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The cave was large and spacious, the prime place for the home of a large pack to be located. It was dark out at the time, the glow of the moon masked by layers of thick clouds, hints of an impending storm. Despite the storm that was certain to come, the air was still and night silent. Unlike outside though, the inside of the den was bustling with life. The faint flicker of fire light danced against the wall, lighting the way through the many tunnels and rooms of the cave. For the most part the front portion of the den was empty, filled only with the passing shadows of wolves as the moved farther back into the den. Various voices echoed through the halls of the den, all beginning in one specific area, the farthest room back in the cave.
Most of the pack had gathered there, five or six of the adult males, and the two son's of the Alpha. Hollow, the oldest of the litter of three, and Blank, the youngest. Their mother and middle sister had been instructed to stay put, hiding in the darkness of a room more close to the entrance. "Please Papa! No!" A small voice cried out through the darkness, the youngest of the two brothers. His cries did not, and would not, stop what was coming and somewhere, deep down inside, the older of the two siblings knew this.
Hollow, who was position directly beside his younger sibling, slid his head over until his muzzle touched against the side of Blank's face. He hated to see him in pain, to see him so upset and afraid. "Don't pay attention Blank." He whispered to the other boy, driving out his own frightening pain by forcing all of his attention on to his brother. "Close your eyes and listen to me." As always, his brother did just as he was told. Hollow pressed his face against his brother's, staring at him, and he began to hum. It was soft tune, quiet, a song that he often sang at night to try and help his brother sleep. The sound was only interrupted by the occasional moment that Hollow took to cover the side of Blank's muzzle in gentle licks which was followed immediately by the continuation of the tune.
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It came to her in that precipice between consciousness and slumber. An instant, a flash, the sights and sounds and smells,. From out of body and too far within. the scene crashed over her like an salt-water wave and dragged her deeper below, holding her like a final breath. It crushed her, and she felt it all crumble down to one thing.
Hollow.
Her head was spinning, and with closed eyes, Poe reached out for the trunk of a nearby tree. Her thoughts struggled to wrap around the impression she had just been given, while fending off the emotion in conjured from multiple angles. Hollow Hollow Hollow . It made the state of her mind seem insignificant--the fact that she stood in a late summer Moaning Woods, skyclad and alone under a twilight sky. Dry and warm, the tree leaves on the old, quieted trees were beginning to speckle with yellow tones--a marker of time and season in a construction that made it entirely irrelevant. A deep breath, the only motion she seemed to manage was the folding of ears to skull. Either this dream was too real, or this reality was too far out.
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"Poe." His voice came quietly, muffled to his own ears as the image of the past faded away. It had been to sudden perhaps, to direct or far to explicit. There wasn't really any other way for her to know, though. It had to be that way. It had to be that way if he wanted to share with her. He was sitting on a fallen tree then, his back to the onyx pixie, even as she tried to regain her composure. He could hear her breathing, a comforting sound, but he was unsure if it her in her own dream or if, somehow, it had been carried over through the dream from reality. Either way, at that very moment, he would accept whatever he could get.
"I'm sorry it had to be that way.." It wasn't often, if ever, that Hollow offered an apology for anything. For her though, anything for her. "I never got a chance to share anything with you..even though I always meant to." His voice was quieter than usual, more calm. Somber, perhaps. He'd gotten caught up in a rush of power, a whirlwind of madness, and he'd lost whatever chance that he'd had to know her. He turned then, hands bracing his weight as he swung his legs around to the other side of the fallen log. He was whole, just as she might remember him, not the ravaged hybrid that he'd been in his last few moment. He was silent as cold eyes found her form, wishing only to look at her for a few moments.
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Poe had always had a primal nature, despite her longest-lived affair with the frivolous ends of the human world. She was ruled by emotion, and led by touch, with little restraint on either one, even in the worst of times. So the images churned in her, and memories of what had not been with its subject, bubbled through to the surface. She wasn't one to give names to emotions or intuitions, but there had been more to her contact with the devilishly alluring hybrid than they had skated over. A depth that she had felt would, in time, reveal itself. For this, she still had not dealt with his death the way one should. He was not behind her, even many months after his son had revealed his passing to her,
Which was perhaps why she barely hesitated upon the announcement of his presence, the turn of his face. Before the weight of his words processed in her mind, let alone any reply could be conjured up, the wide-eyed girl pushed herself from the tree. "Hollow!" she shouted in a tone that wove together shock, excitement, and a hint of desperation. At the last moment, her arms were spiritedly thrown around his shoulder to neck, followed by the crash of her torso to his.
