Post by Therdde on Apr 25, 2009 23:14:27 GMT -5
Characters:
Teketa - Male Wolf
Skelaghe - Female Wolf
- Wind-Blown Lowlands -
The sun has come and gone once since Teketa left Helaku, since news of tragedy has been handed off to Skelaghe. It is midday, the snow is glaring and bright, and he's on the scent of the she-wolf. Helaku has had time to be with Skelaghe by now, Teketa hopes, and now it's his turn to see her. To make sure she's all right. And to stick with his order - his promise - to stay near Skelaghe as long as she will permit it. She won't be thinking clearly. At least, that's what Teketa believes. And how could she? When he left her before, it was evident that the news ravaged her mind, that she could hardly take it. The black wolf stands out in the winter atmosphere. Even from afar, it is evident his head is lowered as he sniffs low, and then lifts it to sniff the air. Skelaghe couldn't be that difficult to find...
At least Skelaghe has moved since she first collapsed under the weight of the news given to her. Not much, but she moved, seeking what she never wants. Solitude. She is far enough north that the waterfall has begun to grow louder, but not so far north that she can see it. The sound isn't as soothing to her as it might be at other times. Skelaghe is lying on the ground, curled up a little for warm, and staring off toward the south. The most moving she has done in the past several hours is to breath. The waterfall to the north still masks the sound of Teketa's approaching paws. It's why she chose this place, after all.
Ah. There - he can see her, curled for warmth in the snow. Teketa halts only for a moment to lift his head, his brows furrowing slightly with concern. But the moment passes and his pace becomes a trot as he approaches the she-wolf. He stops several feet from her, his head lifted, muzzle tilted down to look at her. "My friend," he greets her in a soft voice, using uncharacteristic words. It's evident to his eye that she is still mourning. Such news is not easy to overcome. Such tragedy can linger longer than one would like. He waits to see if she will respond to him. Will she chase him away or allow him to come nearer?
It's not that Skelaghe doesn't understand why her companions want to check in on her, even want to speak to her. It's just... Fighting back the desire she has to be alone, Skelaghe slowly turns her head to face Teketa. Her eyes are a little dull, but she /is/ aware of what's going on around her. The twitch of her muzzle could be the attempt at forcing a smile, but it goes nowhere, and she has given up by the time she greets him, using a tone that matches her eyes for their lack of expression. "Hello, Teketa." She knows she still has to be there for them, but... Fighting off a thought for the second time in just a few second, she forces herself to keep looking at Teketa.
She lifts her head. Teketa pads closer, stopping with little more than a foot between himself and the she-wolf he calls friend. He doesn't ask how she's doing. There's no point - anyone who knows Skelaghe can see very clearly just what state she's in. In her eyes. Her voice. The black male's brows remain furrowed out of concern. "May I sit by your side?" It is a question he may have asked regardless of circumstances, but it seems particularly necessary right now that he ask her permission beforehand. He knows she probably wants to be alone. He knew how he wanted to be alone after he lost Dawn. But /he/ sure doesn't want Skelaghe to be /alone./ "I, I-" he pauses, trying to get the words out right. He's worried for her. Or something along those lines. And he wants to stay close to her - because Helaku asked him to. And because... /he/ wants to. "You were close to this dog, were you not? I understand if you would rather not speak..."
Skelaghe fights against every urge to seek the comfort she doesn't deserve from this friend of hers. There is a pause, the result of the tightening of her throat, but she doesn't just ignore Teketa. She has already used up the extent of her rudeness, and he doesn't deserve it. "You may sit with me." After saying that, though, her gaze returns, unfocused, to the south. She hears the rest of what he said, though. "We were... She was like a daughter to me."
He steps closer, then folds his legs beneath him. He's close enough that his fur nearly brushes against hers. He shifts to rest more on his side, facing Skelaghe so he can see her easily. He nods slowly. He knew Skelaghe was close to Sketch. But he didn't realize how close. "I'm sorry, Skelaghe," he says softly after a long silence. She knows that he has felt loss, too. What more can he say to her? "If I only could, I would-" he would? He would do /what/? He can't comfort her. He's not sure how. And so his gaze turns to the south with hers, though his is focused. "Can you tell me about her?" he switches topics carefully. Maybe talking would help. Or make it worse...
