A season.

Had it passed back home? Had it all come to a head? Was her kingdom still standing, its flag waving in the gentle spring breeze? Did winter linger in the peaks, snow held at bay by twisting, kind forests? Did the festival to wake the spring happen, this year? It had always been her favorite, she had spent so long in the fields to gather a perfect harvest of flowers. All the better for distributing to her ladies in waiting, their nimble fingers joining her own in weaving flower crowns. How she’d take to the streets in a rough-hewn dress and no shoes, and blend into the crowd.

There was none of that here.

She was among the bison. Where she’d fallen. She stood strong on all four of her lupine legs now, the motions becoming familiar in a way that made her want to tug her hair out at the root. But she didn’t have hair anymore, nor hands to tear it out with. Instead, she was a damned animal, with no sword to wield, no kingdom to call her own. Away from that damned demon but at what cost? He would kill her people. He would drive them into their graves. He would tear apart that idyllic life in the mountains, taint it with his hands.

Rosenrot couldn’t do anything.

All she could do was stand there, and stare at the approximate spot she had fallen in, with a twist to her maw, and unbidden tears in her eyes.

Kaelith

faust is gone.

vanished into the night like breath in chilled air, swallowed up by the earth. no farewell, no final glance. only the sharp stillness that followed, oppressive and crushing.

kaelith stands beneath swaying black branches as morning welcomes midday, silver fur haloed by the lazy shine of sun through trees. seafoam eyes turn skyward, not searching, nor hoping for an answer. only watching. he does this often. watches. quiet things, little things. the thrum of birds' wings against the bloody morning sky, the orderly march of ants over earth and stone and wayward paw. they soothe him in a way words have never been able to do.

he wants to be angry. wishes he could be. there is a part of him, a shallow echo, that remembers just how fury feels. hot and fierce and bright. it doesn't so much as flicker now. there is no room in him for it, no corner of his body untouched by the icy fingers of grief. and the truth...it settles hard and certain in the hollow behind his ribs, where his heart reluctantly beats.

faust is not coming back. he is gone and no amount of searching will return him home.

dead, perhaps, though kaelith cannot bear to say it aloud. even thinking it is betrayal, sacrilege.

maybe his brother sleeps now, at the bottom of some nameless cliff, caressed by beak of vulture and crow. maybe he fell over the edge in silence, the sky his only witness. or perhaps he simply went to sleep, the earth cradling him like her own lost babe, as if she too loved him enough to keep him close.

yes. he is alone now.

entirely, utterly alone. and not in the loud, wailing way others seem to feel it. his solitude, a quiet thing. it was meant to be.

his gaze drifts downward, a ritual older even than him, to the ants at his feet. tireless little soldiers. their world is so small, so complete. void of grief. kae wonders, not for the first time, what it might be like to live without the weight of consciousness.

when he lifts his head, there is a woman at his feet. he is not sure how long he has wandered, nor why she stares forward with such baleful eyes.

"hello." voice soft as sweetgrass. a pause, a beat. "are you lost, too?"

What had it been about her?

It had been something, hadn’t it? Something about her? The reason she had been given to that man in the first place, the reason her uncle had seen fit to steal the light from her eyes and the joy from her breath. So what had it been? Her love of swords and horses? The courtly balls she had not seen fit to attend? The way she had always refused an escort? How she had stood in front of millennium of male rulers, and dared to call herself their successor? What had done it? What had been the tipping point?

A tear streaks down her angry cheek, and she struggles to breathe through the anger that flares white hot in her stomach. There’s no point in ruminating. There is no way home, and no way to know if home is there anymore. A single, thin leg strikes the earth, and she stares at her paws. This is normal now.

A voice. It rises from behind Rosenrot, soft and sweet, and she turns to look as if compelled. He is as sweet and soft as his voice, a gentle face with sad eyes, soft silver fur, and a general sense of silent sadness. As if someone had taken the joy from him too, but he did not fight for it to return. She shouldn’t be staring a stranger down with fire in her eyes and a war’s worth of words beneath her tongue, so she gentles her face, sweetens her voice. Tries to stuff everything beneath the rugs, because no one can see her doubt, her anger, the pain she carries like an albatross round the neck.

I live near here. That castle that comforted her, rankled her, drove her hackles to rise when the nightmares clawed at her heels.

You don’t? It was a stupid question, a lame one, and she knows seclusion has done her absolutely no favors.