[ P ] No Place to Call Home
With every passing day he felt his ties to this land growing stronger. Each paw step felt different than the last. The boy still hoped his memory would come back, but even thoughts of that had drifted to the back of his mind. Regardless of his past, this was his life now. Here with the Fairfolk he would thrive, here he would grow into the man he was destined to be. The Mother did her best to re-school him, teaching him the things that pups learn in hushed tones between suckles. It was a long process, but it was what had to be done. This life was his for the taking, he only needed to reacclimatize.

Planting his feet, he breathed in the earthy smells around him. The falls to the north added sweet notes to the scent, lightening the rich scent. Stretching up, he mirrored the elder oak trees around him, unwavering and unyielding. This is their home, roots tunneling through the soil and anchored them firmly, no matter how many tears the Maiden cries, they will persist.

The Maiden dances through the sky,
She lives in every lover’s sigh.
Her smile teaches birds to fly,
And gives dreams to little children.

The verse held true. The landscape was incredible. There were forests, water falls, and flatlands. Everything the stars could bless the family with lived here. And here they would stay for as long as the gods favored them. The man had grown accustom to the sloping valleys and his travels across the territory inspired him to plan his pilgrimage to the Shrine of the Maiden. He carefully picked out his route each day so as to stay far from that sector of the area. That was not a place to stumble through, it was a destination.

The Moon had risen, and the celebration of the Father was found fair in the eyes of Heaven. Oberon's strength waxed as Luna waned, the results of his endeavors in the Grizzley's lair fading as bone and muscle knit back to whole health. Nassar had found her children, all save one; Oberon's debt was all but paid. Accordingly, he spent more time back in the cradle of the Fairfolk's faith, the mantle of the Father fixed firmly about his crown. His faith had not suffered for his efforts, only having grown stronger for his absence. The Maiden's Tears was the heart of the Fairfolk, and it was within the heart that the Father dwelled.

He patrolled the outskirts of their beating core, the edges of the pulsing center of the Fairfolk proper. The sound of the falls pounded ceaselessly in the background, drumming in time with his footsteps against the ground. The smell of willow and water, the perpetual perfume of their Family, wrapped around him, ushering him further and farther into the territory. But another scent, this one earthly and bloodbound, assaulted his senses.

He came upon the younger male standing at the far edge of their demesne, amber eyes aglow as he assessed the other wolf's appearance. The King came to a halt, his crown and banner raised high. “Percival," murmured the Father, syllables borne as both greeting and observation. His deep voice reverberating through the still air, his head tilted inquiringly. “What are you doing?" The question was deepset and prompting, rugged and wanting. He had never come upon the boy alone before, and knew him not at all. What called him to wander the Tears so aimlessly?

STOCK ➤ Bine G. Dawnthieves MANIP & CODE ➤ Twisty


Sanguine as the boy had learned to be, he was humbled in the presence of the forest. The simplicity of its might was awe inspiring. Plants years older than he was now, and years older than he could ever hope to be, reached high into the heavens. Perhaps at night they whispered canticles to the stars. Forever hoping to win their favor and grow tall enough to become celestial themselves.

A shift of the wind pulled the boy from his fantasies. The Father strode toward him. Dipping his head in respect, Percival waited for the other to address him. He was still unsure of the manners in which the Fairfolk operated and he figured it best to let the other set the tone. Power and pride wafted off the other in intoxicating droves. This was the Patriarch, this was the man he owed his life to. It was by his blessing that the boy would remain or be banished from his homelands.

The address was the embodiment of Oberon. Confident and warm but calculating. The words of a general, assessing his troops. There was no need for niceties, the Father knew his Kin but not well enough to be comforted by his presence. The feeling was mutual. As deeply as Percival wanted his approval, he didn’t know how to earn it. Didn’t know the mind or expectations of the other. It was a dangerous dance.

“Father. It’s good to see you.”

The question caught him off guard. What was he doing there? Was that the other’s way of saying that he had no business in the territory? Had he lost the battle before it had already begun? Blinking away his shock, the boy hoped the hurt didn’t show on his face. There were a million things that could have been meant by those four words, Percival banished the dread on one such interpretation.

“Since I woke, I’ve found myself to be rather restless. My paws seem to have quite the mind of their own. I figure I should put the energy to good use and relearn the area. I’m hoping one day I’ll stumble on something that could help unlock the memories trapped in my head.”

Greetings were exchanged, lofty vigils sung from on high. The omnipresent music of the falls underscored the depth of breath and bearing borne by the crowned King, an omnipresent rush of crashing water and quiet mist. The Father's darkly amber eyes rested upon the shadowed other, weighing, measuring, gauging strength and evaluating value.

His bloodline was something of an enigma; though his connection to the Fairfolk could not be disputed, the whys and wherefors of the matter remained shrouded in shadow. The blood of the Fairfolk was widespread throughout Cyrileth; their branches arched high, their roots dug deep. The canvas of starlight that colored the younger wolf's back would have granted him a welcome into their ranks even without the benefit of a genetic tie - but as it stood, Percival's missing memory left his origin a mystery.

Like a missing tooth, the Father could not help but poke at sore spot, searching out some weakness, some proof of merit. Oberon could only take Galiene's word for Percival's identity, and was willing enough to do so - provided the male was a credit to the Fairfolk's name. They were too weak to suffer another rusted link in the chain; they had sustained such heavy losses in the last few years. Another failure, in any capacity, would be too heavy a burden for them to bear.

The gods would look out for them, of course. But Oberon had every intention of easing their burden. Even if it meant ignoring the stricken expression upon Percival's face. “I see," the Father offered, noncommittal in the face of the darker wolf's explanation. That he wandered in hopes of rediscovering his memories was admirable, if lacking in direction. “I cannot aid in that endeavor, but I will pray that the stars guide your search."

A pause, a considering tilt to the Father's head. “Any luck thus far?"

STOCK ➤ Bine G. Dawnthieves MANIP & CODE ➤ Twisty


The seconds between his last breath and Oberon’s first were hear wrenching. Percival knew he was on borrowed time here in the Tears. Weakness was a luxury the Fairfolk could not afford right now, especially with all that had been happening. First the bears, then the red wood, what would come to haunt them next? What other tragedies lay in the path of this apocalypse? The Father had to look out for his family, no matter how much Galiene seemed to trust him, Percival knew that without the support of the other seven, he could lose the place he had learned to call home.

It baffled him sometimes to think of why they had accpeted him in the first place. His situation was less than ideal... honestly it could seem down right suspicious. How had he emerged from the red woods unscathed when so many others couldn’t say the same? This question haunted him each night. Could he have been at fault? Could his actions be to blame for the fire? Most days he had the Mother’s guidance which drove away these thoughts but late at night, there was no light to chase away the monsters.

All these thoughts were amplified under the Fathers piercing gaze. Finally, a flicker of approval, however fleeting, was seen in Oberon’s eyes. A warmth grew in his chest as the older wolf spoke. His faith and prayer were worth more than any assistance. Any luck thus far? Glancing at his feet, Percy tried to hide his frustration. He had woken up a few months ago but he still had no trace of the wolf he had been before them. Lifting his eyes, he knew he needed to face the Father directly.

“Nothing yet, unfortunately. Luckily I have found guidance and council within the Fairfolk.“

The words he spoke were true. He couldn’t imagine if he had woken up alone, with no relatives. What would have happened then? With no information Percival was sure he would have drove himself crazy trying to figure out his past. Even now, how much energy had he wasted trying to become the wolf he once was.

“Perhaps it is time to move on... Instead of trying to figure out who I was, maybe it is time to concentrate on who I will become.”


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