Gaven carefully observed the tides which lead to the island the tower was built upon. He had visited this place with Serrate once before, when the weather was kinder. Now the water was frigid and the horizon filled with the silhouette of an iceberg wandering by on the currents. It was a beautiful spectacle, a much-needed change in his scenery, but he would not stop to appreciate it that day. He was here on a mission to learn more about the tower. He brought a weighty stone tablet from the Library with him and swiftly picked his way across the land bridge. He would have to be brief lest he get trapped on the island overnight. The place seemed…exposed. He didn’t want to risk it. There was always tomorrow and the next day and…well, time was in abundance for once, until he was called on for something more important.

Patterns formed in the frost that coated the tower stones; layers of ice on salt sometimes partly melted where the spray rose up on particularly turbulent hours. He circled it with the tome, wondering at the tower’s purpose to those who built it. Gaven did not go inside or climb the steps; from memory it was treacherous when he first went to the top and now the steps would be coated with ice. Instead he circled it to keep his blood flowing and read. As he lost himself in the strange pictographs the hellions from before left, only partially translated even to the interpreter, he began to imagine the ones who were here before. Humans (probably) carving and carrying their rocks to stack one on top of the other. The hellions were taking their lowlands, but they still had the sea, a place they had mastered that the land-beasts had not, and they had their clever hands to work for them. They had only warred with their kind before, but how could they keep those strange ones away? How could they hold back what they didn’t understand?

Gaven looked up from the tablet and studied the patterns in the ice that swirled on the tower’s stone. Colorful thoughts raced through his mind, so vivid he wasn’t sure if they were only thoughts or things he was seeing from eras lost to them. Then he heard the scream and he barely had time to consider its nature; was it there all along and he only just noticed, or had it instantly started? He thought it was a scream, but it was unlike any sound he had ever heard; high pitched and unending, the grinding screeching of machines that didn’t yet exist, explosive ringing in his ears and the entirety of his mind. The man reflexively stumbled, dropping the tablet on his foot and reeling backward to grip at his head, but his mind was completely fixated on the searing pain that filled his head and overcome his senses. His vision twisted and cinched and his brain no longer understood the world he was seeing. Cold panic gripped him and he started to move too quickly for someone who couldn’t seem to see, hear, or feel anything. Maybe he blacked out. He didn’t know what transpired; he was only certain about the agony and the fear.

It’s hurting you.

I KNOW IT’S HURTING ME. HOW DO I STOP IT? WHERE IS IT COMING FROM?

If a voice could shrug this is what it sounded like, I suppose you’ll find out eventually. You probably already have the answer, but I imagine thinking is difficult right now.

Somewhere in all this (he didn’t know if during or after) Gaven wondered if this is what the Fury felt like. What a terrible thought, that the Fury could be a thing that happened to you and not something sleeping within all along. Was this what it felt like, Kariya? He remembered the puppy, huddled in the den, wounds he had inflicted on himself to ease the other kind of pain. Gaven could see how death could bring a certain kind of peace and it seemed a reasonable option to end this sort of suffering. Then again, hadn’t he thought that way once before to justify murdering another?

That made his friend laugh, You don’t want to die and you won’t, Starreaver, because how can you be The Hero if you’re dead? You won’t go down so easily. You don’t get the satisfaction of that sort of rest. Not yet.

When he began to remember some things he was in the sky and the dark ocean hung still and silent below him…or more likely the sky was dark and starless above him and he was floundering in a beautiful, shimmering sea of icy death. How much time had passed? He had left for the tower in the day, but now it was night, and the shrill squealing was gone but his body ached and the water held and crushed him. His limbs were stiff and unresponsive; throat closed, constricted to not allow any water in, or air for that matter. He would have laughed if he could have breathed. What a horrible way to go. Finally the ocean took a cue from the sky and all things faded to black for some time.

Gaven woke to vicious coughing, knives of cold relentlessly stabbing into stiff, frozen muscles. The right side of his face was pressed against icy stone and as he lifted his head he felt prickles on his cheek and sharp pains in his sinuses. He wiped snot from under his nose to bring back dark blood, smearing it on the rock and touching the side of his face where he winced feeling a large spot where his skin had been scraped raw; unless someone had materialized on the island to punch him in the face and drag him across the ground he was left to assume he had slammed his face into a cliffside at some point, either because he was clumsy or he unintentionally hurt himself in an attempt to stop the shrieking calamity in his head. Either option was just as likely. He barely remembered dropping the heavy stone tablet but his foot was quick to remind him. His head still pounded relentlessly but the pain was a “normal” level of misery this time. His trip into the ocean hadn’t been imagined either; he was still soaked through, shivering and gasping pathetically as his muscles seized from the pain of the cold. Aside from his slow labored breathing the only sounds he heard now were the crashing of the waves somewhere below him and the gentler song of dark wolves whose fins sliced the veil of the sea. Moving was difficult, almost impossible, but when he managed to stiffly turn himself on his back he saw he was perched on a rocky shore just above the high tide and in the distance the tower’s shape stood against a dark horizon. A noise that was difficult to distinguish from a sob or a laugh burst out of Gaven’s throat as he slumped against the frozen rocks.

