Redhawk Caldera Incoming Storm

Bronte sat by the great lake that settled in the caldera. Her young bourbon eyes stared out, past the silver waters, towards the semi ring of jagged slopes beyond. Time seemed to have moved slowly since her fathers passing. At least, to her it had. Nothing she or anyone seemed to do, helped her spirit. The wound was still raw and deep. She still cried herself to sleep at night, searching in vain for the lost warmth of his embrace.

The Blackthorn did not yet understand, that grief took it's time.

She slumped down limply onto a raised rock, while dismally pondering what lay beyond the toothy rim of her home. Wondering if she would ever know happiness again.

A conversation with Towhee and Bronco and meeting Ibis later had made Wraen realize that there were less limitations to her ghostly self than she had previously imagined. It was still difficult to make sense of all of this, or find any consistent mechanism on, how it worked. But it gave her an opportunity to investigate, test and see, what else she could do. A spark of curiousity and excitement - two emotions she had not experienced vividly, while beyond the veil, but which made her feel so much closer to the living world than before. 

So far - only people she had known in the past could see her clearly, could call her (or rather create a pull towards them) and talk to her. The rest appeared ignorant to her ghostly presence. She had assumed that it had been because they either did not believe in ghosts or they simply did not care. Now she wondered, whether she too had been at fault for that. She had not really wished to form new acquaintances, had not sought them out purposefully and not put an effort to communicate. 

Therefore now in Brecheliant surrounded both by people, who had been her friends, and new folks, who had never met or even heard of her, was a perfect testing ground for theories. She caught sight of the sad youth, lying on a rocky ledge, staring into the distance, looking desolate and approached her. Upon closer look the girl, who she saw for the first time, felt somehow familiar, which was another curious thing worth exploring. 

"You look as if the weight of the world rests on your shoulders," Wraen said warmly, taking a seat next to the young girl. "A bit too early to become an Atlas, don't you think?"

Her vision blurred as she felt herself grow drowsy. She tried to fight it off, but ultimately gave in and let her eyes rest, for only a few moments.

When she opened them again, the bleariness clearing, it was to the sound of a voice. A feminine, kind one. Bronte raised her head, twisting her neck to gaze up at the grey colored woman. With her apple green eyes and coat, she was not a wolf Bronte had ever seen before.

"Feels like it." She mumbled. "Cuz part of my world is gone..." She sniffed, completely unaware that Wraen did not walk among the living, either. But she was someone. She was here. A person to talk to. The natural warmth she seemed to give off drew Bronte to her. A head tilt. "What's an Atlas?"

"Ow... I know the feeling," Wraen said with compassion. "I have always believed or... let's rather say observed that there are two kinds of universes in the world. The one we live in and the one that lives inside us," she paused giving time for this to sink in. "And, what the both have in common is that regardless of, where they are located, they are infinite," she sighed, realizing that she had gone too far in abstraction and poetry and that the kid might grew bored of the topic that entertained the old brain immensely. 

"Who took part of your world away?" she asked, sitting down next to the girl. And after she had finished, she went on to answer her question about Atlas. "Well, he was from the old gods called titans. Their tribe lost the war to the young gods and for this they were punished. Atlas got tasked with holding the heaven for eternity. If he stopped, they would crash on Earth and destroy it completely," she told, though it was her take of the story. The original might have different nuances. 

The complexity of this woman's belief was a little much for Bronte to wrap her mind around. Her head already felt too full, to crowded with clashing thoughts and emotions. "Huh...I haven't heard anything like that before..." She said in a voice that it was something for her to chew on, later.

"Not so much as who. More like...a force I couldn't stop." She proceeded to slide her muzzle down and under her pale front paws. "My Papa...it took him." A father. Such an integral part of any child's world, regardless of how close or not they were with the other. And now Bronte's had a great big chunk missing out of it. 

"That...sounds like quite a burden, for Atlas. He must have to be strong to hold up the heaven for that time."

"Remember it, for later use," Wraen simply remarked, referring to the universe quote she had said previously. It might not make sense to the kid now, but she liked to think that it would become clearer over time. Or, when such occasion came for this idiom to become useful. 

"Death is like that - it is the only just force in the world. It comes for us all," she told, sitting down (if she had not done it earlier) and lifting her muzzle up to stretch her neck and back. Not that she needed it anymore, but some old habits just stick with you. 

"Age - on the other hand - is the only force a living being cannot win. Or a god - for that matter. Are you familiar with Thor - the god of thunder?" she asked, looking down at the kid. She decided not to dwell on the recent loss, because there was nothing she could tell the girl that could make her feel better. Grief was a journey that one had to take alone. 

"He was believed to be one of the strongest in the world and yet in a wrestling match he lost to an old woman called Elli," she told. "Elli turned out to be the goddess of old age, wisdom and hidden strength of the elderly. And old age is like fate - no one can escape it," she smiled and sighed. 

She spoke to the girl for a while, until the dream was over and she disappeared with it.