.drifting

'nonononono--' his rhythmic protests were shunted, closed as she shouldered into him. 'ig, ig, ig!' she had shouted. in vain, trying to steal his attention: to soothe this ache. a shame. if only it had happened at a time where he'd been much too young to comprehend such loss. 'she's gone' he'd croak, stopping to find lydia, his mother. and the only thought he'd had was, why isn't she crying? and what followed was hate. what came next was rage. rage. he had always loved the ocean. it made little sense, and he never made any attempt in understanding his affection for it. it was different then, now that he was older. he'd been brought up far from the ends of any continent. he was birthed in a humble den, near the babble of brooks and the barking of squirrels. he was raised in the confines of a thicket. he had not known the ocean, he had no knowledge of the sea. it was not until he was old enough to venture off on his own. it had not until he was independent he was able to make such journey. and there, there it had been. it was as though it were waiting for him, all that time. just waiting, waiting to caress him with it's briny kisses and salted fingers. he'd been puzzled. he'd been enthralled. he'd been mesmerized. but now, now he was far too matured to take to frolicking and rollicking; of bounding and leaping. he was far more reserved and instead, that hour, took to watching from afar. he stared below, watching as the gulls bobbed and weaved in the wind, darting and rising. their noise too far to besmirch the serenity that claimed him. a theatrical sigh was pushed from his lungs, and visibly reluctant, he shifted himself so to stand. pushing, he'd pried his attention away from the below and to the world at his back. 'i hate you.' venom, whiplash. his eyes were not absinthe kisses or sweetened evergreen. it was hot, it was fierce. it was a lance aimed at her heart. she was stunned, wordless and pressed into the embrace of her twin. ig -- no, ignatius -- could feel his lips peel back in a childish, yet menacing grimace. he wanted no more of it. it was a bad dream, it was all a lie. it was a game, and he was just craving to reach home free. his grandmother once spoke of the ocean. she spoke of many things, his grandmother. but none of it mattered then: in that moment, in the life he'd chosen to lead since her passing. as a child he dreamed of her coming to him. a ghost, a wraith: phantom. but she came to him to whisper the comforts he'd need. it'd been easier to go on that way. death happens, after all. this was a truth the stranger had come to expect, to accept. it was easier remaining solitary, alone. it was easier to be independent. it was easier now, having given up such deceptive and naive thoughts, inclinations. jaded: i suppose you could have called him disillusioned and ruined. his mouth had been apt to smiles, easily tugged into animation. and now, even then, it remained in a thin line. emotionless, unreadable as he parted company from the ocean view. he strode towards the heart of the land, as though escaping the heights would relieve him of old memories, of all the things he'd said and done, and the things he wished he had the strength to say. gruff, and startled a shadow was glimpsed by his peripherals, he'd pause. his eyes turned towards the murk of night, straining to see in the moon's dim glow. the rasp of his voice pushed, and in it's very essence and volume, demanding: "baphomet?" if only. but, was well aware it was not yet time for their reunion. it was not yet time to meet again and break bread. they'd only just crossed paths, and it would inevitably be another year until that time would come again.

Scouting, ever mapping the peaks and valleys of the land with her own legs and nose and mind, she came upon him almost as suddenly as he came upon her, bee-lining together with little warning as they drifted in the space of their own isolated memories. Hers were far less poignant, far more primordial, but she could not see into his mind to know it. For her, following the gorge’s river out towards vast waters, she’d gradually become awash in the scents of spray and salt and sea but they triggered little familiarity. Instead she kept her snout down, a plodding dance moving her forward, and she inhaled the scents that familiarly kept her going. Snakeroot, larkspur, star tulip. Ageratina occidentalis, Delphinium hesperium, Calochortus tolmiei. Old knowledge bloomed as scents and textures passed in the gloom. She’d known all of their names before; holy words to her and her kin, the knowledge passed down, the reverence preserved. Rushlily, hollyhock, rockcress. Hastingsia alba, Iliamna grandiflora, Arabis aculeolata. And they were all her kin. With every name she’d learned she’d earned another sibling, another equal. And though she was the imposter, Canis lupus nubilis by blood, she was Rhexia nashii by calling. Maid Marian, the meadow beauty. Her ancestors had graced her with a sweet name for her sweet sensibility, for her small, lithe frame and delicacy at birth, and for the offering her father had brought caught between his fangs to her mother as she lay heaving in a cramped den on the side of a mountain long forgotten. Out of the darkness, the moon their only light, came the voice. A strange uttering from a stranger. She halted, her limbs paused in their ambling trek. Twin orbs dilated to better see the origin of the voice and she made out the silken outline of her focus. Most wolves were bigger than she, so his size was no surprise. Inside, she steeled herself for the inevitable unknown. He would be a threat or he would not threaten, she had no choice in the matter. She could scent him now, her nose removed from its loamy tracking and their proximity whittled down to a mere scattering of feet between them. I am not they, she paused, her eyes wandering briefly to the terrain around them before flitting back to him. Perhaps they were not alone? With the boundless river to once side and the sloping ridge to the other, she sensed no others, for now. If they were to come, they would come. Instead, she appraised him as well as she could in the dimness. I am another.