Moonflowers

-i spy-

It is on the first of September, just past Lughnasadh, that things happen.

Oscar and the family drop by his father's house for dinner, and when Alima gets back from walking Bulan, the white mass of a dog gets Owen's attention immediately.

"Alima! What the hell is that?" He backs away from Bulan, with a firm grip on May.

Oscar knows immediately that something is strange, because Owen is huddling away--most would think it's to keep away from the dog, but it's more like someone's shining a light in his face. Oscar isn't a cunning-man like his father and son, but he knows his son and when something is not what it seems.

"He's a wolfdog," Alima admits. "But only a quarter-wolf at most. We found him in the street around mid-August."

"Gods in the west, he's huge!"

Ita is somewhat less cautious, but still keeps her distance. "Who would let a wolfdog loose?"

"He acts like a dog," Alima explains. "Well, except that everything's more with him. We actually have to keep him inside instead of out--the house has wards, but he can jump the fence if he gets a good start. Still, he's pretty calm. Here, Bulan--sit."

Bulan is favoring his foreleg as he sits, and Alima scratches an ear; it is not missed by Ita. "Oh, is he hurt?"

"He got hit by a car or something," Alima says. "It'll take another two or three weeks for the healing spells to finish up. Here, you can pet him! Just be careful, he's still touchy about his leg."

Owen does first, however reluctantly, and another subtle sign occurs: Both of them flinch away from each other.

"Owen, do you not like dogs?" Alima pats Bulan's mane and unclips the lead. He speeds to her room without a sound, much like a wolf.

"Probably the wolf blood," Ogma says, but there is something tense about his voice. "Owen has the wyrth eyes, so wild things get him nervous."

-----

Another event happens later that night, when they've caught up on things and half of Marian's leftovers are pawned off. Ogma realizes that his grandson isn't there; he's sitting at the table, sure, but he's looking out the window, towards the long bend of the oak branches. He can sense the stillness of Owen straining to hear something.

Oscar keeps Alima from reaching over. "Shh. He's seeing something."

"Come on, girlies. This isn't a thing for kids or guests." Marian sweeps May up into Alima's room, with Alima trailing after.

It is a stretch of quiet wondering before Owen's breath starts to rattle, eyes black with desperation. "Mom?" He sounds like a little boy, and gets up with the clumsy energy of one. He does not see the door, only the oak tree--he clawed through a window once, in the grip of a vision.

Oscar just manages to open it for him in time.

"Mom?!" He pleads again. He's staring up--towards the branches, but not at them.

Ogma sees a misty silhouette hovering, and he moves. "Oscar!"

Owen's struggling mindlessly against Oscar, bellowing for his mother. When Ogma reaches Oscar to help keep him back, the contact sends a jolt of clarity through his mind.

A woman is hanging from a tree in the woods, wrapped in the silvery rope of the Folk. There is only skin underneath the web of knots. Her face is blue from lack of air, and black curls just pass her chin.

She looks like Alima with her hair hacked off.

And suddenly Ogma realizes that Owen's been screaming in an American accent. So he puts three fingers to his grandson's forehead, holds them there until the sleeping spell finally takes. He hoists Owen into a fireman's carry. "Okay. That's done."