The tightness persists, but it is not enough to cut off her voice entirely. Just enough to make her sound a little choked up. "She... She never deserved anything bad that happened to her. And she never let it destroy her. It took me to do that." Through the past day, Skelaghe has had no luck finding it in herself to ask for Sketch's forgiveness. What was the dog's last thought? How badly did she suffer? And did Sketch blame Skelaghe, before she died, as Skelaghe now blames herself? If Sketch were still alive, could Skelaghe stand to look into eyes filled with hatred instead of love?
It's the voice that pains him, even when he doesn't look at Skelaghe. The brokenness. She says Sketch didn't deserve to die. Skelaghe didn't deserve to lose a friend. She didn't deserve any hurt or pains like this. She is a good she-wolf. It would be one thing for Teketa to experience loss again, though it may break him. But Skelaghe? "No, /no/," he says, his deep voice lowering to the meekest of whispers. "What are you saying, my dear Skelaghe? That /you/ did this?" he looks at her hard with those yellow-green eyes. For it sounds to him that is what she's saying. That it took her to destroy this young dog. Why would she say that? ...he can't /stand/ hearing /her/ talk that way! ...that's /his/ job. So this must be settled and fixed. He lowers his head, so he can look up at the saddened she-wolf.
"I sent her there. I trained her and groomed her to be as caring as I am. Then I sent her to her death." How many times did Skelaghe stress that the Amaranth were their friends? How many times did she speak casually about her trips to the mountain, and how much she enjoyed them? How much did she concern herself with the danger Sketch may be in, even as she knew the concern her mate would have for her, had she tried the same thing? Skelaghe takes in a sharp breath that sticks in her throat, the preface to the tears she can feel threatening to fall.
No. No! He wants to yell. Do /not/ blame yourself! ...as he once blamed himself. As he still often blames himself. /She/ does not deserve the blame. Let it be /his/ blame. Not hers. He does not move, as if he were afraid she might break if he moved away. "You did no such thing. You would /never/ do that to anyone," he says softly, leaning just a little closer, desiring to comfort her, but certain he doesn't deserve to do so much as that. "Look at me, my friend," his voice is soft, and though he doesn't know it, almost desperate. She can't blame herself! He won't allow it! "I know you..."
Not intentionally. No, she would never do that to anyone. But does the fact that she simply ignored the risk make her sin any less dire? It is this fear and doubt that is expressed clearly in her eyes when she looks to Teketa, as he told her to. She doesn't even try to interrupt him. Her words come slow, and she couldn't even begin to counter with any arguments. And, despite all of her attempts to avoid being comforted, she wants it. Desperately. She wishes she could curl up beside one of her companions and just cry.
"Skelaghe," he says it in the same gentle voice he has been using since he settled down beside her, "I know /you./ What happened has happened. You had no way of knowing this would happen," he hopes this is a comfort, and not the other way around. He holds her gaze as he rarely has before, and his eyes are intense. Understanding. "You could not have stopped it," he continues, not looking away, pulling away. Unmoving. His eyes still look up, into hers, and it is clear he wishes to comfort her, though in his heart-of-hearts, he's not sure this is right, or that he should. "Sorrow for your loss, my friend. But do not think /you/ caused this."
It helps. How much? Probably not a whole lot, but it does help to know her other companions don't hate her for her recklessness and how it cost Sketch her life, even if Skelaghe thinks they should. Her voice doesn't sound quite as choked, at least, and her tears do not yet fall. "Just because I did not intend for it to happen doesn't mean I didn't contribute to it happening, Tek." She is no longer wallowing in sorrow and self-hatred. Knowing she still has Tek's friendship has helped her form her thoughts a little more coherently. "You just have to understand... I have to earn her forgiveness... Before I can move on." And of course, she'll have to be able to ask for that forgiveness. That, right now, is what she can't bring herself to do. How long will it be before she feels she deserves it?
