Lost Creek Hollow carrie (1976)

@Crowfeather <3 two electric boogaloo 

the starveling slipped back between the naked trees. again, testing the tolerance of the wood's inhabitants, this time with intention.

she paused, stood. her gaunt face rose to the canopy.

she gave a ragged howl of announcement.

we are here. do you remember?

The voice that called was both familiar and haunting. 

Crowfeather lifted his head from his collection of herbs, features creasing with his uncertainty. He thought back to his first meeting with the strange dark wolf. It would take several minutes before he felt willing to answer. His muzzle lifted and he howled in return before leaving his herbs and padding to the border of Riverclan. 

Hello, he greeted in his sweet voice. The uncertainty hung in his gaze. His tail waved timidly behind him. You came back.

his reply.

a pleasured chill flowed down her spine.

she waited, dark and thin.

-

he arrived with dignity of wounded she-elk, herd-master, line-mother. læknir scent cloaked him. her own greeting was a grin and a swipe of tail.

"as was swo'n." her head dipped in submission.

then made an odd twist. teeth sheathed, staring owlish at bror honey-gazed. 

red eyes gaped expectant as hollow wounds do.

The dark woman was just as frightening as she had been before.

Crowfeather did not wither in the same way, though. The tripod felt stronger in knowing that Germanicus was near, knowing that the man could appear at their hollow and step into the shadows of Riverclan, into the arms of the inky man who loved him. There was a raw power in such love. He felt like he had wandered through the barren lands for months before finding water – parched by his aching heart.

You never told me your name, Crowfeather said to the woman.

The honey-eyed shadow drew nearer to her. The scents she carried on her pelt were wild and foreign. Where had the dark stranger ventured since their last visit?

a giggle.

rising to a cackle.

reaching its peak as a high-pitched laugh.

oh, but we have! we've told bror honey-gazed a hundred names!

her face fell. eyes, agape.

bror knows our name, yes he does. its in bror's skull, in dark space behind beesmilk eyes. you knew it when us two met - becouse we never lie what we are.

when he took those steps to approach, she thrust forward, until they were nearly face to face, whiskers entwined.

speak it. speak it like your old saw you at the breast and named you crow. speak it like they speak your name now- so kind, so mellow.

in her eyes; a desperate, bone-deep pleading.

name us name us name us

The woman insisted that he knew her name. She said that she had told him many times. The dark woman urged him to look inside himself and find it. Crowfeather’s lashes fluttered over his gaze.

Did she wish for him to give her a name?

Crowfeather felt that he didn’t like these interactions very much. Her bright red gaze was a spotlight that burned his flesh and made him bead with sweat. The woman was too unpredictable in her nature. She was like a rush of wind that carried a looming storm.

Black wing on the wind.

Sharp and light.

The three-legged figure shifted his weight.

a gasp.

and then, a retreat.

she crouched, tail curled. muttering under her breath-

black wing on the wind black wing on the wind black wing on the wind

- pupils swiping side to side, seeing nothing.

and then - a leap onto her feet.

"takk skal du ha!" and her head dipped again and again in adoring gratitude. "a name, a name, a wing for bror!" 

her elated grin trembled as her eyes watered. fat drops rolled into black fur.

"takk. takk." she wiped with her wrist. "now you bind us. you. we." she choked.

"bror."

"søster."

another deep bow, but eyes rolled up.

"we remember this." she pounced forward, planted a kiss onto his whiskers.

retreated.

"we come again."