Freezing seemed like such a minor complaint now after almost drowning, but he knew it would get worse the longer he stayed. He needed dry clothes and a warm fire; both things were miles across the territory, a trip he would have to make through the snow and the darkness, presumably alone since most of the wolves would be sleeping. He didn’t have the energy to scream; when he swallowed his throat felt raw, hinting that he may have been doing plenty of that when he was back at the island. He closed his eyes, aware that he would die overnight if he tried to sleep here but risking it anyway. He had already accomplished several incredibly foolish things today, most which he didn’t remember, that almost got him killed. What was one more?

---

      The first of the flowers were blooming, stretching their petals out beneath the sun as snow and ice retreated. Life was returning to her quiet corner of the forest — the world's chatter bustling in light of new life. It was still quieter out here than Saboro's taunting jungle, and Sol Katti could rarely make out the whispers of the trees and wind here. But the Sovereign knew they were singing, their melody soothing and gentle, devoid of Saboro's cooing malice.

It was just as peaceful as it had been in the winter. Louder, but peaceful nonetheless. 

In the warm dawn light, Sol Katti made her way back to her ancient willow, her small frame slowly dragging a fawn she had caught just as the sun peaked over the horizon. It had been too bold for a prey animal, wandering too far from its mother and safety. Killing her catch had been difficult for the dainty Queen; the task of catching larger game still a struggle for her even after all these months as a nomad. But in the end it had been worth it, and a swell of pride kindled lightly in her chest.

Prowling past her blooming gardens that surrounded the large willow tree, she deposited her catch against knobby roots before slipping into the warm den. Soft snored filled foxlike ears, and a hint of a smile curled at her features. "Wake up." The dappled lady sang in her wind chime voice — which probably didn't really help rouse the slumbering speckled bundles. One by one, Sol Katti would nudge each with her nose. Nipping lightly at ears or cheeks and pressing kisses to heads. "Breakfast is outside. It's a special treat today; a fawn. Better get some before it's all gone..." Her gentle voice lilted into a tease before playfully nipping one of the sleepy children's rump and retreating out of the den back into the cool morning air. 

There, Sol Katti would sit by her willow tree, waiting for the song of children's voices to start her day. In front of her, the flowers of her gardens swayed and danced, their colors blending together. Purples and blues and yellows and whites—

—and red, red poppies, reminding her of a secret place.

Her breath left ghostly clouds in her wake. Her coat like crystalline ice, shaking free of her shackles, glass shattering at her feet. Wraith hands clawed her back, twisting wisps of silver smoke shrouding her form. She stared into the faces of those lost in the chaos, broken spirits like puppets dancing just out of reach. Familiar faces lacked light, pitiless souls trapped at the edge of the other realm. Jori frowned at the delusions, though provoking they wrenched apart her good senses.

She pulled free from the depths of the shadows, eyes widening with an echoing silent scream. And as though simply enough, Jori was back within the valley limits. The ghosts bidding her return cast long lingering mist to wrap around her ankles like phantom shackles, she can never escape.  

She was back, but at what cost? Always a creature of routine, and she follows her heart. Tricky heart which has lead her down slippery slopes, quite literally, in a determination to find her love. The officer wanted to find him, just as they'd left off, two monsters craving damnation and salvation all at once. Delicate wolf took small steps out of the encircling maze, and out into the glowing moonlight. She smiled toward the skies, and prayed she found him tonight.

Would luck be on her side?

Might he be wandering the night in search of her, maybe they'd meet under the stars. Her mind raced with smitten fantasies, trivial to some, but important to her. She picked up her pace, asking the night, "excuse me?" her voice shaking from misuse, "but I'm looking for my love," she leveled her tone, and whispered this time. She imagined Tatari as she best remembered, large and domineering, a beast of protection.

She was being stupid; the night couldn't lead her to Tatari.

"We were separated by time, you see, but I'm confident I can find him."

She smiled, and then laughed. Everyone familiar had fallen away, disappeared into the fringe or worse, but she knew he was here. She could sense their connection, though faint and weak, not broken or damaged beyond repair. She just wanted to love him again, and be happy. Let's meet under the stars, and ponder for awhile.