Forgiveness. Sketch's forgiveness... but that won't be easy to get. Teketa doesn't believe that can happen. He wants to say, Sketch is /dead/. Move on. She can't forgive you now. But he can't say that. He won't. /That/ would be cruel. And he wants Skelaghe to believe there is hope for it. If it will make her happy again. Someday. He does not argue against her. She could be right. He finally breaks his gaze away and lifts his head, pulling it up and away to look into the distance. "Sketch was your friend, as you are mine. If she knew you, she loved you. If she knew you at all, then she would surely forgive you for what you did not intend." At least, he hopes that is the case. He didn't know Sketch, after all. Poor thing. Murdered by those blasted cats... And as for Skelaghe. She'll have to forgive herself, too. In the meantime...
Any other time, Skelaghe would welcome questions about her faith. Now, Teketa does not question her, and she appreciates that as much as anything else. She gives a not of her head. Yes, Sketch will forgive her, in time... And when she does, Skelaghe will know. Even if it is as subtle a sign as the wind blowing her Sketch's favorite flower or a voice carried by the wind, Skelaghe will know. Until then... "Thank you, Tek. I... I'm glad you're here." No matter what she might tell herself she needs.
Her words lighten his heart. He's not so sure about comforting others. Not since he lost Dawn. He's never had to comfort anyone who has lost so much as he has. His mate, and Skelaghe's dear friend-almost-daughter. He looks at her, then dips his head gently. He does not smile, but through hopefully reassuring, half-lidded eyes he looks at his most-trusted friend and speaks, "And I will be here, whenever you need me," he says it for the moment. If he means more - that he will stay even when the winter ends - he will not say. And it doesn't matter what she might think of it - not that she's really in any condition to do so. "I will stay close by," because Helaku has ordered him to do so. Because he wants to stay nearby. "And if there is anything you require, you need only call," he looks at her. He can be more useful than just /scouting/ all the time. At least, he can try. So here he is. Trying that which he "cannot do."
Skelaghe gives a nod of her head. How much longer will she be like this? Less than the wolf that both Teketa and Helaku befriended? She knows her sorrow will take long to pass, but hopefully it will not be too long before she can at least fake it, for their sakes. They deserve it for being here for her, however long they can.
Teketa - Male Wolf
Skelaghe - Female Wolf
- Wind-Blown Lowlands -
The sun has come and gone once since Teketa left Helaku, since news of tragedy has been handed off to Skelaghe. It is midday, the snow is glaring and bright, and he's on the scent of the she-wolf. Helaku has had time to be with Skelaghe by now, Teketa hopes, and now it's his turn to see her. To make sure she's all right. And to stick with his order - his promise - to stay near Skelaghe as long as she will permit it. She won't be thinking clearly. At least, that's what Teketa believes. And how could she? When he left her before, it was evident that the news ravaged her mind, that she could hardly take it. The black wolf stands out in the winter atmosphere. Even from afar, it is evident his head is lowered as he sniffs low, and then lifts it to sniff the air. Skelaghe couldn't be that difficult to find...
At least Skelaghe has moved since she first collapsed under the weight of the news given to her. Not much, but she moved, seeking what she never wants. Solitude. She is far enough north that the waterfall has begun to grow louder, but not so far north that she can see it. The sound isn't as soothing to her as it might be at other times. Skelaghe is lying on the ground, curled up a little for warm, and staring off toward the south. The most moving she has done in the past several hours is to breath. The waterfall to the north still masks the sound of Teketa's approaching paws. It's why she chose this place, after all.
Ah. There - he can see her, curled for warmth in the snow. Teketa halts only for a moment to lift his head, his brows furrowing slightly with concern. But the moment passes and his pace becomes a trot as he approaches the she-wolf. He stops several feet from her, his head lifted, muzzle tilted down to look at her. "My friend," he greets her in a soft voice, using uncharacteristic words. It's evident to his eye that she is still mourning. Such news is not easy to overcome. Such tragedy can linger longer than one would like. He waits to see if she will respond to him. Will she chase him away or allow him to come nearer?
