Being a hollow-guard requires incredible skill and strength. One must trust their instincts, even on the smallest of hunches. They must also be fierce and unyielding, willing to lay their life down for the Tribe of Soaring Oaks.
As of late, many ha...
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Drift wondered if the wolf had ever eaten the mouse, or if he had accidentally swallowed the hemlock himself instead. Perhaps the Tribe of Endless Hunting looked no different than the world of the living, and perhaps they had sent Sun on Cold River to guide him along.
Oh, son. The words echoed in his ears. He hadn't heard from his father since he was a fresh to-be, in the days when wolf attacks were rare, when the only one in generations was the one that ripped his father away, not even leaving a trace save for a single clump of fur matted with blood.
But this was his father now. It was hard to conjure up old memories, but Sun was the same down to the melancholy pride in his eyes, an expression identical to the last one he ever wore in Drift's presence. It was his default way to look at his son, because while Poolteller received all his cheer and life, it was Drift whose future he seemed to see shadows in, shadows he refused to explain. Sun loved Drift, but somehow, that love was touched with the saddest pride.
Drift opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Apologies, questions, confessions all worked their way to the surface and then died on the tip of his tongue. Sun, though, seemed to have no such trouble. He beckoned Drift closer with a weak wave of his tail, and launched into an explanation.
"We are cursed," he said without preamble, "and that is why I left you so long ago. For that, I am sorry. I did it to protect you and Poolteller from harm."
"You died," Drift corrected him, kneading the grass beneath his feet. "That's not leaving." His heart tripled pace in his chest, and when he could hear it in his ears, he went on, helpless. "Leaving and being eaten by a wolf are two different things. Dying is not leaving. Am I dead now, too? Is this how you're supposed to welcome me to the Tribe of Endless Hunting, by making euphemisms at me?"
Sun narrowed his eyes. "Drift, sit down," he snapped, subsiding into a cough. "Neither one of us is dead, even though I'm getting there. Now listen to what I have to tell you. I was hoping you never had to hear this, but we're short on time.
"Our line is cursed. I do not know how, or why, but someone in our lineage angered the Tribe of Endless Hunting, and with lasting consequences. Right now, I have shouldered the curse. During the night, I become a wolf, and during the day, I become myself." He coughed again, and for a moment, a wistful light filled his eyes. "At least I will die as myself."
Drift shook his head. "No, no, no one is dying, not—"
"Drift, enough! You fed me poison, enough to kill the beast and more than enough to kill me as I am." The sudden tremor racing through Sun's limbs could have been the hemlock or his rage. He fought to raise his head, to look Drift in the eye. "You thought you were doing the right thing. I can't fault you for that. But now you must sit and learn the consequences before there is no one left to teach you what they are.
"When I die, you will take up the curse. It will begin on the next full moon, the moment you step into the moonlight. Whoever you have become, son, you will lose him to the wolf. You will have to fight to keep him, like I did. Choose an anchor, something to protect. Make the Tribe your pack and guard them with your life until you are old like me, and too weak to keep the real beasts at bay."
