alcestruistic

[Caspa Al-Fateh]

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From the outside, it seemed to Caspa that all the lives of others moved at a different pace to hers. Although surely time could not alter depending on who experienced it, the changes, the shifts and events that occurred for them seemed to have such lasting effects. Canines grew up from puppies to outstrip their former guardians in size, friends drifted apart or found new love for one another, and even enemies and criminals could take part in the mystical cycles of life. But for Caspa, very little altered. The white lady felt almost like a statue, sometimes, perched in her lofty hotel room, where she only had to close her eyes to feel the hum of life all around her but not within, for within was only stillness.

The pace of her life was utterly sluggish, excepting the random - but lately more frequent - occasions when she broke the cycle of meditation-knife-practice-sleep to journey in the outside world, or be beaten to a pulp. Everything Caspa did took endless amounts of time. Her main task, her life's work would only end with her death, and she had accepted that. But even in the shorter term, everything she had chosen to study were things that took an inordinate amount of time. Meditation - each technique could be worked on for years before it fell into place, she'd read. Then there was her knife throwing, which required endless repetition to ensure safety and competence. Caspa supposed she was destined to live a life most would find dull, but at least she found contentment here. It was in her nature to follow the slow and steady path, despite her quick hands and eye. Any task that was tedious and time-consuming seemed to attract her instantly. Thus today, her current expedition that was so far taking at least twelve times as long as she'd expected it to.

While checking out the borders - and going a little way over into the forest, the scene of her recent defeat - the optime-formed hound had discovered a moose's trail, and known from the prints the great beast was limping. Caspa had chosen to follow, although the path was hours old. Not due to hunger, for the larders were stocked, and she ate so little anyway. It was more the notion that the creature might be in pain somewhere, and perhaps it would be merciful to kill it before it died a lingering death.

Half a day had passed before she caught up to the animal, in the process finding herself being led through a gap in the reserve fence that she and Augustus could have done with knowing, all that time ago - Caspa had offered a silent thank-you to her unwitting moose guide for showing her this, and it had redoubled her determination to catch up with it. When eventually she found fresh scent reaching her nostrils, it was mingled with the smell and sound of running water. The large deerlike creature stood beside the bank of the river, a huge grandfather bull, his head low and eyes dull. A hindleg was propped up, and the joint above the hoof looked swollen. Caspa approached warily, but if he knew she was there, he gave no sign. When she came closer, she spied another injury: a shallow but broad wound on the top side of the moose's neck behind the ears. This looked horribly sore, but clean enough and no longer bleeding. The wolf-dog hesitated, crouching down to look at his hoof better. She knew she had that terrible decision on her hands now: which was more merciful - life or death? Well, the ankle wasn't broken, as he was resting some weight upon it. While Caspa thought, she suddenly recognised where she was. Not many miles from the borders of Aniwaya, the pack she'd marched upon as part of the Courtly attacking forces, during the last year. There were so many unanswered questions about that pack: not least what state it was currently in. Vigilante had assured her that the new leader was benign, but were the Tribe truly succeeding in rebuilding their lives after the tyrannical Maska had almost caused their destruction? Caspa wondered if she would ever fully understood the events, or the part she had played. All she had done at the time was blindly obey her orders. Now, she found herself wondering what more there was to the story. And the thought of the fighting focused her mind. There had been enough death of the innocent these past few years. This was just a moose, but it was still a living being. She would give him his chance.

It was then she noticed the staring quality of his coat, and the hollow look to his face - and as she did, the bull opened his mouth, extending his lips towards the water as if trying to reach it without bending his neck any further. Caspa realised he must be unable to lower his head fully to drink, and she gave a sorrowful murmur in her own language. Carefully she sidled closer. The moose was like the horses - big, and unpredictable. She didn't want to be kicked. He looked quiet enough, although his eyes had definitely glanced in her direction. Step by hesitant step, the woman drew nearer, moving with infinite delicacy and slowness, still holding herself low to the ground, wondering if that made her look less threatening. To her surprise, he allowed her to approach to arm's length. From here she could see the hopelessness in his eyes. Perhaps he thought she meant to kill him: perhaps he welcomed death. But Caspa did not draw the knives that hung in the belt from her shoulder. She crouched, and cupped her hands into the water: lifted the bowl of palms to the animal's dry and cracked lips. He seemed to hold his breath for a moment as if in shock, and then she heard a loud gulping noise and the water was gone: vacuumed greedily from her very hands. Caspa's mouth twitched, in what passed for a smile, and she reached down for a second helping. Well, it looked as if she'd got herself into yet another lengthy, tedious and probably thankless task… but she had no feelings of resentment. The ghostly, plait-sporting pilgrim was bound to a life of altruism and she took her good deeds wherever she could find them.

