A Gift of Memory [Will and Lucky Greet the Sept]
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It was dark when they approached Roxborough State Park. Above them, the sky was a blanket of stars. Will looked at them as he and Lucky made their way up the trail, lost for a moment in the fascination of their patterns. They were the same stars he'd watched back home in Wyoming. The same constellations that had looked down upon him distantly through San Francisco's fog. But they were in neither of those places now. Colorado was something new. Like every place, it had its own scent, and Will breathed it in as they walked, marking the dusty sandstone and the wild scrubland into his memory.

Human senses were a poor tool for such a task. As soon as they were safely out of sight, Will shifted to his breed form. He stretched up to his full height and closed his eyes, feeling the brisk October wind ruffle through his fur. It'd been too long since he was able to walk in his native skin.

When Lucky indicated that he was ready, they stepped into the umbra. And Will leaned down and snapped his teeth delicately (playfully) beside his pack-mate's ear.

Race you.

Will hated introductions. Perhaps he was trying to distract himself. But they were fast here - so much faster than on the physical plane - and Will's paws practically flew over the ground (like hooves; like starlight.)

It didn't matter which of them got there first. Probably they reached the Bawn together, panting and laughing as they pulled to a stop. Will grew quiet then, sensing that their approach would soon be noticed (if it had not been already.) He was the moondancer. He ought to howl first. But he didn't. Instead he waited for Lucky to call out to the Sept. Then, after a beat of hesitation, he howled his own introduction.

Ghost Song. Cliath Galliard of the Children of Gaia. Twice claimed by Unicorn. This pack: Solace, greets you.

When they were greeted by the guards, Will followed quietly in their wake, taking in the details of the Bawn as they walked. When they reached the Caern, his posture and body language shifted to one of awe and respect.

They were there to pay chiminage. The Caern spirit asked for a memory. Will sat down on the earth, folding his legs and his paws beneath him. He closed his eyes.

"Rain."

He remembered the smell of it. And the sensation of drops wetting his fur. He remembered the way the water mixed with the scent of the trees and the loamy earth in the forest. Will's voice was low and rhythmic as he sang, recalling the details of his earliest memory. He didn't know how old he was or what he'd been doing, but he remembered the rain, and he remembered the details that it had etched into his animal senses. (He remembered them in a way a human would not. As though smell could paint a picture.)

And then he remembered his mother lifting him. And he remembered her hair falling on his face. And he remembered the scent of her too (warm earth and leather and sweat and home) and the sweet murmur of her voice.

When he was done, Will listened as Lucky gave his own memory. He was quiet and attentive. And they remained at the Caern for the rest of the evening, offering help if any was needed. They didn't know yet if this place was to be their new home, but they would treat it as such while they were here.
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