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A gentle melody soared through the air, caressing the still and snowy landscape as it passed. It flew the ways it wanted to fly; through the high tree tops, down by the ground to rustle the grass, or along the unruly surface of playful rivers. It was all frozen now, all cold and inhospitable, but in that song there was spring and warmth and life. Each tone was voiced steadily and with strength, cutting through the atmosphere as clearly as the sound of silver bells. A fog accompanied them, blurring the surroundings for a moment before disintegrating into nothing, blending with the cold air in just seconds. This place was not a place for warmth, and the melody did not carry far. The snow muted it, toned it down until there was little left, but it did not matter. It was not sung because it needed to be heard; it was sung because it needed to be sung. It had no words, and it did not need them.
The singer moved slowly through the frozen landscape, one paw carefully placed in front of the other. Her eyes were wide open, but there was no telling what they saw. Piercing emerald was the hue that shone from them, a glimmer of color where all was white with winter. Even her fur was white, even the bandage that was so tight around her head. It was as if she was barely there, and almost gone. Her four-legged body was thin, muscle-less, and her legs shook as she took one step forward, ever one step forward. She had no goal but to walk by herself.
She wore a soft smile.
This one, who had endured so many things. She smiled, because she knew that she had been given life again. It was a sign; she had gone too far. She had stopped listening to her instincts, and it had brought her here. But she had been given life like she had been given life before. It was a wry smile, still, for though she knew that she was lucky, she could not understand why these things happened to her. She gained someone, she lost someone. She had always been a solitary creature, forced to accompany herself when others would not. When she had gained a friend, she had lost a sister. When she had gained a future, she had lost four little lives before they had learned their mother’s scent. When she had gained her mother, she had lost a cousin. When she had gained another litter, she had lost her mate, and when she had now gained trust in her neighbor, she had lost her youth, and an ear. But her children were not lost, and she was happy for that. Still, she could not help but wonder; who would ever love a face so deformed as her own? She had seen it in the shattered glass in human buildings, in the twisted old mirror in the Wolfville living room. Always, she had thought, she could at least cling to her shining white fur, her facial features that were not unpleasing to the eye. She had never claimed to be beautiful, but she knew that she was not ugly. Now… she did not know. She had loved Lubomir as only a first lover could, truly faithfully and without boundaries. She had doted on him, had sacrificed her days and her everything for this male who simply up and left when she needed him the most. And he had loved her for the very features that were now merely good traits weighed against her severely broken face. The scale tipped in one direction, and she wondered what male could ever now find her worthy to be his mate? If her love had not been enough for Lubomir, how could it ever be enough for anyone else? The two emerald eyes watched the ground, and it was as if she could see her broken face in every lump of snow that moved around her feet. As if the ground itself laughed up at her, a grand mirror, crude and deformed, spitting the truth in her face.
Her smile was for the irony.
She had not trusted herself – she had tried too hard. It was not Jefferson’s fault, though a part of her longed to blame him. No, she had done this to herself. She had ignored her instincts, had ignored the urge to leap at the strange female as soon as she saw her, teeth and claws at the ready. Again, she was to blame. It was another item to go on the list of things never to forget. Never forget, never forgive. Mew Sadira blamed herself for many things. She blamed herself for her litter-sister’s disappearance, for she should have stayed with her and been her family when their mother had not done so. She blamed herself for the death of her first children. Only an idiot would wander astray like that when carrying such a precious load. And lastly, she blamed herself now, for becoming the hideous face that her children did not recognize as easily as they had recognized her before. She blamed herself now, for how she remembered less, for the dizziness that moved her body without her permission. But Hanna and Conor had fixed her up, had said that it would pass. She had done what her aunt bade, and she had rested. Now, she was allowed short walks on her own, and it was good to be on her own again. Hanna saw to it that her children were safe, for she did not have the energy to look after them herself. She did not want them to know how weak she was – did not want them to worry – so she stayed away as much as possible. Her gratitude towards her aunt could never be spoken in words, for no such words existed, though she had tried several times.
The femme’s feet were cold, and the thin legs shook and wavered for every small step she took. It was time to return home, but it had been so long since those paws had tasted the outdoors. She had thought she would never be able to walk again, that she would die in the snow that day. Instead, she was alive in the snow, today. The wolf’s frame had always been lithe, small, but now she was thin and weak. She had been strong, if little, but now she was merely little. This gracious creature who had taken pride in many things, who had traveled through life with a head held high and a smile on her lips. Now, she looked beaten, almost as if one did not expect the snow to shift underneath her as she continued to walked on. But for every step the paw met resistance and broke through, finding support in the ground beneath. Now she stopped for a moment to envy the calm peace and beauty of the snow in front of her, which covered the ground like a blanket. It was as peaceful as she had rarely been, but she lived longer than it, at least.
Her leg moved forward, and this time the paw broke through the snow and found nothing. No ground to rest the female’s weight on, and so it plummeted forward, further into the snow. She followed, dizzy from all her thinking, dizzy from this life. Ice and snow flew, and revealed an opening into a stream beneath. It had been covered by snow, or had it? Perhaps she had not paid attention. Perhaps it had been a natural trap. The question was of little importance as she twisted her head around her, trying to find out what was happening. The fall was very long, but still not long enough, and before she had figured out what was going on she landed with a heavy thud. Now she was not as light as before; she did not soar on the air like her precious melody. The snow that accompanied her drizzled like dust onto her still form as it lay in the bottom of a small stream’s path to the ocean. There were no more moments left in her, and after a single breath she was perfectly still. Frozen water surrounded her, and as the last air from her mouth hit it, it fogged before instantly freezing again, as if there had been no change whatsoever. Slow snow fell and quickly started to cover her form, mixing her in with the surroundings, removing her from the world as if she had never existed. Nothing had happened, and nothing was changed.
A gentle spirit soared through life, caressing and caring for others as it passed. It went the ways it wanted to go; through foreign lands, through the lands of her enemies, through lands that had once been claimed by people. These lands were all cold now, but in that spirit there was spring and warmth and life. Each word was voiced steadily and with strength, cutting through the atmosphere as clearly as the sound of silver bells. A shadow accompanied it, blurring the surroundings for a moment before disintegrating into nothing, blending with the cold air in just seconds. This place was not the place for her warmth, and the spirit did not fly far. The snow muted it, toned it down until there was almost nothing left, but it did not matter. It had not lived because it needed to be seen, it had lived because it had needed to live. It had no more melodies now, but it did not need them. |
Mew falls into the deep crack in the hillside at Demon's Trail in Dahlian Territory, dying from the fall and blow to the head, already weakened by her injuries. Snow quickly covers her up, and masks her scent and final resting place. Perhaps it will be discovered at a later point in time? For now, she is missing.
Word Count: 1612