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 Posted: Wed Dec 18, 2013 10:39 pm
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Although it was rare for him to do so, Ari had left the tribe for once—for the first time in years. Truth be told, he didn’t think he had left the tribe grounds ever since the tribe had banded together, that long long time ago.
It was only for the sake of his family that he was making this exception. It had been more than a year since he had last seen his sister, and he was becoming concerned. He knew her lifestyle was one of wandering, and that long separations like this were natural. But they had reached the time of year when her clan returned to its homeland, and she usually—had always, up until now—visited him during this time. Had something happened to her as well? Like with Kazuki—no. He cut himself off before he could continue the thought. Kazuki was gone, and Ari accepted that; although that did not mean that he didn’t still miss his mate, didn’t still wish him back.
Ari had been through much in his long life—too much, he sometimes thought. His mate, dead. Three of their children, missing. Two of those remaining did not get along with him as well as he’d hoped. And then there were his children with Heartbreak as well—he at least saw Sigal now and again, but it had been years since he had seen Twilight. He hoped she was still doing well. Told himself she had to be, if he hadn’t heard any news to the contrary. He wouldn’t be able to take it otherwise, even though she had spent more of her life with her mother than with him. Even though he had a large family, truthfully, half of his children were strangers to him, for all that he fought to know them.
He wasn’t about to allow the same fate to happen to his relationship with his sister. He was determined that he would find out what had happened to her, one way or another.
And so he had woken with the sun, and set out unobserved, towards the Gypsy homeland.
He had been walking for the better part of the day, and now the sun was beginning to sink in front of him. That was the only indication of direction he had, and little good it did him. Did he need to keep going west to find the Gypsy lands? And where was Lunarie from where he was? He didn’t think it was due east—he was sure he had gotten quite turned around in that forest. In short, he had gotten himself quite lost, and now found himself...here.
Through the glare of the sun in front of him, Ari could make out only a little of his surroundings. He could feel hard rocks underneath his feet, and from a small distance off came a roaring and crashing noise: the sound of waves breaking along the shore. He wondered then if he should go back: simply retrace his steps, find his way back to the tribe, and try again some other time. It was hopeless, and he was hopelessly lost.
But the sun was setting rapidly, and Ari was growing tired from his long journey. Maybe he would find somewhere to rest the night (backwards though that was) and attempt to find his bearings again in the morning. Some small part of him agreed with that plan, whispered to him that of course it would be easier in the morning: once he was well rested, once the sun was no longer glaring in his eyes, a thousand and one excuses for why he had failed today.
The main reason why he listened to that side, though, was that he could not afford to go back. Could not afford to live in ignorance, to not know what had happened to his sister; why she had not come to visit him at his tribe.
He promised himself he would push on only a little further. Once he found shelter for the night, then he would rest.
As he continued on, Ari felt the ground begin to rise beneath his paws, and, looking up from where he concentrated on his weary feet, to make sure that they did not misstep, realized he was ascending a cliff. A dead end.
He was about to turn around, and seek shelter elsewhere, when he noticed a form ahead, silhouetted by the setting sun. With the glare in his eyes, he could not make out much of the form—other than it looked to be female (but not even that was certain) and she looked like she was alone.
Too small to be an Elder (and thus his sister), Ari still approached her nonetheless.
“Hello there,” he called out to her. “What are you doing out here?” The edge of a cliff, high above the sea, was hardly where he would spend his time (if he’d been given a choice, and hadn’t gotten so lost) after all.
Coming closer as he spoke, he was now able to make out details. Black fur, white tips. She seemed familiar somehow, although he couldn’t place her: she wasn’t one of his tribe members...
And then it hit him, the force of years—of a lifetime—of memories crashing down upon him.
“Akuma,” he said, the name leaving his lips before he even realized he had spoken, forced out by the weight of history behind it.
“What are you doing here?” he repeated, but his tone, once gentle and welcoming had turned dark and bitter.
