Moonspear you were never made to fly

Just as swiftly as birth had brought her into the world, Yama had vanished from the eyes of onlookers. She kept to herself since the passing of her parents, residing high atop the mountain; she often gazed out over the land below, wondering what would happen if she, too, fell. Was she high enough that death might claim her? Perhaps then she would see mama and papa again—that was all that she wanted. Would they be happy to see her? Would they be mad? As she thought she remained perched precariously atop the mountain’s ridges, staring blankly at the world below.

Maybe they missed her. Could they miss her? Without consciously noticing it, her brow furrowed, deep in thought. They were dead—could the dead still feel? Were they capable of missing others from when they were alive? She didn’t know and now, with them gone, she felt she had no one to ask. No one to burden with her questions, no one to look up to—they were gone, and she wanted them back.

She had yet to let him lay eyes on them, those children. He had given it a try or two, innately curious and drawn by paternal instinct, and he had been turned away with a flash of teeth. Dirge was persistent nevertheless, but not dense enough to push his luck any more than what was necessary. At least she had the sense to protect them, to know whether to let any of them close or drive them away with her fickle mood shifted to something a bit more dark. The most he had been able to tease from her was pride over them, the four, and a rough Hydra-esque description of what they were in design.

Yet he wanted to see for himself.

Knowing there was a time and a place for such things and just as keen to heel to her whims, he found he was not bothered entirely by her decision. There was plenty to do and plenty that had kept him busy as the days went by. Gentle, brief connections with the others here and there, though he was just as keen to give them their space and let them grieve where he seemingly did not.

He had rounded the borders early in the day, checked up on Hydra and the children after that, and now had found himself following the rocky paths along the higher climes of Moonspear. It was a popular locale for him to survey with, if nothing else than to spy out not so distant herds as they trekked their way across the scope that they claimed. A claim that was now as much his as it was Hydra's, even at the cost that it had come.

But what he had not anticipated finding was another along those slopes so soon, and when he did he found himself almost balking away from approaching. He had done his share of keeping to himself and such an excursion was oft a means to do so in lieu of travel. Yet title and duty dictated some rapport between them all and had it been another other than Yama, he may have redirected himself.

Instead, he closed in that distance before holding off altogether some few feet away, and cast a glance over the edge to where she peered. Whether or not she was seeing or not did not quite occur to him; he was instead torn, cycling through questions to ask. How she was was irrelevant—he could see that grief still permeated her at the core. What she was doing, however... that was another story altogether. Thinking, considering, the options ran limitless.

He was at a loss for words.

There was no clever manual on how to deal with dying and death.

As the seconds ticked by, she gazed out over the world below; there was little that she actually saw and even fewer things fully perceived, yet she could not tear her eyes away. Were her parents watching her? Could they see? She could think of nothing that she would not give up if it meant seeing them again—she wanted more walks with mama, more talks with papa. She wanted to learn from them, begin to understand things that only they could explain to her with their vast knowledge. And, truth be told, she needed them back: Yama doubted the longevity of her existence in a world where her parents no longer existed.

But maybe she could join them.

Unknowingly, the young girl’s body began to rock, teetering on the edge of a rocky outcropping. How easy she could fall, entirely unaware of what she was doing—or maybe she could even jump, body thrown in an effort to find her way to mama and papa even quicker. Would they be happy to see her?

Wouldn’t Arcturus miss her?

The thought grounded her: Arcturus, her dear brother, was suffering just as much as she was—she couldn’t leave him to endure the pain alone, not so soon after their shared loss. Yama blinked, seeing for perhaps the first time just how high she was, and how close to the edge she lingered. She drew in a deep breath and steadily let it out, calming herself enough to carefully step back and away from the ledge. Someday she would join her parents but today was not the day—she wasn’t ready, not yet.

Once far enough from danger, Yama turned slowly with the intention of making her way down the mountain—the only problem being that she had hardly spun around and was already staring into the eyes of another wolf. She had seen him on the day of the announcement, after her parents had both passed and her sister rose to power, and knew that he was of the pack. But moments ago, when she was contemplating her options, he’d practically been invisible; she hadn’t wanted to see anyone else there and her eyes, acting as blind as an eyeless newt, had granted her wish. But now she saw, and the seemingly sudden appearance was a true shock to her system.

Yama’s pulse increased tenfold, heart pounding so violently that she was surprised it hadn’t emerged from her chest yet. She could feel her mouth running dry and had she been human, her skin would have turned as white as a sheet because he had seen her. She found herself frozen to the ground she stood on, body suddenly heavy and limbs unwilling to carry her away. What did he want? What would he do? A building tremble worked its way down her body, nerves alive and panic settling deep into her breast—

—what did he want?

The moments ticked by unchecked, each one growing with an uncomfortable weight. She was so close to that edge, dare he thought she teetered on the precipice, and his sense of dread grew. Concern flickered to the edges of his countenance when she heaved a sigh towards nothingness, and he had been about to speak when she had stepped back and turned towards him.

