Monster

Pinpoint

Midion felt hollow.

As if he had shed all his tears and all that was left within him had shriveled into nothing.

Chael had been buried, following custom, as the last of the lament was sung, his wrinkled face smooth and at peace. Midion still stood at the edge of the burial clearing as the others dispersed and made their ways back to the homestead while he still refused to wrap his mind around the loss.

He wailed, less of a howl and more of a scream, the wind rising around him as if awakened by the sound. From beyond the damp forest he heard a voice, too far away to have audible words, but he could hear the sadness within it, the richness of its tone.

The hairs on his nape stood at attention and his own song faltered. Who was that? It was female, unmistakably so even though the voice was low and husky. It wasn't one of his own clan, he knew their voices, and anyways, this wasn't coming from anywhere their kind went. It was coming from Beyond, near the rambling village he had often seen from afar.

A strange kind of fever gripped him as he raised his nose, loping through the trees in search of a scent he would not recognise. The song died away as he made his way out of the thinning woods, and he froze at the edge of the treeline, staring.

A girl stood on a muddy hill about two-hundred meters away from him, the drizzling rain blurring her shape, but even if he hadn't seen her, the scarlet cloak she wore made her shine like a beacon in the early sunrise.

A long shout came from the direction of the village only a little farther down in the valley, likely faint to the girl, but easily heard by his sharp ears. Neysa.

The girl bounded off of the muddy hill like a billy goat, sliding this way and that but never falling, and she disappeared from his sight as the clan in the forest behind him howled again, sending away their grief and lightening the burden of sadness from their souls. It was the last song they would sing for the death of Chael, and then they would move on with their lives because holding onto something that no longer had purpose was surely a kind of madness in their world.

Midion did not howl with them. Not because he refused to let go of the pain, but because a soft teasing wind, warm though the world around him sat cold and wet, brought a scent to his nose like a dream half forgotten. He grew deaf to the calls of his brethren, instead, allowing the breeze to circle him like a fretful lover before fading away into nothing. Neysa.

Footsteps soggily squelched, half-muffled by the thick layer of fallen pine needles, and stopped beside him.

"What had brought you so far, Brother?" Kiere questioned, gently because the younger man stood staring at nothing, his eyes dazed. "Have you seen or scented something?"

Midion slowly turned, eyes shining as they had not since before their old leader's long illness.

"I have seen. I have scented," he breathed and there was a trembling intensity in his voice, as if the force of his words were everything. "I have heard."

Kiere frowned, his hand unconsciously rising to ruffle his brother's already unruly hair.

"I think," he murmured dryly, "that you need some sleep. There has been no sound worth noting within the valley. Come, lest the Other see us."

For the second time that day, Midion allowed himself to be nudged and herded back to the clan, his thoughts of a small girl in a red cloak singing with majick in her voice. Neysa.