Call of the Wolves

18. Silent Promises

As we walk in silence, the memories of my dream tease me. My head develops a dwindling fuzz in my efforts to concentrate on the forest around me, anything to distract myself enough. Though, nothing seems to be working as the only thoughts that occupy my mind are of my mother's face. Her voice.

"If this is about why I was outside, I'm telling you that I'm fine." Though, the lie emits with a hint of stuttering. I'm not even able to believe my own words as they utter through my mouth.

"Serelia," Caesar halts in his tracks. There's a slight tug in his grip as he turns to look back at me, a soft smirk pressing on his lips as his eyes peer along my face. There's a suggestion of levity in his eyes as he further purses his lips closed together, knowing he caught me in my weak attempt of a lie. His thumb fiddles over my own as he thinks of what to say. "You tend to forget I have the ability to hear what you're thinking," he confronts, though his voice is gentle as he speaks. "Besides," he spins back around and pulls on my hand for us to keep moving. "Even if that wasn't the case, you and I both know better than to believe that."

My feet drag deeper through the soil with the more trees we pass. The scent of wet grass and leaves fill my noise the further we trek uphill. Fireflies shine through thin blades of grass and overhead between the empty gaps between the trees. The moonlight breaks through where it can. It's luminescence showering faint teardrops of light, leaping over my skin. There's a faint song of crickets and the cracking of branches in the distance. The cool air sends my skin in shivers, a breeze that only strengthens the higher up we move.

It isn't until there is nowhere physically left for us to walk before Caesar finally stops. My lungs suck in a gasp as I take in the view ahead.

No longer surrounded by trees or dirt, we stand high up on a suspended cliff. A painted navy sky reveals a serene night, the radiance of the moon now clear and at eye-level. Its waning presence is like a giant eye starting down upon us, each creator visible as if looking through a telescope. The stars splatter about, some burning brighter and forming a series of shapes throughout the sky's canvas, a series of stories. My eyes follow along the patterns, silently naming the constellations as I make them out. Scorpius, Centaurus, Libra, Lupus...

Inching closer to the edge, I peer down to see only a silhouette of greens. Trees standing like noble giants far below, their sway with a hushed whistling as their limbs fork out in every direction. A faint glint of water can be seen running through a path below, separating the trees as the further along my eyes follow, the slow rapids bloom into a river that swims between the rocks and grit beside.

Taking a few steps back, attempting to gain a stable stance on the jagged rock, my eyes —where the world breaks in two.

"Tell me what you're thinking."

"Shouldn't you already know?" I keep my eyes looking ahead. Caesar's presence creeps closer behind me.

"Perhaps," his eyes pierce into my back and I can feel his hesitation to draw closer, so instead, he watches me from a slight distance. It would only take one or two steps backwards for my body to be pressed right against his. Even here, his protection for me never falters. Ready in case I were to slip. "I'd rather hear it coming from you."

"Honestly?" In his silence, I turn, so rather than seeing the world ahead, I'm looking at him. "I'm not sure anymore."

"It's not unsureness that stops you. You have the answers residing within you, but something is stopping you from admitting them. Not just to me now, but to yourself."

"I don't- I can't-" Words boil inside, struggling to find a voice that can speak them into existence. "I'm not sure if I can do this. Any of this."

Guilt burns alongside those unspoken words. Guilt about every moment I claimed my mother was crazy, dismissing her entirely from my life. The guilt of when I heard Caesar calling for me in the forest. Him lying on the ground, me unable to save him. That deepening wound of not knowing how I can possibly save everyone.