December 21, 2003
Rock loses a friend, but finds a new one.
Rock awoke about mid-day, uneasy and restless. The den was warm and comfortable. Dreamberry was snuggled up to his right side, her head on his shoulder and Wildstar slept with her back to him, pressed up against his left side. As warm and comfortable as it was, he found he could not return to sleep. Slowly, and carefully he wiggled out from underneath Dreamberry and climbed over Wildstar without waking either woman.
Outside the den he roamed around the Holt aimlessly, feeling edgy. Most of the tribe was still sleeping. Eventually, he picked up a piece of wood from the ground and sat down on a stump close to his den and began to whittle. He didn't really have a direction for the carving, but working on it seemed to soothe him a little. He felt moody and out-of-sorts.
He sat for a long time whittling, but creating nothing, watching the wood grow smaller and smaller in his hands as he cut away at it, filling his lap with shavings. His mind drifted and sudden thoughts of his dead father and mother came to him. Very rarely did he think of his parents; their deaths, like many others, were part of the Way, but every now and then he remembered them with sadness. He knew that they would always be with him in his memory, but he missed their physical presence. He stopped what he had been carving and got back up to wander around some more, past memories drifting in and out of his consciousness.
Finally, he decided to spend time with the wolves. His wolf-friend Prancer had been slow and lethargic lately and he wanted to check in on her. He knew in his mind that she was old and tired. She was not his first wolf-friend and he knew that she had almost done her time. When he reached the den, Howler, Wildstar's wolf-friend, was laying in front of the den, on watch, and he greeted Rock with a woof and tail thumps. Rock stopped to scratch Howler's ears for a few moments before moving past him into the den.
The pack was mostly asleep, like the elves, but several of the wolves rose to greet him. He scratched each one in turn, looking around for Prancer. She was not in her customary place and this worried him further. She usually did not leave the den alone.
After several nerve-wracking moments of searching and finding her nowhere, he sent to her. **Where are you?**
There was no response. Several of the wolves had noticed his distress and were trying their best to comfort him, licking his hands and face as he searched for Prancer with his mind. Not able to raise a response from her, he went back outside to where Howler lay.
**Where is she, Howler?** he questioned the wolf.
He did not respond to Rock's sending, but thumped his tail again and gave Rock's hand a single lick. Rock dropped to his knees in front of Howler, his heart sick.
**I can't find her, where is she? Where's Prancer?**
Howler licked his face and he received an impression of running water and an old fallen log with a place under it, damp and smelling strongly of earth and decaying leaves. His heart in his throat, he put both of his hands on each side of Howler's large, shaggy head. **Please, take me,** he sent, not knowing if Howler would help him or not.
Howler woofed in response and rose to his feet; he trotted a few feet away and turned and woofed at Rock again. Rock rose and followed him into the woods. They followed the river, Howler in the lead, staying a few feet in front of Rock and turning periodically to make sure he was keeping up. Rock continued to follow, the pain in his heart increasing with every step that brought them closer to the location Howler had indicated.
When they finally reached the old, rotten log, Howler whined and began to dig in the dirt in the middle of one side. Rock kneeled next to him and began to help. The entrance to the space under the log was small, but the dirt around it was loose and the digging was easy. A smell hung in the air that Rock refused to deal with. They dug for several minutes before Rock could get far enough under the log to touch her fur, how she had gotten under it he would never know. The minute he touched her he knew what his heart had already told him, that she was gone. The ache that had settled in his chest overflowed into tears of sorrow. He slowed his digging, but continued until he could crawl under the log to her body.
The smell of death was strong under the log, but it did not deter him. He crawled into the small space and buried his face in her fur.
**Why didn't you wait?** he cried into her back. **I would have stayed with you, maybe helped ease your passing.** He wrapped both of his arms around her, rubbing his face in her fur. **I will miss you, bond-sister.** He stayed with her for another turn of the days, the NOW of wolf-thought claiming his mind as he lay under the log with his fallen friend.
When day had come for the second time he was roused from his thought by the whining of a wolf outside, reminding him of those that were still alive. He stayed where he was until he got his bearings and then he slowly crawled back out of the hole to an anxious Howler who had returned for him. Rock left Prancer's body where it lay under the log, but filled in the hole he had dug earlier, sealing her into the final resting place she had chosen.
Sadness overwhelmed him again and he sank to his knees and cried. There had been so much pain and loss recently. Summerset's disappearance and Wolfstrider's injury as well as the loss of Wolfstrider's wolf-friend, and now Prancer. But, this was the Way and Rock was painfully aware. He gathered his wits after several moments, rose and slowly began the journey back, Howler on his heels.
