DarkStar

6

It had almost gone back to normal, almost. There was still this pending sense of doom that loomed over them as they ate. When they caught each other's eye across the table, there was the customary smile that was shared and had been since he had learned how to smile. It was the promise of things to come that lurked and darkened their mood. Elia didn't even understand why. All that she had said was that it was time. When he had asked what she meant, she simply ruffled his hair before she smiled down at him and whispered that it was time for him to learn about his father.

His father.

His father whom they hadn't spoken about because the one time he had asked, when he was so young he hadn't learned about emotional pain, he had learned to never ask again. Something had happened. Something bad. Something that his mother had saved him from and still protected him from. If she was afraid then it must have meant the worst. Maybe it was the reason that she feared the other wolves. Maybe there were no other wolves anymore and it was only the reason that she feared...

He had never seen her change. He didn't know the color of her fur or how her eyes looked when they filled with her spirit's fire. He wished that he did. How could something that felt so good be frightening. He wanted to run. He wanted to feel the earth beneath his paws and know that he was a part of it. He wanted to dance with the voices in the woods, feel their wild breath ruffle his fur. He wanted to feel the world as it unfurled before him, with his senses tuned. He wanted to be free.

He blinked as his mother cleared his plate after smoothing her hand across his now dried hair. He watched as she did the dishes and then turned, resting herself against the counter.

"Are you ready?"

He knew that she hoped that he would say no. He knew that she was really asking if she was ready and he was simply there to witness her dilemma. He couldn't do what she wanted... not this time. He needed to know. He gently nodded, watching her reaction as she pushed herself off of the counter and into the room.

"It'll be okay, mom." He knew that she wouldn't believe him, but if it was her job to make him feel better when it hurt, to give him answers and reassurances, than it was his to offer her comfort, even if she didn't believe him. He couldn't help that. He couldn't convince her that he knew that when he met the being that owned that beautiful voice, the one that made him feel as though he weren't so small and alone, he would join with his guardian's spirit instead of be consumed by it. Some part of him was sure that her fears were unfounded while another trusted her judgement implicitly.

He got up and followed her into her room. She disappeared into a door he didn't recall seeing opened at any time before. The smell in there was different. He could just see the edge of colored fabric, a pale blue, something soft. It was a color that he liked. He didn't have anything that was that color because when he picked something out, his mom would smile and gently guide him to something else. Were those his father's things? He had no point of reference. He tested the air, trying to memorize the smell. It was just slightly different than his own. Perhaps that was just age. Perhaps it was just maturity that had been tempered with hints of dried leaves and a faint lingering dark musk.

He hadn't realized that he had closed his eyes until his mom had said his name. He blinked up at her and smiled, which didn't help the look of concern that took over the pout on her face. She held a box, an old file box made of cardboard, that she gently pushed into his lap.

"What's this?" He knew but asked anyway. He knew this was meant to prove something but couldn't understand quite what that was. He watched as she pursed her lips, frozen for a moment, before she collected herself enough to sit beside him.

"It's your father."

* * *

He woke with a start. He had dozed off and slumped across his papers again. The file he had been looking in actively, dripped into his lap and then made its way to the floor in bits and pieces. It was still snowing outside. The only sound was the hush of winter punctuated by the pops and gurgles of the water in the pipes that heated the building. He'd been here more than he'd been in his own apartment. There was something different about this place. It was still horrible, but some part of it had become a comfort.