grief

The scent of Scott had begun to dwindle at the borders, and Hydra had not seen his face this past week. For the most part, she was content to leave her wolves to their own devices... but it was a strange thing, this absence, in that typically there was some evidence of their continued efforts toward reinforcing the borders at least. He had not come to her with interest of scouting and searching for lost things, which she would have permitted—and the unusualness of that much caused her to seek him out, concern there but also frustration. With her cubs so young still, it was important that the pack continue to carry their weight and not grow lazy. Now she could work with them in these efforts, and note things such as this.

His scent existed still within Empyrean, and catching it, Hydra followed it. His particular one held the distinct freshness of pine, and Hydra kept after it. It fortunately was not a difficult thing to follow, and there was nothing strange nor erratic about it that was cause for concern. The only thing of interest was the age of this trail, though she suspected a fresher one might follow once she came closer.

Tufts of fur then, and smatterings of blood that contrasted terribly against the otherwise pristine snow. Hydra's ears pricked as she quickened her pace, eyes sharp and the furs along her nape standing at attention, looking in that moment as sharp as any blade in the wintry sunlight. But the creature that Scott had done away with was dead and buried in the cache, Hydra noted. Days old, this kill, and Hydra continued after the trail of Scott that felt without end.

It had been morning when her search had begun, but it was in the night that she found him on that same, days old trail. Her stomach sank, knowing its meaning, and Hydra stilled.

This was too pretty a scene, for the ugly wound it caused in her heart. Scott appeared to be asleep, as she beheld him, nestled cozily in the roots of a tree. No doubt the winters frigidity had preserved him this long, and in such a way. And he was asleep; Scott had fallen into a wakeless slumber. Hydra approached him, the scent of death stark now in this area, and her nose also detected the putrid accompaniment of a wound uncared for.

It was infection that had killed him, and Hydra grit her teeth. Perhaps he thought the snow would cleanse it, or perhaps he thought the wound so small it needed no aftercare at all... or perhaps he thought he could wait until the following day, to treat it. Questions the matriarch would never know the answer to, questions that in the scheme of things did not matter anymore—except to Hydra, it did. Scott had done his duty, and had died well before his own time as far as she felt, and she grit her teeth as she bore the weight of this loss.

But he would not be forgotten, and it was not done in vain. Hydra lifted her head and her howl came, solitary to start—but soon, she heard the voice of Leta join in. She sang to celebrate the life he had lived among them, short though it was, and of his service—and lastly, of this loss. Hydra did not believe in the afterlife herself, a heretic woman, but he would be buried as an Empyrean warrior, beneath the roots of the tree where he rest. Only when her song ended did the matriarch begin this work, though the song still echoed in her ears, in her heart.

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She had met Scott at the outskirts of the mountain, though at the time he did not join, Desdemona provided some information concerning Empyrean. A surprise, that he came back with another in thoughts to join.. Yet he seemed often absent in presence, though his smile and accent to be heard, she couldn't say they interacted too much to get closer after the event. There was the nodding and casual greeting when shifts of patrolling were changed — that was the large regret she held, that they did not kindle a further relationship as guards of the mountain.

Her ears flickered to the sound of another, and the smell of death fluttering to her nose as she was trailing to the path of the Alpha. A usual occurrence to follow, a shadow to her dark reign in a silence — and yet maybe it wouldn't been better, if she had skipped this day. Face may be stoic, but her heart dropped when seeing the stillness of the man, claimed by death itself. Her eyes wavered in the tinge of sadness, and lifted her muzzle to howl in union.

Though afterward she would chuff, and offer a helping paw to the Alpha.

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The song came a shade colored darker than most, a tune he was all too familiar with though the memories were now distant. The wolf in question they would cry for was not one he knew well, in fact, he could hardly recall any meaningful conversations between them and himself, but they were part of the pack all the same. It was easy for the faces to blur with their numbers, but so long as they called the mountain home they would always be important. Even the faceless ones...

West offered the baritone of his own voice to the melody, and though he knew little of the one he lost he would trek out to find him. He hadn't seen any elder wolves amongst the peaks which meant his death was likely too soon. If something had caused it, something that still posed a threat to them, he wanted to see for himself so he might stop it from taking another. By the time he arrived though it would become clear that no matter what he did there would be no stopping the threat that took Scott's life. Fangs and claws can only do so much and they were useless to disease.

A frown etched easily into his features almost as if it had actually been his natural expression. Only two others had come so far and maybe they would be the only three to stand here and witness the last moments. Empyrean never seemed the type to care for burials aside from tending to them. His home had been a stark contrast in that regard maybe that was the real reason he had come in the end. It mattered little why he showed his face though, he was here now, so as he had promised before, his paws were Hydra's to shape the earth and lay the man to rest.

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