July 15, 2001
Lovemaker sees his mother, Newgreen, off on a last hunt.
Lovemaker woke with a start at the light touch of Newgreen's sending. He blinked blearily, a little sleep-confused and yesterday morning's dreamberries hazing his thoughts a little. Newgreen's sending had a tint of sadness and importance, so he cleared his thoughts quickly, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He crawled out over Quill, who grumbled at him and pulled the furs tightly around her shoulders.
The daystar was just beginning to dip towards the canyons, and the rest of the holt was as still as a sleeping cub. There was a hint of cold in the air; the whitecold season was crouched and ready to spring as soon as the daystar began to lose her strength, and every day it was chillier. The whitecold had every indication of being a harsh one, and the summer had not been as productive as it should have, which worried many members of the Holt.
Newgreen was sitting on a log a short walk from the Holt, Tailtwitcher sitting quietly at her feet. He looked up as Lovemaker approached, and his tail brushed the leaves lightly. Newgreen smiled, her blue eyes warm and fond. Lovemaker was suddenly shaken by the fact that she had aged greatly over this past summer. Her lithe figure was even thinner than it had once been, which was more obvious in the dyeing rays of the sun that it was in the flattering moonlight. She had stopped running with the Hunt at the beginning of the summer season, and spent much of her time helping gather plants, which she would laughingly say couldn't run away as fast. Lovemaker had caught her several times dozing in the middle of the night, leaning against Tailtwitcher, who was himself aged and frail now.
When Whistleblade had been killed, nearly 30 turns ago, Newgreen had become more quiet, more reserved, and something of a spark had been taken from her, but she had not seemed to grieve; she embraced the wolf in her, and lived wholly in the NOW of wolf-though. Tailtwitcher had been young and healthy then, in his prime. Now the old wolf was hard of hearing, walked gingerly on sore joints, and his fur was brittle and dry, even after a summer season. What Lovemaker hadn't bothered to notice was that Newgreen had aged almost in tune with her wolf. Her skin was as fine and clear as ever, but there was a transparency to her that wrung at her son's heart, and delicacy to her motions that was more than her usual care.
"Mother," Lovemaker said, his voice fading at the end. For one who was accustomed to having the right thing to say usually, he couldn't seem to find any words at all.
Newgreen stood, slowly, and clasped Lovemaker's hands. "I'm going hunting, my son." There was a finality to her words that did not match her statement.
Lovemaker gently cradled her hands. "You aren't coming back."
Reddish-brown hair shook with Newgreen's head, one braid swinging near her face. "No." She looked into his eyes deeply. "I have lived over eleven hundred years with the pack and with the Holt, and I have always known that when I out-lived my use, I would not stay to burden my friends and family, and make them grieve as I clung to a life that was only borrowed."
Lovemaker tried to swallow past the lump in his throat and couldn't. "If we had a healer," he started, but Newgreen shushed him.
"A healer can do nothing for a wolf that is older than her bones and eyes and fur can last." There were no tears in her dark blue eyes, and her gaze was level. "I love you, my little Clamsnatch, and am so proud of how strong and smart you have grown up."
Not able to keep his own eyes tearless, Lovemaker tried to smile at her through the pools. "I had the best mother to teach me everything."
"And Father," Newgreen added, unabashed in her pride. She turned and put her small pack upon her shoulders. "I will have Tailtwitcher to help me on my last hunt." She turned finally and wrapped her arms around Lovemaker fiercely. "Do not miss me, Lovemaker. I will always be with you."
Lovemaker couldn't say anything, only held her gingerly in his arms, burying his face in her thick hair and soaking in her sweet scent and comforting presence. **I will not miss you,** he promised, **But I will always remember you, and I will think of you often.**
When he could finally let go, Newgreen smiled at him, and patted his cheek. **Be good to yourself,** she sent, and then she turned and walked away with Tailtwitcher in attendance.
Lovemaker watched in sorrow as the shadows of the forest swallowed her, and wondered if he could keep his promise to her.