it. "we cannot bring him here, but he will come back to us."

she understood his Other Tongue; she, emaleth, and he shared three languages with one another and for one so young it was easy to know, easy to speak. it was as natural to her as anything else; that not all could speak this way was unknown to her. now and then she would lapse into the french dialect, or else gaelic. ils partagent tout avec moi! came her breathy response, her eyes seeking the lips of the very thing they spoke of. but no flowers were near to them, and while she was driven to scamper away and find them, she felt there was something more he was not telling her. pourquoi seraient-ils pas me dire cela? her head tilted, and at his next statement, deirdre looked forlornly into the distance. when????

"b'fhéidir nach raibh siad ag iarraidh a dhéanamh brónach tú," lasher murmured, a little shocked that she pressed him so, when he had no early idea of where tachyon had gone. guilt gripped him at his lie, for it seemed to distress her; the druid lowered his muzzle to kiss her little cheek. "votre français est amélioré," he murmured, hoping to steer her aside somewhat. 

"i do not know when he will come back, my witch. only that he will."

deirdre was learning, though she did not know all. she could understand better than she could speak, and sometimes would respond simply in english. his murmurings were met with a thoughtful look, and she frowned. is it not a lie? she asked him, it is bad to lie. which is worse? her query was genuine, truly curious; she wondered what the greatest offense could be, and she wondered what would hurt her more. she was hurt that the flowers would not tell her the truth, but her heart understood that they did not wish to sadden her. perhaps she ought to tell the flowers that she was stronger, now. a little frightened sometimes, but surely stronger on this day, as she looked upon the man she had run from but days ago. as he spoke of her improvement, deirdre smiled sweetly, bashful for the praise received. but as he promised the return of tachyon, she exhaled a tiny little breath. do you promise? for deirdre had come to love tachyon, as she loved eilidh, and yearned for him in the absence of casmir. and as she thought of her brother, she whimpered. why do they go at all?

my jamz

he could not tell her, nor could he begin to speak; lasher settled alongside deirdre and looked upon the sky, gesturing that she do the same. "at one time, i believed that those who departed and did not return went into the heavens, were caught up by the spirits. but now i know that only a select view are taken to the gods, dear witch. perhaps tachyon was one of them."

he looked to her now. "if this is the case, then he shall not return, my golden heart." and he reached to kiss her now, to reassure her. "wherever he is, he has found happiness, surely."

he did not respond to her question, though her intent focus upon it drifted as he spoke of something else. deirdre had the mind of a child, after all, and it was prone to forgetting things quickly enough and belatedly recalling them, and its importance, if it was recalled at all. like a doll left behind at the playground that was remembered too late. 

deirdre was rapt at his mention of spirits, a word that called to her, and of gods. but her interest deflated and she bristled at his words, affronted and pained by them. the babe had even flinched, so accosted was she by the thought. no! why! why would they do that? it was then she looked up to the heavens, and back to her father again. spirits, gods... who are they, to do this? came her rail-thin voice. again she looked to the sky. maybe he left, maybe, like casmir! this was a better hope for her heart, but it wounded her, too, clearly.

as her father went on, speaking of never seeing her again, deirdre looked to him with an open mouth, her wounded heart pouring forth from her eyes. not return! she breathed, not sure of what this meant. but you, when you go, you always return! casmir will return! tachyon will return!

lasher did not mean to turn aside her question, but was by turns hurt by the aching of his heart which swelled with joy to follow the changeling lit of expressions across her unguarded little visage. oh, deirdre! sweet one! her very sadness would bring a ghost to wipe away her tears and lift her spirits.

"they do as they please, and we must not question them," he rejoined, perhaps more firmly than he had intended. softening at one, lasher kissed first one soft pale cheek and then other other. "casmir will return, yes, and i shall, but tachyon -- you must leave him to find his own way, dear heart."

deirdre looked to her father, bewildered at his demand, and for a moment she turned to the sky and turned into an insufferable, terrible little thing, all of her beauty concentrated into a hateful glare cast into the heavens. you bring him back, if you took him!!! yo-- but the emotion broke, as her heart was truly unable to hate, and she let out a dry sob. i must ask! i must know! please! she looked to him, her father, desperate and confounded by all of this. it was out of her depth, but she was learning the meaning of things like dreams and so she could grasp this, grasp what he meant, grasp he shall not return.

