|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sun Aug 14, 2011 4:02 am
"Oh," Spectre chuckled softly at the miscommunication and nodded as Fjolnir corrected him. It wasn't such a foreign concept to him, it seemed every pride had elders in some respect. Whether they were simply older lions or those worthy of reverence and respect, they existed.to varying degrees. Admittedly, they usually stuck with the title of 'elder' or something similar, so it was rather amusing for the older lion to hear that this one had a preference for an alternative name. It was quirky and it gave him character... Spectre had to concede that he was probably a very interesting individual when he was alive.
"Well, he certainly sounds like he was quite the character," he offered and gave a nod. He didn't raise the subject any further as the cub needed time to handle his own grief. If Fjolnir decided he wanted to talk about something in relation to his family, then Spectre would certainly listen...otherwise, it wasn't really his business to pry. With this in mind he lapsed into silence and joined the cub on the walk back towards where the massacre had taken place, padding softly through the undergrowth as he went. At Fjolnir's hesitation he halted, waited patiently and then hazarded an impressed smile at the cub elected to push on.
Once there, Spectre resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose and examined each of the fallen with a studious expression. He paced towards them, circling a few as he assessed each of them for weight and size. It was difficult to ignore how mutilated they were and how much agony they must have been subjected to, but they deserved a proper send off and in the end, a body simply became dust anyway...it was their spirits that mattered most - so long as those were healthy, then he could rest easy himself.
"All right," he said finally, sucking in a breath as he glanced over his shoulder to Fjolnir. "Point out who's who to me as best you can," he instructed and then cleared his throat. "After that, you should go and find some appropriate gifts to leave with them - pick whatever you think they would like most, or better yet, what their favourites were if you knew them, yes?"
...It was time to get this over with.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Aug 14, 2011 4:59 pm
Identifying the bodies was quite difficult indeed. Without their pelts, Fjolnir had to look at body size, teeth, damaged claws, and sometimes just trust his gut feeling, but he found that if he slunk into the hiding place from where he had witnessed the massacre, he could remember with disturbing distinctness who had fallen where. His stomach tried to empty itself a few more times in the beginning, but after a while it actually got easier. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not to become desensitized to the sight of the dead bodies, but he really didn't have the energy left over to worry about it.
The task of identifying the dead was in itself exhausting, and Fjolnir had neither slept nor eaten since early the previous evening. He did manage to eat and keep down a bit of leftovers from last night's dinner that they found, but eventually the exhaustion - mental, physical and emotional - took its toll on the little cub. He wobbled considerably as he brought back some of the last trinkets and was almost more in the way than truly helpful when they covered the last few bodies with earth.
It had taken considerable time to dig, drag and bury, and when they were done, the sun was already beginning its descent. Fjolnir more or less collapsed across one of the fresh mounds, too tired to even try grooming his muddy pelt first. He looked for Spectre with visibly groggy eyes, and fastened them with some effort on the bright blue shape, without once lifting his head off the ground.
"Spectre," he mumbled. "Will you... stay with me... while I sleep? I'll... sing for you... and everyone." Finding it too hard to keep his eyes open, he let them slide shut and, without really waiting for a reply, pulled in a deep breath. The song that vibrated its way out of his little body was a lullaby, the one that his mother had always used to sing for him. The tones that he was able to produce felt different from any he'd ever done before, probably as a result from his complete and utter exhaustion. His frail little cub voice lifted the gentle tones, wove them across the hanging flower vines and echoed delicately through the secluded grove. He only managed to finish the first verse, which ended in nothing more than a silent whisper, before he was fast asleep. But the song echoed on in his heart and gave his dreams the colour of his mother's eyes.
Rest now, weary paw
Tired from playing.
Shush now, weary tongue
Tired from laughing
Now's the time to close your eyes
Now you should be still
Now's the time to rest your head
Let dreams come as they will...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Aug 19, 2011 2:50 am
The physical exhaustion was, without a doubt, taxing and difficult to ignore. Lugging the fallen bodies into their final resting places, covering their weary heads and finding appropriate gifts had left it's mark. Spectre was tired and would have liked nothing more than the flop down and fall into a deep slumber. Alas, there were a number of bits and pieces that still needed to be done and as he finished the remainder of these tasks, he allowed his ears to swivel backwards to pay heed to what the small lion cub had to say. He didn't have a great deal to say, it was moreso a request than a remark, but it was something that Spectre would concede to anyway.
He'd never wanted to be alone on the night of his own pride's destruction either, he hadn't been graced with luck enough to bump into a passing stranger in that period, but he could provide that service to the cub at the very least. After all, a cub this size wouldn't be completely self sufficient anyway and there was a certain level of dishonour to be had by abandonning him. Apply this vulnerability to his need for comfort and reassurance, and you were left with a fairly lethal concoction. Yes, it would be safe to say that Spectre would stay the evening and he gave a small nod to indicate his acceptance of the request.
Nevertheless, he didn't pause in his work until he was satisfied with the end result. It was only as the cub began to sing, that he turned his head away from the graves and fixed his blue gaze upon the fluffy and very sleepy form. Suffice to say that Spectre was rather surprised by the voice that rippled up from the depths of the cub's stomach and graced his ears - there were few in the world who could produce such clarity and quality. The cub had talent and Spectre had half a mind to hope that others would be blessed to here it.
However, it wasn't the quality of the voice which captured Spectre's imagination, nor was it the reason for the butterflies in his stomach. On the contrary, it was the words of the lullaby that he had selected. Had he chosen it deliberately, or was he completely unaware of how appropriate it was for the fate of those who now slept beneath the ground? In the view of the older lion, the lullaby was the perfect send off and no burial rite could rival it.
...At least no current one.
Single verse or no, it was something he was sure the spirits appreciated and as the cub fell into his slumber, Spectre bridged the distance and lifted him away from the burial site. While it was perfectly acceptable to visit, it wasn't appropriate to sleep with the dead before it was your chosen time. Consequently, the elder lion elected to settle just outside the site in one of the more comfortable patches of undergrowth.
It was here, that he too, slept.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