Akuma. The ringleader of that group of vixens, the ones who had ganged up and attacked another fox, long ago. Akuma, the one who had seduced Anjafey away, into her little ring, and was then in turn partially responsible for all of the evils Anjafey had committed—Anjafey had been there as well, beating up that fox. Although she was a carer, she had nearly attacked her own nieces and nephews, and was only stopped by her mate. Mates whom she went through like wildfire—first Rendo, then Ollure, and now finally Nato.
Despite everything, Anjafey was still a member of his tribe (thanks to the intervention of Nato), and Ari at least had to tolerate her.
Akuma? She had no such protection.
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Posted: Wed Dec 18, 2013 10:40 pm
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How did she end up here?
Grey eyes were fixed on dirty forepaws that were delicately positioned at the edge of the cliff. They were once clean, but years and years of walking had taken their toll on what used to be pristine white fur. That, or they just had not felt water in a long time, which was ironic, since the ocean was only two hundred feet below her. She slowly lifted her gaze, just enough so that her attention was no longer on her paws, but the sea below. She watched it as it relentlessly crashed against the rugged cliff, each wave attacking with a mighty roar. Though it was not nighttime — it was four o'clock, perhaps — the sea had grown turbulent and agitated. It was unusual; the vixen could only remember that the sea became like this once the sun had set and the moon had come out to play, or when a storm blew in. It was a good few hours till sundown, and the skies were clear, mostly. She had heard stories of mighty tidal waves sweeping inland when the 'Deities shook the earth, but, as far as she knew, the earth had been quiet for a very long time. She tilted her head to one side, hair eagerly submitting to gravity's pull. She could not figure out why the sea was so frustrated.
She put a bit more weight on her forepaws, as if to lean on them to get a better look at the scene below. In a few moments, she felt the rocks tense, threatening to give way under her weight. Quickly, she shifted her weight back, lifting a paw from its position at the edge of the precipice. She blinked. She had been so mesmerized by the sea that she had forgotten she was teetering at the edge of this precarious cliff. She rested her paw back down in its position on the jagged rim of the rock, testing it with a slight amount of pressure that she pressed upon it. Her eyes fell back to the sea, though now they rested on the sharp rocks protruding up from the dark, truculent waters. Now, Akuma was a lot of things, but she was not suicidal, at least, she was not suicidal by definition. She did not actively try to kill herself; she was not actively searching for death. Had she truly desired to kill herself, she would have done so already. The aged vixen had an extensive history as a Shaman. There was little she could not do when it came to healing foxes. She could relieve aches and pains, cure a sore throat, and even heal a number of diseases that others contracted. She could even realign broken or twisted bones. [On one occasion that she encountered a group of that odd, two-legged species, she observed how they healed their kind. They were different, for they had some digit on the side of what would have been forepaws that enabled them to hold things in their paws. With this ability, they created splints to realign broken or twisted bones. Akuma had learned how to create these splints. They were much cruder than the ones the two-legged folk made, but they certainly did the job.] She also knew very well that what cures could also kill. She knew the toxic levels of the substances she used; she knew how to poison. She could poison herself, if she wished, but she did not.
However, though she did not seek out death, she still found herself brooding over death more often than not. The subject was interesting, if nothing else. It was something no one — save the ‘Deities — truly understood. No one else truly knew what it would bring, or what came after. One could only wonder, and that is what she did. Akuma was not concerned with the idea of an afterlife — this life she lived was hellish enough, enough that the idea of going to Hell did not faze Akuma the slightest — as much as she was simply fascinated with the concept of dying. She imagined the peace that would finally come when she finally shut her eyes, never to be bothered with the troubles of life again. Forever asleep, yet finally awake. It would be the ultimate form of liberation, freeing her from all her earthly bounds, all of her promises, obligations, and duties, ones that she had never fulfilled, ones that she would never have to fulfill. She could dream, and she did dream. She dreamed of floating, her feet rising, hovering just above the ground, and then slowly rising. Rising, rising, rising. She dreamed of flying, flying faster than light, flying faster than time, flying faster than everything that made up reality, ultimately leaving reality behind her as she raced ahead. She dreamed of a storm, a vehement, frightening storm. She dreamed of gliding effortlessly through that storm, the violent rain pouring down, washing away all that plagued her. She dreamed of finally taming the storm, the storm of her life. She dreamed of that day, when she could soar through that storm and it would not affect her. She dreamed of the day she would no longer care.
