06-09-2013, 06:43 PM
The rats come to comfort him in his final moment. An unending swarm that grasps with tiny fingers at every inch of mottled fur.
Jack has felt this all before. The present blossoms memories of the past. He had not come into this world alone. He feels it again as he leaves it.
His brothers and sisters in the birthing den, newborn and licked clean of that which sustained them in the womb. The press of fur on fur and living things sharing warmth and the steady rhythms of breath. All that life is at its most basic.
His life is not a flash, but instead a song of feelings and words and smells and tastes.
Ma and Pop's Rule #1: We'll always love you, son.
Their words, spoken in unison, a remembrance that whispers itself as a goodbye. All the rage is not enough, every ounce given and spent and leaving him ready to let go. His eyes shut as fire consumes, searing fur and melting flesh. He is a candle burning even as the life within is extinguished.
The baleful green fire of the Black Spiral Dancers gives way to a pure light of no color he could describe. A moment or eternity later it is gone and the world reclaims him.
He is alive. Someone reclaims him for the world. When he stirs it is violent. His last roar of challenge given, the fire that ended him had pulled the breath from his chest, collapsing his lungs in its hungry vacuum. It is a gasp, a deep vibrato that instantly pulls him into the land of the living again. His eyes open, a layer of char chipping away, all his skin drawn taut and still cooked down, and they lock on Raspberry Sky who holds him as he starts and relaxes. Shuts his eyes again.
He is alive. And he is not too proud to savor the moment as he hears voices around him asking kin if they are okay. Knowing Garou who lost packmates and Septmates aren't. He is also too humbled to bear the look she gives. He lives. Others are lost.
He is alive. Surviving is not always a blessing, but it is always a challenge.
Jack has felt this all before. The present blossoms memories of the past. He had not come into this world alone. He feels it again as he leaves it.
His brothers and sisters in the birthing den, newborn and licked clean of that which sustained them in the womb. The press of fur on fur and living things sharing warmth and the steady rhythms of breath. All that life is at its most basic.
His life is not a flash, but instead a song of feelings and words and smells and tastes.
Ma and Pop's Rule #1: We'll always love you, son.
Their words, spoken in unison, a remembrance that whispers itself as a goodbye. All the rage is not enough, every ounce given and spent and leaving him ready to let go. His eyes shut as fire consumes, searing fur and melting flesh. He is a candle burning even as the life within is extinguished.
The baleful green fire of the Black Spiral Dancers gives way to a pure light of no color he could describe. A moment or eternity later it is gone and the world reclaims him.
He is alive. Someone reclaims him for the world. When he stirs it is violent. His last roar of challenge given, the fire that ended him had pulled the breath from his chest, collapsing his lungs in its hungry vacuum. It is a gasp, a deep vibrato that instantly pulls him into the land of the living again. His eyes open, a layer of char chipping away, all his skin drawn taut and still cooked down, and they lock on Raspberry Sky who holds him as he starts and relaxes. Shuts his eyes again.
He is alive. And he is not too proud to savor the moment as he hears voices around him asking kin if they are okay. Knowing Garou who lost packmates and Septmates aren't. He is also too humbled to bear the look she gives. He lives. Others are lost.
He is alive. Surviving is not always a blessing, but it is always a challenge.