Sephtis

10. Am I to stay or go?

~There is magic everywhere if you're willing to look.~

It is nearly day when I return to Droug's house. He lies in his furs close to the fire, and Morag is weaving. The colors on her loom are scarlet and black. Her hands do not stop when I come in, nor does she spare me a glance. Merikh is reclining on some furs a small distance away, fooling around with some clay dice, and only he acknowledges me, glancing at me briefly with a lewd smile and cold eyes, within whom the fires flames dance in reflection.
I kneel at my kings side and wait for him to turn his head.  I know he does not sleep, for though his eyes are closed his eyelids flicker, and his breathing is uneven. 
"My King, " I sign " there is something I am not sure about, am I to stay, or go?"
For a long time he says nothing.  My legs go numb beneath me, but I wait.  At last he speaks, " Stay, and sing for me Sephtis."
So I sing for him, as I often sang for him in the days of old, when we were naught but daughter and father, I sing so his minds can soar above his pain and bring him peace.  It is a song that he used to sing to me when I was but a babe, still unable to fly, an ancient song it is, of a hawk soaring near the sun, and while I sing, Droug turns his head away and puts his hands over his face.  He begins to weep very quietly, I dare not move to comfort him, for tears are a sign of great weakness in a man.  I too grieve, thinking of all those years past.  Thrice I sing the song, as he always sang it thrice for me.  How I loved the freedom of it, while I remained a prisoner on the earth while my brethren toured the skies. Perhaps Droug now feels the same way, and weeps for the loss of action, as much as I hope he weeps for the loss of myself, his child. 
I sing five more songs before Droug sleeps. Then I stand and eagerly inspect the cooking pot for food, for I have not eaten all night.  But there is nothing left, so I pull free my lounging fur and place it near Droug's. I stroke the wolf pelt, but have no comfort from it like I used to.  I cannot help think how once the wolf in it breathed and panted and sang beneath the moon; how it's heart beat and its eyes glowed like Zahar's eyes.  Perhaps it was mate to the lone Shamar; perhaps it was Kavah's brother.  Perhaps they mourn for this wolf, as I mourn.
I wrap the pelt up tight and offer it to the God I love most of all: the one we call the Lion and the Lamb, because he is the bringer of kinship, and the bringer of peace. He is a new God, given to our people from priests across the great salt waters. They told us to give up our old gods, because the new one is the mightiest, but we keep the new God alongside our other ones, and worship whom we please.  I revere the Lion and Lamb because it was said that he loves all living things and proclaims their harmony.  So I dedicate the pelt to him, and then burn it on the fire. 
Morag and her Son watch me, but they say nothing.  But Morag notices the scratches on my arms and hands, where the cubs have played a little to roughly with me.  She gives me a dark, knowing look, and soon afterwards she leaves the house.  I sit and watch the fire.  The smoke from the pelt rises in a black column to our roof, and pours out through the smoke hole into the night. I see it in my mind, drifting dark against the stars, and think of the wolves' eyes.