For Brooklyn



pushitinThe ebony lady yawned, opening her jaws wide, raising a dark hand to stifle it slightly, after all it was only polite, the fact that there was no-one there to witness her yawn was irrelevant, it was still rude not to cover her mouth. She stretched casually, tucking her lithe legs up slightly, resting them on the porch steps. Her green eyes scanned the landscape slowly, it was still snowing, it had been doing so since before Soran awoke, since before dawn, and still the flurries of large snowflakes were falling from the sky, landing upon the soft ground, the lands were now a blanket of white. The dark grandmother smiled, she loved the snow, she always had, though she was not in the form that she usually took to enjoy it, there was nothing that could compare to bounding through the snow when one was on four legs, the snow reaching her chest in places. She had heard of humans having things called snowball fights, and she longed to try one, they seemed fascinating to her and the idea that she could stay in her preffered form and still enjoy and play in the snow was very tempting to her. She did not know what it was, but the minute she was presented with enough snow to play with the older female turned into an overgrown pup again, despite the fact that she would be turning six this year she still behaved like she was a child when she had time to play in the snow.

pushitinThe obsidian fae carefully brushed her mane from her eyes, braiding the curls quickly and securing the braid with a strip of leather from the heavy canvas bag that rested beside her on the rough wood of the porch. She shivered slightly then, her mane had been keeping the cold away from her shoulders and now they were exposed to the chilled zephyrs that were sweeping across Crimson Dreams. The lady felt at home again, now that she had seen Deuce, now that she knew where her former lover was she was happier to walk in these lands, to spend time with her grandchildren and packmates, without the nagging worry that her lady was missing. She did of course worry a lot still, true she knew where her former mate was, and she knew where her beloved grandchildren and almost-daughter were, she knew they were safe and cared for by their packs, she knew where to go should she ever need to find them, but her own children, Conri, Khaden and Dhalia, they were all missing, they had been for some time, Conri had been exiled and was lost somewhere out there in the reaches of the lands, a ghost, broken and difficult to find, no matter how hard the ebony lady looked for him. Khaden and Dhalia too had disappeared, the dark fae had no clue where to even begin looking for them, she had searched, she had searched everywhere for them, but she didn't even know if she would recognise them now, they had been young the last time she had seen them, by now they would be reaching a year and a half in age, they would be much larger, they would be adults by now, not the large pups that she remembered. And they had had almost that amount of time to wander the lands outside of 'Souls, they could be anywhere by now. She missed them, she missed them dearly, she hated that they were not with her now, that she could not make amends for what she had put them through when they were small, abandoning them, leaving them without their mother for so long, she had deserved the cold indifference that she had recieved from Khaden and the out and out hatred she had been given by Dhalia when last they met.
pushitinBut now, now the ebony lady had a chance to redeem herself, she had her son somewhere in the lands, an almost-daughter and four delightful grandchildren. She would make amends with them, even if she could not find Khaden and Dhalia she would make amends for what she had done, at least in part. She would be the best mother and grandmother she knew how to be. Soran just hoped that it would be enough for them, and for her own guilt. These thoughts, inexplicably sparked inspiration in the dark grandmother's mind, and so she pulled a pen from her bag, along with a page of blank musical manuscript. With a gentleness that was often reserved for a mother holding pups, she reached into her canvas bag and produced her flute case, opening it and assembling the flute carefully. The dark lady moved carefully so that she was comfortable upon the porch and raised the silver instrument to her lips, playing a long solitary note first. Soon she was playing a jaunty tune, pausing every now and again to write another string of notes onto the manuscipt. There she sat, the thoughts of her family fuelling a graceful melody.