YES. An update. Finally.
Part Four: Winter
1. Solstice
The shortest day of the year lingered, an unwanted shadow, over Terra Vale and her inhabitants. Snow blanketed the ground...No, more like drenched it. Seeped down with shivering fingers. You could call it heaven or you could call it hell. Could call her angel or call him devil.
This puzzle of a season whispered threads of death and beauty all over the earth, whispered strands of shaking laughter and crooning screams.
The white doves sat in the snow like sacrifices, each one.
...
Seven pairs of quivering eyes spread open, sliding across glistening eyeballs that took in the first strands of dawn. Hands tangled with grass and blankets, bodies rolled, breaths quickened.
"...Morning."
"Morning."
Stand.
Stretch.
An ancient routine, repeated with dull monotony.
Which is broken by a scream.
...
Scurry, run, hurry, run...
...
In hindsight, perhaps I should not have taken us here.
Winter is dangerous.
Trees are made of shadows and the innocent snow hides ghastly deaths.
Reader, have you ever seen red on white, blood on ice?
You do not want to.
The white makes the red all the worse.
...
"What's wrong?!"
Piper is on her knees, clutching her ribs, sobbing at a patch of cold metal.
Arms wrap themselves, flesh-colored ribbons, around her shaking frame. "You alright?"
Bruises indicate a fall.
A rumpled heap of covers indicate a nightmare.
Screams indicate that it was about death.
She grabbed the first person who entered her line of vision--it happened to be Finn--and moaned desperately into his pajama'd shoulder. "Oh, my god...Oh, my god...Don't go away..."
Finn, for the first time in his life, hugged her back with no shame. "C'mon, Piper. It was just a dream."
"Someone's going to die...!"
"No one's dying."
"Someone's leaving..."
"No one's leaving."
Aerrow watched, desperate and helpless, from the sagging doorway. Why couldn't he move? Why couldn't he hold her as Finn was: Easily, as a friend? Every time he touched her skin, he burned with WANT. He wanted her more than he could ever put into words. The feel of her chest against his and her face in the crook of his neck and her breath--
...
The ship reverberated with her yell; the Dark Ace heard it from where he had been sleeping. His head was frozen to the ground, glued there by ice and snow and silly pain.
By the time he pried himself free, her sobs had subsided.
His breaths were evenly spaced, calm and smooth.
This was not the way he had expected her to greet him.
Standing, to find himself covered with ice, and chilled to the bone, he lifted his eyes to the pasty-white sky. Like a white dish-cloth, thrown with runny blue jeans into the washer.
Wrung out to dry.
Bird-splattered, cloud broken.
An unseemly metaphor for his ripped up soul and disheveled heart.
...
Had she been home, she'd be curled up before a fire. Outside would be magic.
The warm glow of the flames would wrap around her, a blanket.
Yet here, she was lost. Searching for something that had been missing for far too long. She felt so much like a child, so torn between right and easy. The flowers had died where they stood and the trees had withered, naked without the warmth of branches. The ugly and surreal summer, the naive spring, the matured fall, it had all led to this: pale and cold and empty death.
"Finn?"
She was still holding onto his arm, long after the others had gone. Sitting side by side on the cold floor, they stared at the ceiling together.
"Yuh-huh."
"Don't ever lose me."
Silence.
"I wouldn't dream of it, Piper."
He means every word.
...
Stork stares, quiet, out over the white-ness-osity.
His eyes search for color but find none.
Just black and white and gray.
Odd. He should be loving this. It's dark and it's lonely, bleak and hopeless.
But for some strange reason, he itches blindly for something bright.
"How hard..."
Stork looks up. Junko is sitting at the table, placid and calm.
"How hard do you think it would be, to grow a flower in this weather?"
The Merb sags. The Wallop stiffens.
Stork considers it for a few long moments, before mumbling a quick and truthful answer.
"...Hard," he says."
"Wanna try?" Junko blurts.
They both stare vacantly at each other, before the unexpected reply springs forth.
"Sure."
...
Out on the ice slathered roof, Aerrow and Radarr sit side by side.
Silence reigns supreme.
"Well, here we are."
"Reep."
"Cold."
"Reep."
"Tired."
"Reep."
"Hungry."
"Reep."
"I hear ya."
...
2. Mirror, mirror, on the lake
I feel sorry. Desperately so.
