❝bare your teeth, little one, for you are made of stardust and divinity.❞
It is said, in the era before the mother of our mothers, when the ancients first built their ruins, we were not alone in this world. Creatures flitted through the skies above...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Tip had been dreaming again.
He could never remember his dreams. Their wispy forms fled from his fingers the moment he opened his eyes. The only reason he knew he'd been dreaming at all was that he'd woken a bit too suddenly, his limbs a bit too tangled in the sweet-scented blankets of his bed, and his heart beating a bit too quick as if he had been running from something.
Some mornings, Tip would shut his eyes and give chase. He would pursue the conjured images of his sleeping mind as far as he could. Sometimes, he was able to catch its strings, though tugging too hard would cause it to unravel. One was filled with long, white hair that spanned further than the ocean's shore. Another held a pair of eyes that looked very much like his own. Tip's favorite was the one where a faint melody floated across a field of golden grass, in perfect recreation of the night he first heard the song of The Ancestors.
Tip did not attempt to recall this night's dream. He was more interested in returning to the book he'd been reading in the Chief Elder's tent before she forced him to bed. Tip pulled his paws from the blankets and worked the knots from his fur. The Chief Elder would scold him if he neglected himself in order to spend more time reading. Once his fur was groomed, Tip rebraided his hair and removed the small box of trinkets he kept beneath his bed. His collection was eclectic—consisting of every curious bauble that had ever caught his eye—but his most well-loved objects were his hair ribbons. He selected one of his favorites to tie his braid.
Dressing was more difficult. Though they were near the forest's southern edge, it was the coldest season and Tip was expected to wear clothing that oppressed his movements. He selected the outfit that bunched the least around his joints and hoped it looked warm enough to placate the Chief Elder.
Then came the most difficult part of Tip's morning routine.
Tip was not certain how waking Ituha had become a part of his routine. It might have been the natural result of living together. Their tent was one of the smallest within the herd but it was not small enough to justify housing only a single child. Sometimes, Ituha would wake naturally as Tip shuffled around while other times, Tip only needed to stare at Ituha long enough for his paranoia to drive him into consciousness. Neither worked today.
It had been getting harder to wake Ituha since he began his apprenticeship beneath a Practitioner of Protection. Tip wasn't wholly certain what sort of training Ituha did during the days but it left him so tired he typically just collapsed into his bed at night. The Practitioners of Protection all underwent intense training to ensure they were capable of defending the herd against those-who-still-hunted.
"Ituha," Tip said. "Ituha, it is dawn." Tip leaned over Ituha but did not touch him. "You will be late."
Ituha did not stir.
Tip's tail flicked. The Chief Elder believed Ituha was unsuited for a role as a Practitioner of Protection. His physicality was too similar to his paternal side. His body was simply too weak to bear the strain. Tip agreed. He was the one currently being punished for Ituha's stubbornness.