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He'd found this to be the only way to contact her now that Stygian was far from Bleeding Souls. He had found it out by chance, even. They'd had Conri for some time and it was the middle of the night when he found himself in the dreams of his first son. It had seemed like a long shot, trying to get to Poe in such a manner, but he'd decided to try no matter whether he failed miserably or not. And now here he was, facing the pitch black pixie. She found herself suddenly, saw him there, and it was as if nothing had happened at all. Arms were still on his legs where they rested, even as she came for him and threw her arms around him. He could've laughed then, a good chuckle, but he did have an image to uphold after all.
Finally he responded, hands finding their way from his legs to her waist, wrapping around to her back and dragging upwards until they rested near her shoulders. He leaned his head forward, resting the side of his head against hers, only just for a moment. "I missed you.." The words came, a whisper, and he smiled into her hair as it bounced across the top of his muzzle. There were other things he wanted to say, things that no one would have dreamed of hearing from him, but for the time he held his tongue, content enough with her in his arms. He moved his head finally, leaning back some so that he could look at her face. "Still playing dress-up or have you settled in to a style?"
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Cool and calm as he always had been, Hollow did not rush himself the way that Poe couldn't help herself. But his touch was sincere, even a little raw, leaving trails of ruffled fur up her back. She wasn't sure if it was the upturned fur or the touch itself that left the paths speckled with goose bumps. She held onto him tightly with her cheek pressed into the side of his neck, brows furrowed and lips smiling in the clashing train of thought and emotion that moved to the beat of her startled heart. "I missed you too," she muffled into his shoulder, pressing her nose there for a second before following suit with him and pulling back a little to get a second look at him. He certainly looked alive and real, and her other senses were pleasantly consumed in agreement, but his youngest son's words reverberated and pressed against them.
Before she could form those thoughts into a question, Hollow beat her to it with a cheeky question. It sparked a grin and relaxed her enough to loosen her death-grip on her (dead) friend. She took a brief glance at herself, noting her complete lack of clothing (a true rarity these days), adding to her debate between reality and dream. It was then that she decided not to ask--for chance that it may be like a fairytale; ask the wrong question, and it will pop like a bubble. Fantasy or not, making this almost-real Hollow disappear before she could get her fill, was not worth the risk. So she eased her arms again, only lacing her fingers behind his neck in a fleshy-furry black necklace. "I'm always play dress-up, my dear," she assured him with a small toss of her bangs and a glint on her eyes. "Not even the prettiest of gowns could stop me from breaking into homes to raid their closets and trunks." Or so she believed. "And you? Have you still got your crown, or have you moved on to more practical headwear?"
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The words returned were like music to dead ears, it was good to know that he hadn't been forgotten. Of course, this memory of him was far different than the other memories of him. Surely the ones that had contact with him in his life, the ones that still lingered, had haunting memories of cold-eyed brute. He hoped so, anyways. Since his death his mind had become more clear, no longer tainted with the hunger of power that was there in the last few months. Even then, the hybrid was still able to justify his actions to himself. He hadn't done a thing to anyone that didn't deserve it. His attention snapped back the moment that her grip around him loosened and she moved back also, bringing two-toned eyes to gaze at her face.
Not even the prettiest of gowns did justice on her, none of them did, but the enjoyment that came from dressing up and prancing around certainly gave good reason to continue. It something that he was simply content to watch. Her words made him smile, the same calm smile as always, except when he was with her the intensity of anger behind his smile was lacking. "I still have my crown.." So to speak, anyways. The actual thing was still likely inside the Inferni house. He lifted a hand away from her then, bringing his fingers up to her face and brushing away the hair that threatened to fall. Her eyes were astounding, he wanted to see them. He said nothing though, only watched her, despite the rush of things that he wanted to explain to her.
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[html] Man. I suck Xinfinity. So sick, so busy, so tired. -_-
The rush of mixed emotions was ebbing into a mellow muddle that showed through her returning stare. It skirted over his features and dipped into his eyes, searching (for signs) and confirming (what truth there was), asking (for more) and opening (a door). But even as she calmed and collected, she couldn't find her bearings. Maybe he was a dream, maybe he was a ghost, maybe this was chance, maybe he had let go of her only as much as she him. Maybe, maybe, maybe. They could have been more once, couldn't they have? She turned her face into his hand as it pushed away her long bangs, soft muzzle trailing up his wrist with a slow flick that left her white-freckled cheek against his pale hand.
"Did you do that?" she asked suddenly with care and a level of concern, her churning mind finding the thread that had taken her here. "The... dream. Or images. In the cave," she tried to work it out in her own head only to trail off with the hope that he would fill in her blanks. Because there were a lot more of them than she had considered, before. And it seemed strange to care so much about someone that was mostly mystery.
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