It's not that Skelaghe doesn't understand why her companions want to check in on her, even want to speak to her. It's just... Fighting back the desire she has to be alone, Skelaghe slowly turns her head to face Teketa. Her eyes are a little dull, but she /is/ aware of what's going on around her. The twitch of her muzzle could be the attempt at forcing a smile, but it goes nowhere, and she has given up by the time she greets him, using a tone that matches her eyes for their lack of expression. "Hello, Teketa." She knows she still has to be there for them, but... Fighting off a thought for the second time in just a few second, she forces herself to keep looking at Teketa.
She lifts her head. Teketa pads closer, stopping with little more than a foot between himself and the she-wolf he calls friend. He doesn't ask how she's doing. There's no point - anyone who knows Skelaghe can see very clearly just what state she's in. In her eyes. Her voice. The black male's brows remain furrowed out of concern. "May I sit by your side?" It is a question he may have asked regardless of circumstances, but it seems particularly necessary right now that he ask her permission beforehand. He knows she probably wants to be alone. He knew how he wanted to be alone after he lost Dawn. But /he/ sure doesn't want Skelaghe to be /alone./ "I, I-" he pauses, trying to get the words out right. He's worried for her. Or something along those lines. And he wants to stay close to her - because Helaku asked him to. And because... /he/ wants to. "You were close to this dog, were you not? I understand if you would rather not speak..."
Skelaghe fights against every urge to seek the comfort she doesn't deserve from this friend of hers. There is a pause, the result of the tightening of her throat, but she doesn't just ignore Teketa. She has already used up the extent of her rudeness, and he doesn't deserve it. "You may sit with me." After saying that, though, her gaze returns, unfocused, to the south. She hears the rest of what he said, though. "We were... She was like a daughter to me."
He steps closer, then folds his legs beneath him. He's close enough that his fur nearly brushes against hers. He shifts to rest more on his side, facing Skelaghe so he can see her easily. He nods slowly. He knew Skelaghe was close to Sketch. But he didn't realize how close. "I'm sorry, Skelaghe," he says softly after a long silence. She knows that he has felt loss, too. What more can he say to her? "If I only could, I would-" he would? He would do /what/? He can't comfort her. He's not sure how. And so his gaze turns to the south with hers, though his is focused. "Can you tell me about her?" he switches topics carefully. Maybe talking would help. Or make it worse...
The tightness persists, but it is not enough to cut off her voice entirely. Just enough to make her sound a little choked up. "She... She never deserved anything bad that happened to her. And she never let it destroy her. It took me to do that." Through the past day, Skelaghe has had no luck finding it in herself to ask for Sketch's forgiveness. What was the dog's last thought? How badly did she suffer? And did Sketch blame Skelaghe, before she died, as Skelaghe now blames herself? If Sketch were still alive, could Skelaghe stand to look into eyes filled with hatred instead of love?
It's the voice that pains him, even when he doesn't look at Skelaghe. The brokenness. She says Sketch didn't deserve to die. Skelaghe didn't deserve to lose a friend. She didn't deserve any hurt or pains like this. She is a good she-wolf. It would be one thing for Teketa to experience loss again, though it may break him. But Skelaghe? "No, /no/," he says, his deep voice lowering to the meekest of whispers. "What are you saying, my dear Skelaghe? That /you/ did this?" he looks at her hard with those yellow-green eyes. For it sounds to him that is what she's saying. That it took her to destroy this young dog. Why would she say that? ...he can't /stand/ hearing /her/ talk that way! ...that's /his/ job. So this must be settled and fixed. He lowers his head, so he can look up at the saddened she-wolf.
"I sent her there. I trained her and groomed her to be as caring as I am. Then I sent her to her death." How many times did Skelaghe stress that the Amaranth were their friends? How many times did she speak casually about her trips to the mountain, and how much she enjoyed them? How much did she concern herself with the danger Sketch may be in, even as she knew the concern her mate would have for her, had she tried the same thing? Skelaghe takes in a sharp breath that sticks in her throat, the preface to the tears she can feel threatening to fall.
No. No! He wants to yell. Do /not/ blame yourself! ...as he once blamed himself. As he still often blames himself. /She/ does not deserve the blame. Let it be /his/ blame. Not hers. He does not move, as if he were afraid she might break if he moved away. "You did no such thing. You would /never/ do that to anyone," he says softly, leaning just a little closer, desiring to comfort her, but certain he doesn't deserve to do so much as that. "Look at me, my friend," his voice is soft, and though he doesn't know it, almost desperate. She can't blame herself! He won't allow it! "I know you..."
