VEUX

Fifty Seven

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Autumn sucked in Her last breath as barren trees creaked between wild winds and warm leaves crumbled beneath paws of prey. On the horizon, snow clouds could be seen from atop the river's cliff and morning dew had frosted over by dawn.

Saoirse had meant to leave before first snowfall. Meant to.

Beside her, Journey stood over a large ivory bone carved into an ellipse-shaped bowl and stirred in vegetable roots. Nothing was said between them in peaceful silence, most days quiet even in the best of moods. The she-wolves were silent killers. Non verbal actions dominated the majority of Saoirse's days; seen as compliance in the sisters eyes, yet resentment in her own.

As the cold season drew near quick, Journey took on Saoirse in sewing the bear hide into a jacket of sorts. With some fierce, and poorly spoken, instructions from the sister-wolf, Saoirse had managed with pine needles and that abhorred red twine to sew the edges of the hide into a shawl that closed over her arms. She wore it almost always, even sleeping on it in her wolf's fur. As the weather shifted and nights cooled to subzero temperatures, hides began to replace the tooth-amour of the sisters.

Mentions of their upcoming winter migration were as frequent as the skies greyed. Any day now, Saoirse strung a line of curse words in her head.

"Saresha," Journey approached with a crisp whisper, startling Saoirse from her thoughts.

"Yes?" She spoke quietly, turning to observe an object dangling from tan and tattooed hands.

Rows of blackish brown teeth in sharp, inch long curved hung from an equally dark leather. A gust of Autumn wind caused the deadly weapons to chime against each other. "I' forgott'n'a giv' this t'ya. Ya won't use 'em to gauge out m' eye now, will ya?"

Just a few weeks ago, Journey had muttered something of the same sort in regards to teaching Saoirse the art and technique of spearing.

"No," Saoirse exhaled coolly and reached her hand out for the sad thing. That vile kill felt like years ago now.

Before she could take them, Journey snapped her hands back, "Non'a that."

She swatted Saoirse's hands away and then grabbed her head less than gently, pulling her forward to lean in. Saoirse abided with a light but silent sigh, waiting patiently as she felt Journey place the twine over her head and the cool chill of teeth on her exposed neck.

In a mutual trust gained between the sister wolves and Saoirse over the past few months, she had accepted that their harsh movements and rough gestures were not always specifically to hurt her. Sometimes they had just never been told to be gentle in the slightest.

Spears aimed at her were non existent since the Blue Moon. That night she had dreamt a dream far worse than any of the previous nights. Each sleep had been replaced by the slow rotation of the Dark Moon, and for six nights and seven days tied atop the cliff with no relief, this did not change. On the seventh night, in a numbing cold, Saoirse's subconscious met the orb split equally, half in black and half in white. 

It was not that close last night, Saoirse began to panic. The timer had been moved forward. What have I done? Where did I go wrong? She blamed herself hopelessly, dreading the inevitable. 

As the night grew long, and the tears dried from Saoirse's cheeks, she stared for hours with piercing intensity. The dark half of the famous sphere had crater shapes of its own, an array of them almost arranged in a smirk on the side of a face. 

Perhaps, Saoirse thought to herself, it is not a timer at all. Or at least, a timer until I come face to face with this Goddess thing. 

"What do you want from me!" Saoirse cried oud, voice barely travelling over the silent waves before it was lost completely. No echo. No response. "What do you want!"