Her reaction there rendered him silent still, though he distinctly saw the uncertainty crest in her features and turn swiftly towards fear. Hers was a different sort of dread; he had intruded on a moment that may very well have been quite private. He stole away whatever sense of wonder and safety she may have had—so he thought. Yama was very much the opposite of her twin, Dirge realized, though he had not been so ignorant to know that she was reclusive.

"I didn't meant to startle you," he said, "I was just coming to see how you were when you turned. Your sister was wondering after you, and I too." A foolish lie as he had seen more than that, but for her sake he hoped she would believe it, if only to bolster the sense that he had just happened by and hadn't been lingering from a distance. Perhaps she would see through it, as she was very much one of Charon's brood, but they did not know one another that well in spite of his tenure there.

As he spoke, she gradually settled, though the thrumming in her chest did not cease. How long had he been there? How much had he seen? She retreated further from the edge but was careful not to lessen the space between them, weary still of his being there. But he spoke of her sister—her elder sister, not the twin she’d lost—and that helped put her further at ease, as did the reason for his being there named concern. For her? She was doubtful but said nothing, and convinced herself that she shouldn’t give it too much thought. He was with her sister, after all, his concern was only an extension of hers and nothing more.

“I’m… I’m fine,” she answered carefully, mindful of her words. Even with how slowly she adjusted her tone, it was likely obvious to anyone and everyone that she most definitely was not fine. Her parents had only just died and she herself wondered if it was possible that she could be next, if she could join them. “Do they… do the dead…” she struggled to piece her words together, a lump forming in her throat. “Do they remember us?” Would they be happy to see me?

Right, she was fine.

He didn't really believe that, but he didn't expect any of them to be fine. When it boiled down to it, even he wasn't all that fine either, but the world was what it was and nothing more than that. It was better perhaps to think of things as being that simple, though time and time again and it was proven that there were far greater intracies at work. Dirge wouldn't begrudge Yama of her statement though, instead ready to offer her a listening ear to what she would say next.

It too was not a question he anticipated.

"I don't see why they would forget us," he remarked gently. He knew very little of death, fortunate enough to be spared from losing anyone so close to him. The devastation was palpable; he did not fathom the depth to which it hurt, nor did he wish to imagine it. He reached through his thoughts, nearly pondering aloud: "Some say they even look upon us, from wherever they are. I suppose it's a question of whether or not you believe it yourself."

A reason as to why they may forget could not be given, leading her to believe that they did remember; he could not prove it either way, whether they could or could not, but she believed the former more so. Her parents remembered her and, if she were to join them, they would welcome her—right? For as much as she wanted to believe that, she could not quite convince herself. If they were truly watching over her, as Dirge suggested, then would they not be disappointed by what she was considering? Would they want her to, quite literally, throw her life away?

Somehow, she just couldn’t imagine that they would be very happy with her. And yet…

“I want to be with them,” she whispered, hanging her head. “I… I miss them.” And the only way to stop missing someone was to see them again, so what other choices could she possibly have?

What a heart-wrenching affair, truly. He could only empathize so far before finding whatever else mustered in that space to be at best a fabrication. Trying to put himself in her shoes didn't help either. He knew in that position he would have been naturally devastated, but to want to join them? He couldn't fathom that, not in the slightest. Perhaps he had simply outgrown the necessity of needing his mother, or perhaps the time he had spent away from her now outshone what time he had spent.

Not that his childhood was by any means as remarkable or comforting as the one that embraced Yama and her siblings. It was quite the opposite. He found himself searching for the right things to say as she whispered on, and his ears folded gently with the only sympathy he thought best to express.

"It's natural to miss them," he started, voice betraying the uncertainty that lingered in his thoughts. "But they are with you, even if it isn't in a physical sense. You are of both your mother and your father, are you not?" Two parts to make a whole, or in this case, herself. If not for that particular combination and their station, perhaps her life would have been very different indeed.

"Come, walk with me. Tell me about them—what will you miss? I only knew them so much, but you have the privilege to share their stories." He gestured back the way he had come, only turning towards it slightly. Anything to take them down from such a high perch, though to suggest his interest in them was anything but genuine would have been a lie. He knew little of grief, or whether or not this would help, yet the inclination to help was strong.

i am so sorry for holding this up @Yama! my full time schedule started up for the season. :(

it’s all good!

They are with you.

Those four simple words, otherwise meaningless in any other context, echoed relentlessly through her head. Born from the mountain’s king and queen themselves, she carried within her the same life force that once coursed through their veins. Although this was true, and calmed her momentarily, it was not the same sense of togetherness that she truly sought. She wanted them to be there physically, for her to open her eyes and discover that they had never passed, that it had been some terrible nightmare all this time. She wanted to wake up each morning and seek them out—she wanted to discover hideouts with papa and learn about the stars from mama. All she wanted was for them to be there, to watch her grow up and offer her guidance when she felt blinded.

Why couldn’t they be there?

“I… am…” she choked out, further averting her gaze; her eyes began to sting with unshed tears, threatening to spill out all over again. “But… but I wish they were here physically.” There was a warmth within her chest trying so desperately to grow and spread at the thought of them watching over her, yet her sorrow was loath to allow it any purchase. “I want to t-talk to them, I… I want to s-see them and—and…” Her voice cracked and the former thumping in her chest became a quickened, harsh pounding; all she could hear anymore was the sound of her own heart, rhythmic in its beating. Then, with just four more words, she started to calm down.