One could argue that day had already occurred, for she had dropped her life on a whim and ran away from it. It truly was on a whim; she had woken up one day and decided she could not take any of it anymore. She could barely remember the rationale behind her decision, or if there was any rationale behind it at all. She did not remember brooding over the decision. For all she knew, she may have simply said, “******** it,” turned sharply on her heels, and ran for the hills… actually, that sounded about right. She ran without thinking about her actions, and without any consideration for others. How could she care about her life if she had easily made the decision to leave it? And if that was true, what was the difference between living and dying, since she had already left everything that was once her life? She imagined everyone she once knew had long presumed her dead, that, and if she ever returned, she expected more contemptuous tongues than warm embraces. She deserved more contemptuous tongues than warm embraces. She was treacherous, and she deserved to be treated like the demon she had been so many moons ago.
She had not lifted her gaze from the jagged rocks below. The sea hissed, continuing to relentlessly pummel the cliff side, as if it was accomplishing something. She had heard that when one jumped off a high altitude into water, hitting the surface of the water was like hitting rock, unless you hit the water at the perfect angle with the perfect position to break the thin, filmy surface. She tilted her head to the side, contemplating. What was this perfect angle? And what about this perfect position? She knew the statistics: only one percent of all survived the jump, and usually that one percent suffered extensive trauma, which ultimately killed them later. And yet, by some miracle, one percent of that one percent resurfaced with nothing more than a couple bruises and maybe some water in their lungs.
She was not suicidal, only curious. This perfect angle, this perfect position… she wanted to discover them. At least, that was the rationale behind this otherwise rash action. She extended her claws, gently scratching at the sharp edge of the cliff. She only had one shot, after all, one shot at perfection. Might as well enjoy the experiment, since she knew the chances of success were very, very small. Maybe too small. Although, it would be a wonderful sensation, just plunging off the cliff, just falling. Even if she did not succeed at finding the exact angle or the exact position, she figured the experience of falling that far down at that speed would be worth it. It would be the closest thing to flying. She would be falling faster than any fox could ever dream of flying. She smiled inwardly. The second her body crumpled on the water’s surface, she would grow her wings and fly, truly fly. She would finally be free. That was all she ever wanted: to be free. And the key to her freedom was right there, a couple hundred feet below. It growled; it was not too inviting. But freedom was never easy to attain. Great sacrifices must be made in order to be free… Maybe ending her life was not such a bad idea after all.
Now she was conflicted. She could not figure out what she wanted more: freedom or the answer to her hypothesis. Would it be better to die, or cheat death and gain the knowledge on how to avoid death? Oh, desires. They were fickle things. Akuma always found it difficult to find perfect equilibrium between her opposing desires, and those occurred more frequently than not. Her desire to kill or to have mercy, to run or to return, to fight or flee, to rationalize or to act out of emotion, to die or to learn how to avoid death. Those were only a few of the many decisions which plagued her throughout her life, and no matter which side of the spectrum she chose to favor, she was always unsatisfied, and she imagined that if she chose the other side of the spectrum, she would be just as unsatisfied with that decision as she was with the decision she ultimately made. She would never be satisfied. She would never be satisfied with life, so what was the point of living? On the other hand, it would be an incredible story to tell, as if she did not have enough of those. She could always use another story, and near-death experiences were the best to tell. She wondered how the ‘Deity of Death would feel if she managed to slip from her grasp, or perhaps the ‘Deity would want nothing to do with her. Perhaps it would be better to let Akuma live, let her live and endure the rest of her wasted, aimless, wretched life. No, Death would not be kind to Akuma. She would allow her to escape and tell her story to whoever had time to spare, ultimately knowing she had won. Akuma would continue to suffer for as many years as Akuma possibly could, and that was worse than dying.
