Post by Red Moon on Jun 5, 2010 0:34:52 GMT -8
It ached, still.
The eye that cried.
The silver scar glistened under perpetual tears.
The den was warm; far removed from the chill of sorrow, where shadows whisper and grief prevails.
The den was cool, barred away from the hate that burns and the moon that howls.
Maya's den was safe. Here the only danger was in distracting the too-compassionate Gurahl from her desperate design. Her sonorous contralto echoing on the fire-lit walls, her presence was made constant. Wherever Ravenna had been, Niall was grateful for the company.
On a night of such overwhelming loss for all, not everyone would be so consoled.
Amalric-yuff. The once-powerful kin, never-failing friend who had given his life to protect the weaker among us, would be never-forgotten among those in the sept whose lives he spared. May his spirit rest in Gaia, forever.
Whistles-while-he-kills-rhya, whose song was feared as a judgment of death for some, and heralded as a promise of hope for others. The warder-rhya had given many chances to the once-lost War-Theurge. Niall hoped he made the whistling warrior proud. May his spirit sing in Gaia forever.
Oli-rhya, who had always forgiven his mistakes, and protected him from new ones. He was the wolf who demanded he learn. Nothing short of brilliance and valor was deserved for his patience. Niall prayed he had learned well enough. May his spirit stand in Gaia forever.
Several others missing.
Brenna-kin, Ellie-yuff, Visili-rhya. Niall begged the old-spirits' protection on them, too.
However, the ache of his eye; the unbroken flow of tears on his cheek was not for the lost, but for the found.
Three gifts had been given to the undeserving metis in one night.
The first was the promise of protection and the restoration of his memories. The second was the pain of loss and the ache of purpose. The third meant nothing to any garou but himself; Forgiveness. Luna herself had bequeathed all these gifts to him, and so had forgiven him the sins of his birth. He was no longer metis in the eyes of Luna, but Garou, and pure. So, his tears ran, with never the promise of ceasing. And Niall rested.
In the shadows where the tongues of fire-light lapped, a man, tall and adorned in the crown of stag stood, proudly observing his not-too-distant predecessor. Here, the innocent whelp, still half as learned as he once was, slept. Unaware of the nature of the difficult task now set before him. Not a tear did he shed, but a rewarding smile. Now he, too, could rest.
"'Bout damn time one-a me own blood was worth me seed.
It ached still.
The eye that cried.
Praise Gaia! May it never cease.