Tell me about them.

There was so much to tell, where was she supposed to begin? Drawing in a long, shaky breath, Yama did her best to steady herself before she followed him, walking slowly wherever he thought to guide them. “I’m… I’m going to miss everything,” she decided. “Mama is—mama was so smart. No matter w-what, she could answer any question. Mama… she knew everything.” To this day, the girl was convinced that she held the answer to the universe itself. And although she had never remembered to ask her about it, Yama knew undoubtedly that her mama even knew about the fallen star—she knew where it came from and why it fell, and nothing would ever convince her otherwise.

“Papa was strong and brave,” she continued, a hint of a smile crossing her lips, which she didn’t notice. “Papa was never scared of anything. Even when we were searching for a secret hideout together, he didn’t even flinch when we found the home of something else. Papa taught me and made sure I was okay…” It hurt to talk about them—it likely always would—but it also felt… nice. The last thing the child wanted was for anyone to forget about them. Yama wanted them to be remembered forever, for everyone to know their names and remember them as fondly as she did. She didn’t want them to vanish from her life entirely.

He could empathize—there had been a point in his life where he too wished he could have met his father. If only to gain a bead on the wolf, to sum him up in both parts of soul and being; to affirm that he even existed at all. It had started out innocently enough but as he had grown, he had come to resent the concept of that shadowy figure he had never met, and had wondered what sort of wolf would not tangle with jaws interlocked onto death for the sake of love.

Provided of course, there had ever been a love involved—and how he had wondered that too. But the disappearance into nothingness was not quite the same as knowing that someone was utterly gone in existence. It was there that their paths diverged, that his empathy could only explain so much, and so he listened.

He listened over every stumble, every start-and-stop hitch in her voice. He heard as she found that voice once again and with it the traction needed to put their beings into focus and life once more. To cast a light on a very different wolf that he saw when he thought of Charon; to shine upon what he already knew to be true of Amekaze. And he could sympathize more for it, and only then thought briefly on his mother and the painful acquiescence that had lingered in her figure when he had said he would go out into the world.

Was that not like death, in a way? He hadn't the time to wonder.

As they made their way from the stony edge of the precipice, his gaze left Yama to survey their surroundings and found his voice.

"Cherish that, then," he surmised, but knew it not to be enough. "It is you and your siblings that carry on in their stead. It is up to you to take what they taught you and to enact it to pass it along. Sorrow is an educator; from it you will learn too, and to carry on is a bravery in itself." He had no doubts that she would take what she knew and share it in her own way and that despair would bestow courage enough to stamp down fear. It was simply their way, he realized, though the lessons were different.

He thought then on what would come out of sorrow, thinking of Hydra.

"Your sister's children will certainly look to you for guidance, so you may very well be that someone who knows everything," he went on to say with something of a reassuring smile. But it was mischievous too, the flash of such not lost in his gaze—"Perhaps you will be the one to show them where the best hideouts are."

Up until that point, talking about her parents almost seemed taboo. As if talking about them would only bring up negative emotions, from within herself and others alike, because talking about them was bound to lead to the thought of their passing. But maybe she was thinking about it all wrong, for all this time—maybe talking and thinking about them didn’t have to be a negative experience, maybe some good could be pulled from it. Reliving those fond memories that she held close to her heart, sharing tales with others about them both and listening in return to any stories she’d never heard.

Maybe the path to healing was not to forget them but to celebrate them.

Although the corners of her eyes were beginning to sting, tears threatening to escape them, a hint of a smile graced her lips. She nodded, listening intently and taking every word he said to heart; she would cherish their memory always, even when it came time for her to leave this world behind, too. She would live for them, she would exist knowing that she carried them both with her—that they would always live on in her heart. And, when the time came, she would tell her nieces and nephews about them. She would share the lessons once taught to her—and, someday, perhaps she may even show them to her hideout.

“I w-will… I will show them, too,” she decided, doing her best to blink the tears away. “I’ll show them just like papa showed me.” And eventually, when it came time for her to say goodbye to this body, she hoped her mama and papa might greet her with pride because of it.

Another session of starts and stops, though this time he could hear the courage strengthening her voice. It was simultaneously reliving and emboldening—to think he had a shred of ability to sway someone through grief and away to something far more pleasant was a ghastly prize.

"Good," he affirmed, if not to her then himself. "I don't want to be the only one responsible for any shenanigans that happen. Your sister will tell them to be all teeth surely, but we'll show them where the real fun is." His smile lingered, thinking. Like badgers in a hole, he already suspected there would be sets of mischievous teeth awaiting their collective future. Most of all he wanted to believe they would soak up all the tales to be told to them, be it from Yama or any other who knew the best parts to tell.

At least those stories would be better than any he could muster.

As they went along he did his best to keep her spirits bolstered, and did not part from her until he was certain of such.

[sustained screaming about job continues]

edit: fading this