But we can't leave, not now. We are glued to the ice and we must wait for the world to melt.
I promise, spring will come.
Sooner or later, flowers will bloom.
It is always darkest before the dawn.
Take my hand. We're in this together.
Stories rise and fall.
Watch.
Wait.
...listen.
...
"Do you think there are any seeds on the ship?"
Stork and Junko peruse the Condor for anything that could bloom. At the moment, Merb and Wallop would settle for turnip seeds, if only they'd appear.
"Maybe we should ask Piper."
"...No."
"Why not?"
"Piper's sad right now."
"All the more reason to grow a flower and make her feel better!"
Junko bounds away. Stork admires his endless reserves of energy.
They arrive at the supply closet and open the door, listening to the frozen joints scream as they turn. Junko turns on the light and they glance inside. It is filled with junk of all kinds, nameless in their miscellany. Stork sighs and steps forward.
"Let's get lookin'."
...
He watches the ship from afar, waiting in a predatory stance.
The two hearts inside him are no longer fighting. They are worn out, tired, sleeping side by side. Not out of love, but out of shame.
He reaches deep within himself and pulls her failing soul out. Holds it in his hands and feels it shudder in the cold.
Kisses it.
Sets it free.
Go home.
...
At around noon, when the white glare of sun on snow makes everything become frightfully clear, she puts on her sunglasses and sneaks out of the ship.
She swears no one sees her go.
But she is wrong.
The lake is no longer the thing of beauty it was during the summer. It is cloaked in steely ice, a restricting cage for its sleeping residents. Cautious, she places her foot on the surface. Then leans forward. It does not crack.
Piper sets both feet upon the ice. She is standing. She is firm.
Sliding towards the center, she stares up at the great yellow sun. She dances beneath the spotlight.
How simple everything was, before I told him I loved him.
How beautiful, how clean.
Wash me of my sins, sun.
Burn them away.
I have wronged.
Let me be free.
...
Aerrow stands on the pier, watching Piper slide about the ice, oblivious to his presence. Her sleek little frame and deep blue hair, the only specks of color visible, move around with perfect grace.
She skates, swims, dances, prances--
TRIPS.
"Piper!"
He jumps onto the ice, forgetting that it just might crack, and bounds towards her, arms outstretched. Just as her head is about to hit the frozen ground--
"Gotcha."
She blinks a few times. The sun is in her eyes. She sees jagged hair and feels sturdy hands.
"...you?" she rasps.
Then her vision focuses and she sees who it really is.
"Hey," he says, lifting her up. "You alright?"
She nods.
He smirks and lets go of her waist. "You look like you're kind of...out of it."
"I'm fine."
He sighs and his eyes cloud over.
"Were you expecting someone else?"
"No," she snaps, a little too fast.
He inches closer. His breath encircles her neck. Kiss him, her brain whispers. Kiss him. Thank him.
She waits for her heart to say otherwise, then realizes it is not there.
She turns and presses her lips to his.
Out on the ice, Piper makes yet another betrayal.
...
Night. It is night. The moon is looking for its reflection in the water, but sees only a smudged up figure below. A sheet of ice.
Someone is standing in the snow, shuddering as she stares out across the frozen lake.
She begs for redemption and the arms of a lover.
...
God is not fair.
Life is not fair.
The World is not fair.
...
3. Roses
"Got it? Got it? Good."
Junko nodded and rattled the little packet they had found. A small rustling came from within, sorta like those bean-bags they used to play with back on his terra. Meanwhile, Stork was peering through the frosted glass of a very heavy looking helmet. ("That packet is unlabeled. We have no idea what could be in there. It could be Venus Fly Trap seeds, for all we know." "Does that mean it'd eat Finn again?" "Yes." "Oh. And that's bad, right?" "...I feel like I should say yes but can't.")
There was a pot of frozen soil from outside, a heat lamp from Stork's desk, and a small glass of melted snow, which swirled around in its container, still not used to being trapped.
"Ready?"
"Yep."
The packet was ripped open and the seeds patted into the soil.
The Rubicon was passed.
Stork turned on the heat lamp, Junko poured the water, and both of them waited.
"See anything?"
"...No."
...
Everyone is always striving for a purpose. We always need to know the reason we were placed on Earth, be it murder or ressurection, loving or hating. Perhaps that is what seperates us from ants. There is more to humans than finding food and water, reproducing to bring forth a new generation.
