A piece that's not Fem!Connor for once, and not a reply to a tumblr blog ask! Sometimes I worry that people think that's the only thing I'll write. Quite the contrary. I'll post these pieces every now and again.
A ToKW drabble. Sort of spoilers ahead, but they are mostly generalities. But, of course, read at your own risk if you have not played the DLC.
It is the lonely winter nights. The lonely winter nights in which the sound of breathing is as loud as the explosion of a pistol. The lonely winter nights where everything is frozen and life is hard to find. It is on these nights that Ratonhnhaké:ton hears the howl of the wolf.
And these howls, warming his body just at the thought of life somewhere outside of the cave in which he hides, is enough to make him rise from the floor of the cave upon which he has tried for far too long to sleep upon.
There is no denying the urge to run the snowy hills at night. It is the inevitable calling of the Sky World that forever distorts his thoughts, his reality.
In the moonlight, his pack shines as brightly as the stars themselves. The native holds out a curious, hopeful hand. His numbed fingers find serene fur, thumb stroking over it as though he cannot believe it is real, even after all of this time. And it is not, he knows. But there is hope in thinking that he is not truly alone in this dark world laden with grief as deep as the snow.
It is in these moments that Ratonhnhaké:ton begins to realize the meaning behind his mother's cautioning words.
As long legs carry the native through the hard-packed snow, his pack follows at his heels. Their steps barely disturb the layer of white the coats the ground. Their panting and barking is a chant that patterns Ratonhnhaké:ton's steps. These creatures are everlasting companions, unafraid of death, for it could not steal away their frosty breath. In these moments, the native feels just the same.
Immortal. Untouchable. New.
Ratonhnhaké:ton cannot count the dead upon his fingers. Friendly and loving souls had been snatched from his grip. And what of those who had not lost their bodies, but their minds? So many came to mind that it made the pack leader sick to his stomach. This world is ridden with death. How is it fair that he felt so untouchable, then, when death had claimed so many others?
In the moonlight, the destruction of the frontier is surreal. It was so bright at night - each detail pronounced, even clearer than in the daylight. Even the tiniest movements of a rabbit could be noticed and acted upon. The rustling of branches, the steady drips and drops of streams that had yet to freeze over. It was overwhelming to the senses, but when you walked with one foot in the Sky World, it was the perfect atmosphere.
As he sits upon a frozen stump to rest, skin numb with the cold, he notices the destruction of a caravan not far away. Bodies crippled and frozen look like ice sculptures. One of his pack has taken interest in it and scavenges the remains. The second wolf ducks its head low, paws dipped in the cold stream. It drinks from the water, unafraid and unaffected by the cold. The third comes to sit against Ratonhnhaké:ton's leg, contenting itself with the affection the native's large hands deliver.
It was disturbing, the lack of warmth these animals carried. To touch them, to have them close, delivered no presence to the senses. There was no transfer of heat. Even as he combs his fingers through the thick fur, he feels only the prickle and no more.
It was in this way that the loneliness seeped back into the native's thoughts. His eyes are downcast. His unoccupied hand rubs at his numbed cheeks.
There was much to contemplate in these times. Contemplate the reason he survived, even now. Those who were left of his tribe had scattered, freed from the bondage of Washington and the bondage of the tribe in which they had belonged. Stripped of home and comfort, many had gone to pursue something more. Something far away, out of the clutches of the King and of the cold.
But what more was there for this weathered warrior? His only motivation was revenge, and hollow promises made to avenge the deaths of so many whom he loved. And yet, he knew nothing of the truth. Still he stumbles into situations, immersed in confusion and naive to the details of this world into which he had been thrusted.
It is these dangerous thoughts that provokes the wolf at his hip to turn its jaws on the man's affectionate hand. The loyal creature snaps it's head around, sinks it's teeth into Ratonhnhaké:ton's flesh. A snarl echoes from its throat. The man gasps, but does not try to pull away.
Ratonhnhaké:ton's thoughts are forced out of the subject, eyes forced away from the icy waters that flow despite the ice. Only then does the wolf remove its teeth. Instead it laps at the blood that bubbles up from the fresh wound with its glimmering tongue.
The other two wolves have found their way back to their leader. Huddled together, Ratonhnhaké:ton feels unity and understanding. His pack knew his feelings, and never let his stray from the path he needed to take.
No, he was not immortal, and that was the gift delivered unto him from the Sky World. He still bled. He still felt the cold of winter and the sting of loneliness. His mother had said that a feeble mind could not handle the tea - that it would break any man if they were not of the right mind.
No, Ratonhnhaké:ton can't help but think. No, it was not the Sky World that broke him. In fact, the powers gifted unto him, the companions handed to him, were what was keeping him cemented in this world. They kept Ratonhnhaké:ton from his grief, from his confusion. From the deep despair that seemed to wait around every corner, ready to trick him into falling into its depths.
Perhaps his pack was not feasible, tangible in the sense of the rest of the world, but they were a part of him and they were alive, fighting on despite the cold of the winter.
It was the only excuse Ratonhnhaké:ton could tell himself to explain the reason he craved to run the forests at night. Only then did he know himself, and only then could he convince himself that he fought for a real cause, in a real world, where death was the norm and nothing was permanent.
It was reality, a reality that Ratonhnhaké:ton had resolved never to hide from.