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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Poolteller lied, and for the first time, Drift wondered if she had ever lied to him before. If she had, he had probably believed it.
She was a natural, standing before her den in the soft morning sun. From his hidden place within the stone walls, he watched her approach the Tribe, brimming with nervousness and hope at once. The hope was most certainly false, given their conversation, fragmented by fear, that had gone late into the night. She saw no escape from the curse but to avoid the moon, a half resolution at best, and Drift saw no solution at all. All they had was this plan, these weaponized words. And the nervousness, of course. That was genuine. It sold the lie like nothing else could.
"I'm at a loss," she admitted to the gathered cats. True.
"I think his symptoms were present even before we lost Shrew, and I couldn't see them." Also true, if Drift squinted at the notion just right.
"The Tribe of Endless Hunting hasn't given me direction yet, but I'm going to do everything in my power to keep this Tribe safe. Even from ourselves." True to the last breath.
Come to think of it, Poolteller didn't lie so much as gently bend the truth. That in itself was more convincing than any outright lie she could offer, Drift supposed. Nevertheless, the single falsehood in her speech held its own, even among the truths. It was brutal, and no one knew it was a lie save for Poolteller and Drift.
"Until we are all safe once again, I ask that you help in this. To prevent any more violent visions, please, be mindful if you must speak of the wolves."
That was it. A simple speech wrapped up in slumped shoulders and tired eyes, an air of almost defeat, but not yet. A lie at the end, a hint of violence neatly dropped in to deter questions. The lie wasn't so much in the suggestion, but in the conclusions being drawn all around the clearing. The one skeptical face in the crowd was Flight, but Poolteller turned her aside deftly, claiming "I'm going to check on him now. You can visit later."
Drift was grateful Flight couldn't see him tucked in the darkness, eavesdropping on every word, fully aware of the simple lie racing through camp. He was suddenly distraught, though, that he could see Print tucked behind Flight, and that he could hear her ask, "Is it my fault?" Everyone who heard froze, even Poolteller, who had already turned their back on the Tribe to return to her den. All around, blood ran cold.
"No. No, no, it isn't," answered Flight. But it was too late. The fear had taken hold, judging by the way Print refused to meet Flight's eyes, and pity rushed in in its wake, a stifling force.
Drift couldn't bear it. Before Poolteller even reached the mouth of the den, he was already headed towards the pool, where he plunged his head into the icy waters until his lungs burned. He didn't intend to drown, but ancestors, if he didn't wish he could hide beneath the surface forever.