Some people know what they are meant to do from day one.
Others never truly understand themselves, and are caught in limbo for eternity.
We are meant to do more than just take up space.
We are.
We are, we are, we are.
...
When night fell, there was a fearful swallow of pride.
He was absolutely frozen. There was no shelter, there was no heat. He could barely make a fire to keep himself warm.
What was he supposed to do for food and clothing, kill a bear?
He wasn't about to go all "pioneer."
The ship cast a gray silhouette on the untouched snow. He walked across it, breaking the thin and icy surface, towards the ramp. His fist was raised and ready to knock.
Then he saw something, sitting near the door. Soft and waiting, warm and poised.
For him.
...
Right after dinner, which consisted of canned beans, Piper stared out into the expanse and watched.
I know he's still out there. He's cold. He's hungry.
What's he gonna do, kill a bear?
She got together a few cans of extra food and looked around for something to serve as a blanket.
The parachutes would have to do.
Tossed everything from the hanger into a neat pile near the door, sitting in the snow like some kind of semi-functional ice boat.
Then went to bed, feeling slightly better than usual.
...
"Has anything happened to it yet?!" Junko's persistent bellows resounded through the ship, shocking the other occupants silly. Stork pried the bloom-less pot from the Wallop's massive digits, before setting it carefully back onto Junko's desk.
"Eh-heh, Junko...Maybe we should keep the pot in my room. It's got better...light."
"But you blacked out all the windows!"
"Junko!"
"Okay, okay. Your room."
...
In the morning light, the Dark Ace took a good look at the blanket he'd wrapped around himself the other night. The Storm Hawks' bright blue insignia stood out against the rest of the fabric.
Oh, the irony.
The chipped and fading raven on his chest was not pleased.
Yet, sides didn't matter here.
He was in No Man's Land, and there was no escape.
...
Ice is branching out across the glass, fragile arms seeking out refuge. How desperately it wants to become water, how achingly pained it is! Shrieking, crying.
The sun doesn't seem to care.
There must be a God, somewhere, who is dictating every movement in the universe. Some master puppeteer.
The strings are slowly fraying, however.
Someday we'll reach up and cut ourselves loose.
...
Her hands were wrapped loosely around his. She was asleep and he was watching her do so.
Breathing soft and quiet, even, rhythmic. He brushes a lock of blue hair from her face and sighs, his breath tangling with hers, drifting solemnly through her eyelashes and twisting to land on her lips. He loves her. He knows he loves her. He cannot be just selfish; he is not selfish. He is honorable. He is good. He has tangled her heart in his fingers and is quietly nursing it back ot life.
He loves her so much, it has turned his insides into sharp razors, into a weight pulling consistently on the bottom of his heart.
Aerrow rises and casts one final look out the window. As he turns, he gets an uncomfortable feeling of having left something important behind.
...
Parachute silk warms his skin. The fire is slowly beginning to melt the surrounding ice.
Something in the forest moves swiftly, brushing across the undergrowth.
The Dark Ace stands, reaching behind himself to grab the rusty handle of his sword. Corroded by lake water and dew and melting winter.
But its still sharp.
From the brush comes a flash of red and it stares him in the face, sly golden eyes cutting into his red ones. It is leering, bushy winter coat a splotch of deadened blood splattered across the snow. Yellowed canines sparkle with saliva.
Nothing is forever.
Somehow, the Dark Ace refuses to accept the message. He smiles back and sets the sword down.
"You want me?" he bellows. "Come and GET ME."
The fox dances in place a little longer. The Dark Ace starts to feel uncomfortable in his own feather-light skin.
Maybe later.
And then its gone.
Over the rise to wherever spirits rest when their duty is done.
...
"Nothing is forever, eh?"
The fire crackles in agreement.
He laughs.
...
Stork has peeled the paper from his windows, sun-bleached and more brown than black. Fraying at the edges.
Pure and white sunlight comes through, stroking the soil. Enticing something to grow.
Faint sprinkles of water are placed lovingly on the seeds, which sleep quietly, waiting to be born.
Winter, the Merb realizes, is just waiting.
Waiting for spring, for golden sun, for color.
...
4. Hide and Seek
Peeking over the horizon, here come the stars.
...
5. Revelation
Maybe its not so bad here after all.
The fox strikes again, mua-ha-ha-ha-ha! Happy spring break.