Pyrrhic Victory

 Guildenstern woke on a bed of moss. 

 It was not the kind of grave that befit a warrior of his stature, nor was the wholeness of his body something he regarded with relish. Warriors bled. They succumbed only when there were no limbs to move or no teeth to bite with. 

 If he had not died in battle, then what?

 Around him the land was strangled by a fog as thick and solemn as a funeral shroud. It dampened the bark and leaf-litter with perpetual moisture, a gloom that lived and breathed and wept. 

 He rose without effort, his movements smooth as he shook out his droplet-dusted coat. A pale ghost stark against the shadowed trees, Guildenstern looked up, huffing at the stars. 

 “Until we meet again.”

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Rosencrantz was the first to wake between the brothers. Groggy eye finally opening and struggling to focus on their smoggy surroundings first. The ground felt wet, soggy, but comforting under his body as it cradled it in its soft, damp, embrace. The air felt cold upon his back but it, the water-logged moss, was warm after soaking in his body heat for lord knows how long.

In a molasses-like movement, slow, and deliberate, he rose to his feet and allowed his gaze to continue to observe the mist that crawled along the forest's floor. The darkly lit woods contrasted easily with his pet and that of another. Another with fur as pale as the moon lingered, stirring in their sleep as it seemed they too were waking up from their strange slumber.

Turning to make his way away from this individual before they woke, the smell that wafted from them and into his nose woke up what felt like an old, buried memory. Curiously he approached, slowly as he watched them rise. Carefully, as ears twisted forward to catch the words tumbling from the man's lips.

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 The meeting, as it happened, would come quicker than expected.

 Guildenstern turned and saw a spectre. This is how he was meant to look - scarred and chewed and war-torn, as ravaged as the upturned earth on a battlefield. But the wolf was not a mirror, blinking at him with a stiff facade.

 “Rosencrantz.”

 As reliable and attested as a well-stocked pantry, the memories of his brother lay within easy reach.

 He took a private kind of comfort in knowing he was not alone.

 “Are we dead?” It was a fair question.

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Nose twitched as the scent continued to be familiar, growing in strength as it almost felt like the mist around them seemed to be pulled back to unveil something more than just an acquaintance... a brother perhaps. The name slipped from the familiar stranger's maw and it strummed in his ears like an old song. “Guildenstern.” As if it was second nature he named the brute in return.

Are we dead? He asks, stopping the Birserkir in his tracks as he pondered the question. Flashes of strange scenes rolled past his eyes, of violence, of a bear, of a burning pain that raced through his body which was the last of the images. Were they dead? He grunts. “Perhaps.” The woods they found themselves in did not help with the illusion of anything else other than the afterlife.

“What are the last things you remember?” Maybe that could help discern the truth.

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 He shook his head as the threads of memory slipped his grasp like the string of an escaped balloon. Those tendrils floated up and away, dissolving with the fog.

 “Nothing. Save for you and home.” A home he knew was long behind them, but the distance of time and miles seemed shorter now, like something or someone had stolen a section of his life to lock away.

 He began to pad around, sniffing the moist soil with idle interest. “And you? Do you remember any more than I do?”

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A long exhale was given in response to Guildenstern's response. Brows knitting together in disapproval for the lack of answers it offered them. “Home was a long time ago.” He answers roughly, concerned as to what happened for them both to feel like they missed out on years of their lives.

“Hardly.” He drawls, mindlessly following as his brother padded around to sniff at the location with which they found themselves in. Almost as if he wouldn't allow Guildenstern to leave his sight should he just vanish in the mist. Faces, voices, all muddled in his thoughts as if he should know exactly who they were and yet... he couldn't figure out why they held any importance to him at all.

Like two lifetimes had come and gone, and both without his brother. Such a strange feeling. A vague inkling that someone was waiting for him... broken promises, lost ties. All unimportant now as to linger on this would be just a distraction for now. “I feel hungry, it's unlikely we would feel hunger if we were dead.” He comments finally, somewhat of an answer using the knowledge they did have.

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 A private part of him wondered if this was still an afterlife, just an unpleasant one. An existence where hunger, emptiness, and loss were the norm.

 Guildenstern’s nose twitched, considering that possibility. If it were true, he would cling to the fact that he wasn’t alone. Reassured by the steadfast and sandpaper presence of kin, the pale wolf set off through the forest, picking his way through the trees.

[size=small] [/size]“The only way to be sure is to search.” For confirmation - for others, for a new life.

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Unbeknowst to him, he would be glad that Guildenstern didn't mention the possibility of hell being their current situation. Forever hungry, tired, and roaming for the satisfaction that would never satiate their needs. Thankfully, his brother kept such thoughts to himself for now.

“Hm.” A grunt was all he gave in response, not positive, nor negative in mood on the idea to investigate their new... 'home'. As his brother picked his way through one part of the woods, Rosencrantz would pick another (eventually finding @Miriam on that path in a different thread (¬‿¬) ).

For now, the brothers would disappear into the mist on their own paths, not too far from one another but enough so to comb through the woods with which they had awoken in.

---

exit Rose

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