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Sep. 6th, 2011
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thelorax42.livejournal.comThe rite to bring it finished, a storm cloud began to unleash its fury on the small green damp valley where the uratha had assembled for war. Each of them preparing, some brave and blustering, some grimly seeing to the hundred needful things that might make the difference between life and death in the heat of the violent moment.
H looked over the battlefield, and was forced, incongruously, to fight back a tired wave of deja vu which bordered on nostalgia. Keyed to sudden feelings, he searched the hisil and the real world for something his senses may be telling him, but he was misunderstanding, but found nothing.
The pure were coming to wipe them out. The bale hounds had infiltrated them, and he knew he should be worried, that fear should begin to worry at his heels. But it had happened before, he had fought them before. It seemed they did not learn. He would destroy their totems, and send them fleeing into the night, beaten and bloody, with the plans of others. There would be posturing, and then there would be some relative peace for a while. As it had been before, as it would be again.
He remembered the last fight. The plan had been another's, and then he had been acting at the orders of his Maximilian Tolerates-No-Evil. Who had been his alpha. He had needed to not disappoint the stern man who he obeyed unthinkingly in his pack, and to ensure that he gained them victory. The thought of failing him, of betraying him with anything less than what was needed to win the day, sent a shudder up his spine, even now. By his side had been Lizzie “scorpid reborn” Fitch, as she was known in those days. He imagined her smiling at him, as she did when she was scared, thin and brittle. Imagined some last affection, her offering some reassurance that also reassured her before the battle would be joined in earnest. He shook his head, tears shaking loose and falling unseen amongst the driving rain.
In the rain he could almost see back to then, back into his past. The storm was heavy enough as if the sky was trying to wash this battle away, to cleanse it as if it had never been, and the world lost the sharper edges, dulled and blurred by the sheets of falling water. He could almost pretend he was back there, and Lizzie was still alive, still loved him and was still with him. He could pretend he would see her again tonight. He could remember his rage and fear with Max, but could know that beneath the demands, his steadying discipline would quiet some of his terrors. He could remember how it was to love them unconditionally, and know that he was loved, before they had all disappeared. Left him alone, Lonely.
… Lonely. A dangerous work, and one which he avoided. Feared with a passion most people held only for their deepest night terrors. But there were so many who had left him. Lizzie, who he had loved more than he had loved life itself. Max, who he would have done anything for the approval of. Noel, forgotten by all others now, who had taken his own life because of David's failure, and who had sheltered him when no other would. Kara, who had hurt him beyond any hurt he had imagined, but who he could not let go of. Packmates, long lost, who would take a part of him with them forever. Yearning gulfs he could never fill. Back when they had been alive he had had friends, who respected him. Allies, strange as it was that they had thought themselves so. But he had watched them fall, one by one to worthy foes and desperate deeds, and realised his generation was gone.
All those who had changed when he did, all those who he came to knowledge and power alongside... nearly all of them had died. The deeply unfair nature of the world struck him again. It was his duty to hurt, his duty to sacrifice and pay. How was it then, that like some cursed coin that could not be discarded, that he had survived? How was he here when the others had fallen? Where was the justice? His tears flowed now, jealousy for their release, pain for their loss and self loathing for his having survived.
A second later, a hand clasped him on the shoulder. Hayden, preparing for battle, and clasping the bright axe closely. He had some preparations that needed attending to, and H's obedience was reflexive, ingrained. Hastening to do as his alpha bid him, he focused back on the valley.
On the present, and this fight.
H looked over the battlefield, and was forced, incongruously, to fight back a tired wave of deja vu which bordered on nostalgia. Keyed to sudden feelings, he searched the hisil and the real world for something his senses may be telling him, but he was misunderstanding, but found nothing.
The pure were coming to wipe them out. The bale hounds had infiltrated them, and he knew he should be worried, that fear should begin to worry at his heels. But it had happened before, he had fought them before. It seemed they did not learn. He would destroy their totems, and send them fleeing into the night, beaten and bloody, with the plans of others. There would be posturing, and then there would be some relative peace for a while. As it had been before, as it would be again.
He remembered the last fight. The plan had been another's, and then he had been acting at the orders of his Maximilian Tolerates-No-Evil. Who had been his alpha. He had needed to not disappoint the stern man who he obeyed unthinkingly in his pack, and to ensure that he gained them victory. The thought of failing him, of betraying him with anything less than what was needed to win the day, sent a shudder up his spine, even now. By his side had been Lizzie “scorpid reborn” Fitch, as she was known in those days. He imagined her smiling at him, as she did when she was scared, thin and brittle. Imagined some last affection, her offering some reassurance that also reassured her before the battle would be joined in earnest. He shook his head, tears shaking loose and falling unseen amongst the driving rain.
In the rain he could almost see back to then, back into his past. The storm was heavy enough as if the sky was trying to wash this battle away, to cleanse it as if it had never been, and the world lost the sharper edges, dulled and blurred by the sheets of falling water. He could almost pretend he was back there, and Lizzie was still alive, still loved him and was still with him. He could pretend he would see her again tonight. He could remember his rage and fear with Max, but could know that beneath the demands, his steadying discipline would quiet some of his terrors. He could remember how it was to love them unconditionally, and know that he was loved, before they had all disappeared. Left him alone, Lonely.
… Lonely. A dangerous work, and one which he avoided. Feared with a passion most people held only for their deepest night terrors. But there were so many who had left him. Lizzie, who he had loved more than he had loved life itself. Max, who he would have done anything for the approval of. Noel, forgotten by all others now, who had taken his own life because of David's failure, and who had sheltered him when no other would. Kara, who had hurt him beyond any hurt he had imagined, but who he could not let go of. Packmates, long lost, who would take a part of him with them forever. Yearning gulfs he could never fill. Back when they had been alive he had had friends, who respected him. Allies, strange as it was that they had thought themselves so. But he had watched them fall, one by one to worthy foes and desperate deeds, and realised his generation was gone.
All those who had changed when he did, all those who he came to knowledge and power alongside... nearly all of them had died. The deeply unfair nature of the world struck him again. It was his duty to hurt, his duty to sacrifice and pay. How was it then, that like some cursed coin that could not be discarded, that he had survived? How was he here when the others had fallen? Where was the justice? His tears flowed now, jealousy for their release, pain for their loss and self loathing for his having survived.
A second later, a hand clasped him on the shoulder. Hayden, preparing for battle, and clasping the bright axe closely. He had some preparations that needed attending to, and H's obedience was reflexive, ingrained. Hastening to do as his alpha bid him, he focused back on the valley.
On the present, and this fight.
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