Not intentionally. No, she would never do that to anyone. But does the fact that she simply ignored the risk make her sin any less dire? It is this fear and doubt that is expressed clearly in her eyes when she looks to Teketa, as he told her to. She doesn't even try to interrupt him. Her words come slow, and she couldn't even begin to counter with any arguments. And, despite all of her attempts to avoid being comforted, she wants it. Desperately. She wishes she could curl up beside one of her companions and just cry.
"Skelaghe," he says it in the same gentle voice he has been using since he settled down beside her, "I know /you./ What happened has happened. You had no way of knowing this would happen," he hopes this is a comfort, and not the other way around. He holds her gaze as he rarely has before, and his eyes are intense. Understanding. "You could not have stopped it," he continues, not looking away, pulling away. Unmoving. His eyes still look up, into hers, and it is clear he wishes to comfort her, though in his heart-of-hearts, he's not sure this is right, or that he should. "Sorrow for your loss, my friend. But do not think /you/ caused this."
It helps. How much? Probably not a whole lot, but it does help to know her other companions don't hate her for her recklessness and how it cost Sketch her life, even if Skelaghe thinks they should. Her voice doesn't sound quite as choked, at least, and her tears do not yet fall. "Just because I did not intend for it to happen doesn't mean I didn't contribute to it happening, Tek." She is no longer wallowing in sorrow and self-hatred. Knowing she still has Tek's friendship has helped her form her thoughts a little more coherently. "You just have to understand... I have to earn her forgiveness... Before I can move on." And of course, she'll have to be able to ask for that forgiveness. That, right now, is what she can't bring herself to do. How long will it be before she feels she deserves it?
Forgiveness. Sketch's forgiveness... but that won't be easy to get. Teketa doesn't believe that can happen. He wants to say, Sketch is /dead/. Move on. She can't forgive you now. But he can't say that. He won't. /That/ would be cruel. And he wants Skelaghe to believe there is hope for it. If it will make her happy again. Someday. He does not argue against her. She could be right. He finally breaks his gaze away and lifts his head, pulling it up and away to look into the distance. "Sketch was your friend, as you are mine. If she knew you, she loved you. If she knew you at all, then she would surely forgive you for what you did not intend." At least, he hopes that is the case. He didn't know Sketch, after all. Poor thing. Murdered by those blasted cats... And as for Skelaghe. She'll have to forgive herself, too. In the meantime...
Any other time, Skelaghe would welcome questions about her faith. Now, Teketa does not question her, and she appreciates that as much as anything else. She gives a not of her head. Yes, Sketch will forgive her, in time... And when she does, Skelaghe will know. Even if it is as subtle a sign as the wind blowing her Sketch's favorite flower or a voice carried by the wind, Skelaghe will know. Until then... "Thank you, Tek. I... I'm glad you're here." No matter what she might tell herself she needs.
Her words lighten his heart. He's not so sure about comforting others. Not since he lost Dawn. He's never had to comfort anyone who has lost so much as he has. His mate, and Skelaghe's dear friend-almost-daughter. He looks at her, then dips his head gently. He does not smile, but through hopefully reassuring, half-lidded eyes he looks at his most-trusted friend and speaks, "And I will be here, whenever you need me," he says it for the moment. If he means more - that he will stay even when the winter ends - he will not say. And it doesn't matter what she might think of it - not that she's really in any condition to do so. "I will stay close by," because Helaku has ordered him to do so. Because he wants to stay nearby. "And if there is anything you require, you need only call," he looks at her. He can be more useful than just /scouting/ all the time. At least, he can try. So here he is. Trying that which he "cannot do."
Skelaghe gives a nod of her head. How much longer will she be like this? Less than the wolf that both Teketa and Helaku befriended? She knows her sorrow will take long to pass, but hopefully it will not be too long before she can at least fake it, for their sakes. They deserve it for being here for her, however long they can.