are the dead really silent?
It seemed as though Tinuvel had died. The whispers of life had quieted, save for those of the predators that lurked just beyond the treelines. Their eyes had gleamed with a menace that had been strange even to me. Their calls became more barbaric, feral, and challenging. The days where they and I had lived in relative peace was swiftly starting to come to an end. Even more, the whispers and songs of those who had once lived grew louder into a chorus of screams that was deafening to my senses.
Alone I had walked the island’s trails, the paths of my father and the paths of strangers. Nephilim’s land had silenced. The dead king’s calls had not sounded in this realm or in any other. I could not tell his voice from any of those around me, nor those of his daughters. At least not the ones who had ever been alive. High in the mountains, I looked across the Bay, searching for any sign of their life. There had been one, seeming as lonely and listless as I was, moving through the lonely trails of the Bay. I turned away from her splashed body, assuming she would never have known the Ghost of Tinuvel had watched her.
The seasons had changed, the drew harsher. Howls of winter echoed and intensified the howls of the wolves around us, giving a chilled voice to the heat in my veins. It was not until my father’s call sounded that my blood ran cold with the truth. His home was dead.
Coming down from the caves and the trails my mother and I had so often lived in, I could see that my body had come to do my father proud. The proud lines of the gypsy vanner were equally etched in my frame. Whereas his body was white, only his socks of golden brown, I know mine shined pearly silver, his white gracing only my feathers, banners, and a mask on my face.
Beside my shattered father stood an even younger gypsy. Her body was so unlike our’s. Not even a year, she was still small. Her thick mane and tail a black as dark as the night that seemed to be falling around us. Her hooves as well seemed to be one with the shadows, though her body was a deep chocolate bay. A blaze of white flashed up her face to vanish into the night of her tufting mane. I breath deep in the face of my half sister, revelling in the continued life she breaths back at me.
You need to leave. My father whispers to me, his voice hollow. I look at him, seeing a shadow of who he once was. I wonder, is he still here? Or has his spirit moved on. If so, where had it traveled to? Our eyes met, he understood my silence.
Ostara deserves a life, this is not her Winter. Take her to the Prairie, neither of you will be harmed.
“But will we live?” Hallowed voice echoed in the silence of the winds around us. For once the tundra held its breath.
--- --- --- That was a question of Fate --- --- ---
Earth’s night had released its hold on us as we stepped from the waters. Just over the waves of the horizon the sun began to look onto the ways of the land, its rays curiously touching our wet bodies. I lifted my pale nose in the air. Warmer than the wind of my home, the breeze still felt cold and biting on my flesh with its strangeness.
Where are we? Ostara asked, pressing to my side. I look down at her. I am all she has left. I have no whole truths to give her, no honest comfort I could bring to her curious soul. She had a fire in her. Life, where I had death. We were a balance.
“Somewhere new… But somewhere old.”
Dark ears flicked to me, a moment of silence and she smiled in acceptance. I watch her gaze move around the world we had come to. She had never seen such long grass, never so much green and open space. Nor had I, but I had at least heard stories. Brave and bold, she stepped forward, neck outstretched until at last her curiosity brought her steps away from me.
Exhaling sharply, I watch her intently, determined to keep my promise to her. Disdain and uncertainty simmered in me. I felt my ears instinctively lace back into my mane for a moment. I walked through realms others fled, I spoke to those long covered by the shrouds. But I feared bringing a false fate to a thriving life. I was not as trusting as my father.
Still, I was loyal to him and his wishes.
Standing with my father’s noble stance, I peeled back my lips and called to the stallion of the Prairie. As my sister began poking around and sniffing at the tall and dying grass I stood patiently. I had been told we were expected.
I was told many things.
 gypsy vanner mutt; XY; perlino tobiano; two years; 15’3hh; pagan x peyton |