Jagged spires of the mountain thrust upward from the earth like the ribs of something ancient, casting their enormous shadow across the bay below. Even under moonlight the ocean rarely seemed to shine here, darkness swallowing most of its beauty whole, turning the water into an endless stretch of shifting black glass beneath the cliffs.

But tonight the heavens burned bright enough to rival it.

Meteors streaked overhead in glittering torrents, tearing silver wounds across the sky, the stars fell so thick and fast that it almost looked as though the heavens were breaking apart. One light descending lower than the rest, far lower. A brilliant streak carved across the mountain ridge before vanishing somewhere among the stone and trees with a thunderous crack that rattled loose rock from the cliffsides, and then there was silence, only smoke curling up through the night.

Near the impact site, half hidden between the rock and trees, was her tiny form. A pale cub of white and grey trembled with wide eyes, it was a miracle that she lived, and as she tucked in so tightly against the rock for protection.

The earth around her was blackened in uneven streaks, stones cracked from heat and her front paws looked the worst, raw and blistered from where she lifted them to protect her face. Alongside her injured paws, one eye was damaged moons ago and where her right shone of cobalt, her left was milky and silver, whether from an old injury or something stranger, the pale sheen caught the starlight unnaturally nonetheless.

No one would know what there had been before the meteor shower began, that trappers had taken the cubs mother and how the frightened cub had stumbled blindly through smoke and falling debris after part of the mountainside gave way; the meteors had merely masked her arrival.

A frightened sound escaped her eventually, soft and broken across the crushing silence of night and slowly with tears streaking against soot tarnished fur, the cub lifted her gaze toward the heavens.

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& (if you want!)

There was nothing but ash and carnage in the end. A smoldering wreckage of the village. The road flowing with a lazy river of blood. The many people of that village were slain in their homes or cut down while trying to flee.

He had been too late. He hadn't been quick enough. He'd seen it coming, but hadn't been able to stop it. He hadn't been able to stop him.

And then there was still and suffocating darkness. A gentle voice that cried for him in his death. A heartache, a loss, a curse. Fading, broken, and then lost. What remained was a guilt that rotted into his bones.

The churning skies opened with a lazy drizzle. Deep within the forest of red, a slumped shape moved beneath the heavy boughs. A crow cried once, twice, then went still.

Ïto's chest sputtered with each heavy, gasping breath; his lungs burned and ached, still clouded with plumes of smoke and the acrid smell of death. Muscles spasmed and strength failed him when he tried to claw his way out of the grave.

Something rotten hummed in his veins. The smell of blood was still thick enough to choke him. There's an ache just beneath his ribs, something old, but it is a pain he couldn't describe. Grief, maybe. Rage. He couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

With a grimace, his cheek fell flat against the mud, his eyes glassy and bleary. The rain fell just a little harder.