He waited patiently, numbly, in the church with the pups. Their young minds did not understand what had transpired, with the exception of poor Catalyst who had bore witness to the gruesome murder. He was deaf and dumb to their questions, lost within his thoughts. This was directly his fault, because he had fought Corvus before the attack. And if he had been able to subdue the brute, to end his wicked reign of terrorism, the sunny Ril'o would have been alive this day. The children eventually laid their heads down in slumber, more aware of the time than their guardian. His white-tipped ears flicked whenever he heard the muted noises of the woman in the kitchen, Cwmfen nic Graine, her footsteps heavy with mourning and guilt. Finally there was the creaking of the door, and the movements carried her away, leaving the hallowed halls silent.
It wasn't until he head his mate's voice from afar, ringing clear and morose like a pealing bell, did he finally react. With a soft grunt, the ebony-marked wolf rose to his paws, nosing his way out the door onto the grassy lawn. He did not hear the sounds of stirring behind him, and hoped that the innocent pups slept though the funeral rites. He had not been exposed to death until much later in his life, and did not want his wards to learn the sad truth of mortality so soon. All he could think about was that Ril'o was a friend.
He and the golden wolf had played together on the beach, and nearly drowned as the winter ice broke beneath their paws. He had been torn with jealousy when he learned that Cer liked the green-eyed fellow, and it had driven him to propose in the first place. Selfishly, he had not visited Ril'o since... Had he been happy with his lot in life? Had he repaired his bond with Dutch Bilera, his deserter brother? The memories of faces and times that had passed him by rose like a flood, blurring his thoughts with what had been and what could have been. Had he ruined a family? Would Dutch return to see his little brother's grave atop the hill? Would more Dahlians fall because he was too weak to stop the predator?
His muscles ached from the bruises and lacerations that the crow-wolf had left him, still struggling to heal. He had slept through the initial cries of panic, the distress call that Cwmfen had sounded as she shielded his little Catalyst. He had been too weak to traverse to the scene of the tragedy. Now he at least owed the golden youth this, a visit to his final send-off. He arrived wordlessly, his pale eyes dull with regret. It was his fault.
He stood stiffly on the grass as he watched the two women stand before the pyre, tendrils of fragrant smoke arising from the wooden structure. He had no words to say. What good would an apology do? He believed firmly in an afterlife, not a heaven or a hell, but simply a place where the spirits gathered when their bodies no longer existed. He had dreams of ghosts and presences, and his father had told him that his dreams were all true, because they were messages from his ancestors - that he was a vessel to channel them. If he was a seer, would he not be able to see Ril'o now...? Could he convey his sorrow, that he had let this happen and it was all because of him? His ears drooped sadly as the flames licked higher, destruction and rebirth cycling in their flickering light.
His mind went blank for a time, watching distantly until the ceremony was complete. Ril'o was gone. He had lost a friend. Words were exchanged; he heard none of them, until he saw his mate departing. There was weariness and age in her posture where there had not been before. He felt it too. With one last lingering stare at the sky - will I see you tonight, mate? - the hunter turned to follow her, four paws padding heavily on the ground. Even with the sun's warmth on their backs, with the promise of summer in the air, it was a cold day in his heart.
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
