Of the Dead

[jiminiminy]

Siscarm, always one to deny conventional methods or the beaten path, was quick to decide on a seperate path than the one he'd taught the alpha. It was one closer to the area that he'd started from, albeit a little longer on the slopes as a result. Siscarm didn't mind this lengethening of his journey, in fact, he embraced it. Paw before paw, foot by foot, unthinking, emotionless, but not without feeling. For one of the few times in his life, the elder's mind was in a state of Shunyata, a form of meditative emptiness in which he was more intensly focused on the world around him then he would ever have been able to be consciously. Muscle memory was all that kept his legs pumping, each tendon having memorized its own part in this particular trail to a point that Siscarm no longer had to direct them. For him there was nothing but the environment around.

Fur, long, bushy, brushed against the stone faces. Each hair formed a connection, a oneness with the rock, each movement was dictated not by his mind, but by what the rock wanted him to do. He could not walk across from mountain to mountain, the rock said he must go through the valleys. He could not walk on a flat surface, as in the plains, the rock ordered him to make his path along its own ideals, follow the unfeeling material in its own artistic design. Each step broke the bond between his paws and the earth, each rustle severing the ties from body to stone as each hair was freed from the natural masonry that each body failed to realize each day. The gods had given the world the ability to creat such great things for their children's pleasure, but it became so ordinary that people didn't know they were living on something living, something so powerful.

Siscarm freed himself from the bedrock's grasp, from its will and rule over his pathways, as his body sailed through the air, nothing stopping him but the inevitable fall. He might just keep falling, down, down, down to his death. That wouldn't be so bad, if it would actually work. His claws emitted a skitter as they tried to find grip on the landing, which was still slick from the melthingyer. The elder stumbled for a moment before regaining balance, continuing along the increasingly narrow pathway. The further the path went, the more it seemed that earth was goverening it. More bonds were made, were broken, as more of his haggard body was pressed against the face in a effort to keep himself small, trying to conform with what the mountain had decided would suit its own goals when it made the outcropping that way. Gravity, too a byproduct of the earth, seemed intent on changing his path to more of a downward one, significantly faster than his current one as well. His body was ever closer to admitting defeat than ever, it seemed to be so every day that passed, the pull of gravity was so strong, the path was so narrow, and his body, it was getting so tired of climbing, tired of working, tired of living. But still they kept going, defiance driving the bones to work more effectivly than any alpha or self quota.

Again, the stone was no longer in control. What if his body resigned itself now, allowing the force of gravity to take hold, without his mind even knowing. It was certainly plausible, given his age, the circumstances of his life. In fact, he might just do that right now, just stop moving forward. Gravity took hold, the peak of height now passed, bringing his body downwards. It hit the ground without a sound. Then it began walking again, the chasm obstructing the path now behind him. Siscarm was well above the dens, above even some of the smaller peaks. The view was breathtaking, each monument to the power and beauty of earth unique but holding a collective oneness. None were marred by a single stirring of life, the only movement that of the tricking melthingyer, which met another trickle, and another, and another, until they all formed a waterfall, cascading from the highest of the peaks directly into the ocean, the thunderous noise even heard from the numerous kilometers away that he was now. All that was heard, as a matter of fact. A tiny rolling noise, only disrupted by self-created anomolies, the even smaller sound of an elder's paws, and, for anyone who cared to hear, his tempered heartbeat, never slowing, never quickening.

Stone's grasp on the path was lessened. The stony face took a downward turn, gravity no longer being a nemisis, but an ally. The elder's speed quickened, his pace becoming mroe irregular as gravity tok hold of physical effort, steering the wolf whichever way that it pleased. But that was no longer a problem. Siscarm still had enough energy and will to direct himself away from death, to take the paths to bring him to his goal. He descended Sundethro, which means 'The Crossroads' for it was connected to most of the other mountains nearby, in nearly thrice the speed he'd ascended the sorry excuse for a peak. Wheras near an hour had passed in which he'd made his ever so isolated ascent near to the peak, twenty minutes was all it took for his paws to carry him downwards to the Ushklon's unnamed stoney-faced father. There, he was faced with an interesting predicament.

Siscarm's mental path was fractured much as his physical one had been so many times previous in the journey. The scent of blood, generally quite rare at such a height, was prominent in the air with no previous warning, bringing the elder rushing back to reality. His head, which had been impassivly bobbing along with his steps, shook itself for a moment to expel loose fragments of ice and snow, before it slowly raised to attentiveness and awareness. The scene was not a particularily omnious one, the snow, no longer white and fluffy, but more of a dreary clump covered in dirt, was still apparent from here to there, what portions of it had melted now stained the rock a far darker colour. Of course, one had to take into account the blood that was prominently displayed as well. The red liquid had once been running downhill in a rush to find equalibrium, but at this point the supply had been exhausted, and the liquid was beginning to evaporate, although it hadn't yet passed the point of fluidity. At the moment, it had constricted in upon itself, giving the look that the stone had grown veins, each column self supporting now that it had reached the approximate viscosity of glue. The scent of it was overwhelming, disgusting even, the sight, however, was strangely beautiful to the elder. The appearence of veins along the rock's surface, each one folloing a vein that had already existed, seemed to give an artistic personification to the marbly face.

That wasn't important though. What was important was what, in fact, was creating such a thing. It wasn't difficult to figure out what the occurence was, the elder took maybe three minutes. All along the way, the thin veins compacted into larger and larger streams, the exact same way that the melthingyer did along the Eastren parts of the range. Every stream would lead to the source or the destination, of course being the former in this regard. Off of the path, seemingly hoping that it would not be discovered, was the corpse of a formerly white pup, though to call her such now would be an obvious farce of the terms. Her pelt, previously adapted for the snowy terrain, was now stained an ochre colour, matted to her unmoving sides by her own blood, which was still not yet dried. She couldn't have died more than eighty minutes ago, any longer and the flies would have begun to gather. As it was, not even the eyes had begun to decompose. Such a thing couldn't be attributed to the colder weather in the Kinath. Siscarm, not yet fully in a normal state of mind, was pondering this quite intently, why such a thing would happen without warning. There was no doubt that this was what Kadhi had called for, but why he did not howl for aid before such a drastic measure was rather odd. Perhaps he was unable to. Siscarm sniffed back mucus that had build up inside of his nostril, no longer interested in pondering the death of someone he had no idea who they were. After so long, the grasp of the unending quiet was no longer amazing. It had become trivial as time passed, everyday. As if second nature, the elder murmured a low prayer, asking the related gods to guide the new soul to the afterlife.

"Zek Xineum me-keu undre, ad Anikira Pli'r-keu ko opurmak."

Siscarm turned away, wondering if he could get better answers from those who might know what was happening, his own conclusions proving unsatasfactory. The trip was brief, under ten minutes, but during the time the sun had begun to set, the premature dawn of the mountains counteracted by its premature twilight. A chill went through the air, fuelled by the blackness that had taken hold of the senses. There were whispers emitting from the opening, that of the living, that of the ones who lived only for Siscarm. They were talking of the happening, of the killing. He needed only to step in to learn something new, to become involved, for better or worse, in what was happening. But it had been too long for some things, not nearly long enough for more. Time oes not heal all wounds.