she looked to the sky again, stared at the winking stars, and breathed to them. please! please! please, if he can come back, please bring him back to us! please! that it was unbecoming to beg she did not know, but the sky darkened above slowly. just as a tear threatened to come from her eye, one solid, silver raindrop plopped right on her cheek. she felt it an answer from them, the gods, and looked to her father resolutely, sniffling roughly as another raindrop came to fall upon her. never one who avoided the elements, she swallowed. she could not bring herself to speak without fear of crying openly, but then, she could not help herself. we cannot try and find him??? never had the babe considered stepping outside of donnelaith; it showed her love and devotion for tachyon, though she had desired to do the same for her father until her mother had promised his return. when she was aware that he would return, always, that desire seemed to abate... though she always had wished to know where it was he went to.

deirdre quaked. as the rain began to fall in a quiet drizzle around them, casting a silver glow around her as they rebounded off her hide, she asked, what if... what if that white bear has him???? she did not know that the woman was gone, forever; did not know death yet, but today it seemed she would learn.

she called to the heaven and they answered with a lap of rain; lasher too stared heavenward. he had never voiced his words to the ghosts who beckoned with empty hands, for he was afraid. taltos was no witch; he was the tool of witches. a servant to them, a lover. a treasure. a weapon. and now, it seemed, he was a father to a pair of them, light and dark, the sun and the moon and the stars having climbed down from the very skies and taken them into collective embrace.

but taltos did not speak, though he was filled with words; he let deirdre be the link betwixt himself and the grey heavens, and stepped back from the lilting hard voice of her anger, childish and yet ageless beyond imagining.

"ní féidir liom teacht ar tachyon," he murmured lowly, ashamed of his failings before her. "cén fáth a bhfuil tú grá an fear?" lasher asked, having never understood the breadth and depth of deirdre's adoration.

the girl looked to her father, the rain lapping her tears away and yet adding to them tenfold. that her father spoke not of the white savage cast a stone of fear into her heart. was he so afraid of her, too, that he could not speak of her? he spoke at last of being unable to find tachyon, and a sob shook her. he who could do all, her father, could not do this! why? she croaked, her favored question. her fear of him morphed into anger, and then into sadness, and she was spent. her ears pricked at his question, and she stared at him. to know love was truly out of her depth, and to articulate it was an impossibility. i love you, she spoke at last, i love emaleth. i love mother. i love eilidh. i love casmir. i love tachyon. love was simple for a child, who had few reasons for doing it, but did so unconditionally to those that had earned their heart. tachyon had been present in dark times, and she had permitted him to be because he had made himself a presence in her life early on. to question it was curious, but here was her answer.

for a child, love was quite simple. all encompassing. constant. lasher attempted to live his life in much the same way, but the purity of deirdre's affections were long lost to him. still, he took solace in the largesse of her heart, and kissed her downy forehead. so much she felt! and he could not share in her burden, nor shoulder it for her -- he could not take from her the pain of losing, only guide her steps so that she was better prepared to deal with it in times to come. loss was a part of existence -- but o! the druid wished he could shield her from it all, veil his little witches from the clutching painful tendrils of life's darker whims.

she had answered all of his questions, and he had answered not a one! she moved toward his knee and looked up to him, her eyes placating, watering saucers. answer it! she begged of him, why can't we try to find him? why can we do nothing? this helpless feeling was one she detested, but so nightmarishly familiar to her! was this her destiny? to be a helpless witch? she was soft and supple and sweet but could she not be hard for those she loved? and yet fear gripped her shoulders, shook her where she stood: you know why! it wailed at her, and yet she would have him tell her. she would hear it from him that they were not victims of fates whim, or she did not know what she would do!

it was true -- lasher had not answered for he had none to give, and admitting this would demote him from his place among the stars in her eyes. selfishly he did not want this, but as deirdre gazed upon him desperately, her eyes wide in the rainy din, he sighed brokenly and lay beside her, uncaring that this wetted his fur. "there is nothing that can be done. i have searched for him, as have you and also eilidh. he is not to be found. perhaps he does not wish to be found, or perhaps he is on a journey. he has been led away by something we cannot understand, but we must trust that the spirits and ghosts of this place will bring him back, deirdre. and that is all we are able to do."

his words were rewarded with a quiet sound from her, between a sob and a hiccup. and yet she was placated; trust that the spirits might bring him back here, he had in essence said—or, these were the words that she had heard him speak over all the rest! and so she moved into him, to weep into his chest and be held by her beloved father, and comforted. she had not been so near to him in a long, long time, but she needed to hide away from her fears; at last, he was not one of them.