That was another hypothesis, for she did not know what Death was truly thinking. Maybe Akuma got her character wrong, and Death was a collector rather than a judge. But Akuma had been staring at that water for what felt like a couple lengthy hours — it had only been a couple of minutes — studying it. She watched the waves; she memorized the rate at which the waves beat the stone; she knew how far out the lethal rocks extended, and added some, to factor in rocks she could not see; she felt the wind, and knew its force and direction. She had taken into account every factor in this experiment. All that was left was figuring out the perfect angle and position for success. Maybe it would be easier to jump carelessly, and hope that the tides were in her favor. In the event that she did succeed, it could not be that hard to recall the angle and position… could it? Once again, she was conflicted, now between carefully calculating the angle and position required for this jump and just haphazardly hurling herself off the cliff and praying all would end well. There really was only one way to find out for sure, and Akuma could safely say that she was confident in her ability to fall just perfectly, even if that seemed to be a rather silly notion to be faithful in. Well, she would find out what plans the ‘Deities had for her soon enough… No. Akuma never believed that the ‘Deities controlled her fate. Despite their awesome power, Akuma never had and never would enjoy the notion that someone else had already written her story.
‘Akuma,’ came the voice, clarity following soon after. She blinked, lifting the shroud of thought from her eyes. She placed her paw back down on the rocky cliff, slowly withdrawing her paws from the precarious edge. Well, this was quite sad. Now her experiment would have to occur some other time. 'What are you doing here?’ it asked, a twinge of bitterness evidently leaking into his words. She inhaled, exhaling a heavy, but inaudible sigh, her tail lashing. She flexed her claws, plastering her signature smirk on her maw. This was no stranger. She had only met the male once or twice in her life, but Akuma’s memory was as sharp as ever — much to her dismay. “Ari,” she said. Her tone was more pragmatic than anything else, as if she had only said his name for the sake of her memory rather than as a formal greeting, and this boy was entitled to a formal greeting, as the sole Elder of the Lunarie Tribe — at least, he was the sole Elder the last time she heard. But Akuma was not one for formalities. She finally looked over her shoulder, ghastly grey eyes meeting his pale lavender ones. Ari did not know who she was now; he only knew the belligerent demon that led his tribe member astray. She was a brilliant actor, and, aside from her leaner figure, sharper features, and longer hair, one could not tell that she was only the mere shadow of her former self. It would seem as though she had not changed at all, for Akuma knew all too well who she was many moons ago, and she knew how to rekindle that vicious girl who she repressed deep within her. She did not intend to let Ari see past this façade of ferocity. It would be better for the both of them. “Finally coming out of your cave?” she said mockingly as she prowled over. She could not say that she knew Ari well; she only knew who he was and what he thought of her. She felt a twinge of pride. Not many foxes are known as well as she, even though she was and would forever be remembered in infamy. “It’s kinda funny,” she spoke again. “I’ve been running into quite a few of your cohorts in recent times, more so than any other foxes. I’m beginning to think you guys miss me.” She sneered. She had almost forgotten how incredibly sardonic she was, and frankly, she could not help but find this to be rather entertaining. It was much more amusing than constantly brooding in the dark, living from day to day, with no where to go and no where to return to. She could not help but wonder if her wanderings were finally leading her home, or to what had been her home. She was seeing quite a few of these foxes from the old tribes, which concerned her. She did not know how she felt about returning home. All she did know is that she was not ready to return home.