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[Grace Galaxy]

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Word Count: 891. Sorry this took so long. I wanted to actually read it and respond properly.

"From near to far, from here to there; funny things are everywhere."

If Grace Galaxy might have been born earlier - and additionally, born human - one might have called her a humanitarian. However, there wasn't a word for a philanthropic luperci, so far as she knew. Even if there had been, she wasn't likely to concern herself with it. She did not derive her regard for herself by boasting about her virtuous deeds. Acknowledgement was appreciated, but it not the overall intent of her actions. Rather, she was compelled to invest benevolence and kindness into the world. There was no pleasant experience that could come from behaving, as her mother might have called it, wickedly. She was not a wicked girl, nor was she a saint, although she had been a saviour on a few occasions. Her conscience demanded right living, as did her spiritual inclinations. Her home, wherever it was, was a sanctuary for those wounded or lost. On most occasions, they left after a time, with gratitude and amity. On all occasions, but for one.

On the forest floor, somewhere in New Hampshire, a wounded, young crow lay, crying out irresolutely. His fate seemed irrevocable. His wing was broken in at least two places. Lacerations littered his body, and blood exuded onto charcoal plumage. He was too weak to make much of a ruckus as a sand-hued canine with baubles about her leaned down to pick him up gingerly. He appeared to accept his destiny as her lunch, but to his phlegmatic astonishment, such a fate did not befall him. The wolf, bepedal and wearing clothing, pulled a leather pouch from the saddle bag carried by her equine. Sitting down, corvid cradled delicately in the crook of one arm, she opened the pouch and searched for something. The bird shivered, opening his beak to let out a pitiful attempt at sound. Something bitter was squeezed into his throat, and he swallowed languidly. Soon, he lay in her arms, limp as a rag-doll. He was fast asleep, and his pain was gone.

Grace glanced up once at the sable form on her head. "Taj, where are we going?" she inquired, for a third time. The twice before that, she had gotten only an urgent caw in reply. While the corvid could speak her language brokenly, she could not speak nor understand his yet. She had not been able to observe it quite as keenly as he had been privy to, of course, but the effect was really the same. She knew that his message was urgent, but she wasn't even sure where she was meant to go. Finally, he managed one word: "Water!" Grace stared at him, her face impassive. "You are... very thirsty?" she asked skeptically. Taj cawed insistently, impatience in his voice. "Taj, I don't understand! Show me!" she protested. He took flight, and she ran to follow him, wondering what could be so important. He had never done wrong by her before, and she didn't expect today would differ from that pattern.

By the time the corvid came to, his wing was splinted and bandaged, and his wounds had been cleaned. He tried to caw a protest, his wings fluttering piecemeal. His movements were shaky. The chestnut mare serving as his guardian nickered softly, catching the attention of her mistress. Again, the beige form shadowed him, and a soft voice reassured him. "Now, now! you'll hurt yourself, good sir. Please do settle down. Your wing is broken. You cannot fly." The crow could not understand her words, but her meaning was clear. A predator could not possibly put on such a show, and even if it could, this one was not. Perhaps he was already dead? He looked at her, perturbed, and cawed his displeasure. In return, she chuckled and offered her hand. "Can you hop up? Let me have a look." He understood the request and, after a momentary hesitation, climbed onto her hand. She lifted him until they were eye-to-eye, and looked him over. "You're healing well. You slept for a few days now. I wasn't sure you'd make it." He fluttered a bit, then hopped from her hand to her nose. Up her muzzle he went, until he was between her ears. Here, he settled and cawed again, this time sounding victorious.