When they reached the den, Mooncrier, Dreamberry's wolf-friend, stood from where she had taken up watch and greeted them both with soft woofs. Rock was tired; more tired than he had been in a long time. Instead of going directly back to the Holt he found a place to lay with the wolves in the den. He was not ready to return to the Holt. Part of him didn't want them to see him like this.
He cried again, but this time it was for all of those who had gone before. He would have to howl for Prancer soon. He knew that then - and only then - could he let go. The wolves around him sensed his grief. They didn't exactly understand it, but they knew he was upset and in pain. They crowded around him, pressing their shaggy bodies against him. One male, he didn't really know who through the tears and exhaustion that was swiftly claiming him, put his big, woolly head in Rock's lap and made soft rumblings deep in his throat, soothing the distraught carver to sleep.
When he woke it was dark outside. The day had gone while he had slept and a cool night breeze swept through the entrance to the den. Slowly, as he got his bearings from his dreamless sleep, he realized that he was wet. Not just a little damp from evening dew, but soaking wet. His face, his hair and his clothing were all wet, covered in - he sniffed his vest - wolf spit. There were several wolves around him so he wasn't sure as to who the culprit was, but somebody thought he had needed a bath.
He sat up, thinking that he should probably return to the Holt before he caused any more worry than he already had. When he did, the young, golden, female wolf next to him suddenly rose to her feet and put both of her paws on him forcing him back down on the ground with her weight. She inspected him, holding him down, as she might inspect a cub that had been out wandering. When she was satisfied she lay down on top of him and began to clean him with long, wet licks of her tongue. He found that he couldn't argue much. Her weight was such that he could barely breathe and when he struggled against her she bared her teeth and growled at him. She licked him until all of his hair was standing straight out from his head, keeping him pinned the whole time.
When she was satisfied with her handiwork she let him up and sat next to him to scratch behind one ear with a hind paw. Rock took a deep breath for the first time in several minutes and looked at her. She was tawny in colour and she was young. He recognized her from a littler born to the pack sometime two turns of the seasons ago. He sat up again. She continued to watch him, maintaining eye contact, establishing her dominance of the situation. Once again he found he couldn't argue. He rose to his feet and when he did she also stood.
**And where do you think you're going?** he sent to her. He received a very clear image from her of himself walking along and her following, as if she was saying 'where ever you are going.' She wagged her tail and woofed at him.
He turned and dropped to his knees in front of her. She sat as well, putting one paw up on his shoulder and nipping gently at him. He reached out and ruffled the fur on the side of her head. She thumped her tail on the ground and lolled her tongue out, grinning.
**Are you going to be my new wolf-friend?** he asked, not knowing if she would understand the concept. Only a few of the wolf cubs remained unbonded and the golden female was one of them. She took her paw from his shoulder and began to lick him again. He laughed and tried to push her away, but she would have none of it and nipped him until he acquiesced and let her have her way.
When he rose again, so did she and she followed him from the den and back towards the Holt. He checked several times to see if she was still following him and she always was. He was slightly amazed at her behaviour; he had never been picked by a wolf with such force, almost as if she thought of him as her own cub. In a way he was relieved that it had happened so quickly. He would miss Prancer and her antics, but he found that his new friend had managed to lick most of his grief away with her soft, wet tongue.
As they neared the Holt he could see Dreamberry and Birchbark standing at the edge. When they saw him they ran forward, Dreamberry in the lead.
"Where have you been?" she demanded, punching him in the arm as soon as she could reach him and then embracing him tightly. "I though you had gone again," she whispered in his ear.
"Who's your friend?" Birchbark asked, coming up behind them, her eyes on the young female wolf who had followed behind Rock. "And what happened to your hair?"
"Oh, that," and he started to smooth his hair down. "She's my new stylist. What do you think?"
Both women laughed. "I think she needs to work on it," Birchbark replied.
Dreamberry was looking at him intently. **Where's Prancer?** she lock sent.
**She's gone,** he stated simply.
Dreamberry pulled him to her again. He fought his rising emotions and embraced her back, burying his face in her hair, comforted by her scent.
Birchbark also knew what this meant, but she kept her distance, letting Rock have his moment with his lovemate. The young female wolf came forward tentatively and sniffed around Dreamberry and Rock and then she sat on her haunches and waited patiently.
"I see you've ensnared another woman's heart, brother. Is there no one who is resistant to your charms? What is her name?" Birchbark asked.
"No woman is resistant." Rock looked back over his shoulder to wink at her. "I think I'll call her Sunrise."