She did not believe that she would ever be ready. |
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Posted: Wed Dec 18, 2013 10:41 pm
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‘Finally coming out of your cave?’ Akuma mocked.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Ari snarled as he narrowed his pale eyes at her. Not one for violence normally, but this vixen tore it out of him like a blow . “It’s been so peaceful the past few years, but now here you are, back again like a bad penny."
‘I’ve been running into your cohorts,’ she said. Taunting him. It was effective nonetheless. “Been running into who?” he demanded, his tone biting, effectively distracted from his previous question. Not Anjafey, not again... He couldn’t take one single more betrayal from the purple vixen, without banishing her from the tribe. Nato would just have to deal with it, co-leader or not. Let Nato banish himself as well, for all Ari cared, if Nato truly felt that strongly about her. Nato was his friend, but Nato was also Anjafey’s mate. If Anjafey betrayed Ari or the tribe one more time, Nato was going to have to pick a side.
Perhaps, he wondered, perhaps this had all happened for a reason. Perhaps the Moon Fox wanted him to see this, to see Akuma, and to know that some of his ‘cohorts’, as she called them, had been returning to her. Perhaps the Moon Fox wanted him to know that he could not settle down and spend the rest of his life in peace as he had previously thought, or as much peace as he could have, between the uneasy truce with Anjafey and his distant relationship to his own children.
Perhaps it was a message, or a warning, that Akuma and those like her, were still out there in the world, still causing trouble, not just for strangers, but for foxes from his very tribe.
Or perhaps it was nothing, nothing at all but a coincidence. The Moon Fox did not readily interfere in the lives of her followers. For her hand to be in this seemed contrary to her very nature. It had been nothing less than the death of one of her two Elders, Ari remembered bitterly, that had prompted her first, and only, visit to what was now solely his tribe.
No. He cut off his own train of thought, cut off the memories that were beginning to resurface, wounds he had thought long closed that were beginning to reopen. It didn’t matter what had brought him here, or why, or even if there was a reason at all. All that mattered was that he was here now. That, although he had now been sidetracked from his mission, Akuma was there, standing tall before him, throwing challenges in his face, taunting him with the ‘cohorts’ that had returned to her.
There was only one last thing to respond to, one last thing to say to her.
“No one misses you, Akuma.”
Maybe it was wrong. Maybe Anjafey and the rest of those vixens did miss this devil-fox. But he didn’t want her—no, he couldn’t let her—think that she was welcome around any of his tribe members. Not even Anjafey. Even if Anjafey had betrayed him yet again.
If she had, well...he would deal with it later. Once he had dealt with Akuma. Once he had found his sister again, and proven to himself that she was alright.
Right now, Anjafey was the least of his worries.
As for the most? It was a tie; while he knew his sister was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and her tribe, it still wasn’t like her to be late, and that worried him, pointed toward something, somewhere, having gone wrong. Perhaps deathly so.
But then there was Akuma, a fox perfectly capable of killing. A fox who claimed that ‘his’ cohorts had come to her. His tribe members, he thought.
As a brother, he had a duty to make certain Rina was alright. As an Elder, it was his duty to protect the tribe from threats like Akuma.
What to do? That was his fault in life: he could never figure out where his personal life should end, and his Eldership begin. Should he ignore Akuma, and go on his way? Should he try to deal with her? But how?
For all that he loathed her, everything she stood for, everything she had done, he couldn’t stomach the thought of outright killing even Akuma. And with Akuma, wasn’t that the only way to be certain she would stay away? He had thought her long gone, but here she was again, proving him wrong, and worse, proving she was stronger than ever; that she had weaseled her way into the lives of ‘his cohorts’.
No, he couldn’t kill even her. But he couldn’t think of any other way to keep her away from him, from his tribe, from everything he held dear, and had a duty to protect.
She was frustrating—no, infuriating. Even in her inaction, even her mere presence, was infuriating, for he could think of nothing to do, nothing to say, no way at all, besides the one he had rejected out of hand, to stop her from whatever new evil she had planned.
Moon Fox preserve him.
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