They arrived at the river without event. Taj led her down along the bank. She could soon smell blood; an injured creature. She lauded her intuition, grateful that she could trust her friend's judgement. However, when they arrived, she stopped short. A ghostly canine was reaching into the water, lifting it out in cupped palms to give to the injured moose. Grace approached tentatively, Taj landing on her head. With her corvid crown settled, she sized up the bulky elk's injuries. She wrung her hands; her first aid kit was at home. Seemingly sensing this, Taj leaned over so that they were at eye level. Remembering his presence, she asked, "Taj, would you go home and get my first aid bag? You should be able to get in through a window." She usually left one cracked, so that he could come and go as he pleased. Then, she turned her attention to the femme who was hydrating the bull. The injuries were grave. "What happened? Do you know what did this?"

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[Caspa Al-Fateh]

She had not been expecting interruption and Caspa's hackles prickled quite out-of-character: usually so restrained in her emotions, she didn't much look forward to explaining what she was doing helping a prey creature, nor to the circumstance that was bound to follow on being found by some hungry canine: either attempting to protect the bull, or standing aside to watch him die. The latter was far more likely: all things died and Caspa knew this without sentimentality. She herself could not wield that final blow lightly, but others were not so controlled in their movements, and that brought balance. Nothing was good or bad to Caspa: everything a shade of evenly tinted grey, and her actions dictated by an emotionless code, in order to prevent her having to navigate through this impassive world blindly and guide her to her eventual destination. Or so she hoped.

The woman who came near now though did not seem like the usual breed of random marauder Caspa expected. She wore elegant adornments, and a crow perched on her brow: her aura tasted of AniWaya, but she was unfamiliar in appearance - Caspa had seen a number of that pack's members during the war, and supposed this woman might be a newcomer. Perhaps she was even the new leader, the fabled member of the Great Tribe who she had been assured was much more peaceful than the last one. The woman spoke to her bird, which flew away, then turned to Caspa with a demanding tone. Caspa had remained crouched to her task without paying too much outward heed to the fawn-coated wolf, although she was intent upon her sound and scent and sight: curious to know what the reaction would be. It seemed the sight of the pained moose affected her deeply, which was astonishing to the half-dog Courtier. She had not met anybody with such a sensibility before. But the woman could not be personally linked to this moose, for Caspa had followed him from such a distance. "I found him like this," she answered before observing "You speak as though you have great interest in his welfare."

[Grace Galaxy]

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I was alone, I took a ride

I didn't know what I would find there

WC: 756. Sorry for the long delay.

Another road where maybe I

Could find another kind of mind there

It occurred to Grace only dimly that her actions might be thought queer by this female; after all, she herself was helping the moose, so what reasons could she bear for not understanding why another might do the same. She smiled sadly and nodded her head, her movements slow, so as to not startle to poor bull. "I try to alleviate pain and suffering when I find it," she replied quietly, examining the injuries more closely. The wound could be cleaned and rubbed with salve, although she doubted if he would allow her to bandage it. The hindleg would have to be splinted, and it would be best to get a cart and bring him back to the stable, where his healing could be closely supervised. She wondered vaguely if Ulilohi would get on her case for this. Ah, well. If she did, well, then would be a better time to worry about it than now would be. He needed care, and she could provide it.

By the time Taj arrived with her first aid bag, she felt that she had established herself with the elk well enough to touch him. She was gentle, touching first unwounded parts of him, gaining his trust. He protested only briefly, his voice a deep baritone, before relenting. It seemed that he was too tired and pained to put up much fuss. She dipped a clean cloth in the water and used it to gently clean his wound, murmuring softly, reassuringly. The salve she rubbed into the wound was mild, containing crushed herbal remedies, to dull the pain. As she expected, a bandage was not to be accepted, but the thick ointment would hold on its own, she thought, particularly given the location of the wound, far from where he could tamper with it.

She addressed his swollen hindleg now, careful not to startle him into kicking. She made disapproving, matronly sounds, half in jest. "Mmm, tsk tsk. Looks to be sprained, methinks... what on earth were you doing, good sir?" She knew that he wouldn't understand her, but her voice was calm and soothing, and he didn't seem to mind. She splinted it, careful not to wrap the bandage too loosely nor too tightly, and tied the bandage off. Then she stood, frowning. "I'd like to see if he'd come back with me to AniWaya, so that I could look after him. I could sedate him to get him there, if need be, but I'll need to get a cart... would you stay here with him, while I fetch one, and help me get him onto the back?"

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