"...And let the wind be the current which carries you back to us, now and forever. Thereon, we danced amidst the brambles of fortune. We lost ourselves as only the blood-bound can," She paused, the prayer turning stale in her mouth.
She no longer believed it would work. It was the third month and he had not returned.
"Don't stop, Syra. We need him," Cyrus begged.
"Perhaps it's better he doesn't return, Syra. We've spoken about this. He will not be the same. For everyday you pray so adamantly for his return, I send the opposite prayer out into the prairie. When men die, they are to remain dead."
"He was not a man!"
Danashti looked askance at Syra, "That, you are right about. Yet you will not say what he was, if not a man."
Cyrus interjected, "He was a brother. He was Syra's right hand. He was a pillar."
"And now that pillar has toppled. Shall we spend another decade trying to rebuild it?"
"Danashti," Syra turned, a cold gust of wind followed her to slap a warning glance onto the cheek of the religious idol, "Enough. I know you have no love for him. So leave here. You soil these sands we've brought, these prayers we've carved up. You taint this place. If there is light, he will come. But if he sees a shadow standing at the center of the altar, he will mistake it for a wyvern."
Danashti scowled, but she knew it to be true. It was why she always accompanied them when they prayed—to cancel out their offerings and ward of his spirit. Now he would come, she was sure.
"—And mercy upon whoever is near when he does," She departed.
Syra turned to Cyrus, "What is the month?—And the cycle of the moon?"
"We are deep within October and the moon is at its fullest."
"Good. He will be strong when he returns."
Cyrus was watching her closely.
"Don't be afraid now, Syra. We're close. Call to him."
She dried her palms on her thighs and thrust her head into the sky.
"Breath deep, Orion! Take the stars against the indigo of the sky to be the cove where you may rest your head. Heed the call of the crow when he comes, black as night. Breath deep, and let the wind be the current which carries you back to us, now and forever. Thereon, we danced amidst the brambles of fortune. We lost ourselves as only the blood-bound can. You are mine...return."
As the cobblestones shook, the casket split. The gaping teeth of splintering wood jutted out and flew away from the body rising in the midst of the dark oak. Orion had returned.
He bared his teeth and his fangs glistened like the albumen moon.
"We brought sustenance, brother," Cyrus offered.
Orion tore the bag with his teeth and took the blood, but he was not appeased.
He eyed Syra ravenously, "A lover, a feast—my indigo prize."
