Why the Wind howls

TA 2909

Raven's POV

Dunland drew me without mercy. I did not want to go back, but I had to. There was no way around that. Things were not finished, not until the Hawk Dance. And not for me, either

I knew Gildor found the region little enticing, with harsh weather and a rough countryside. It was only sparsely settled, but we had to be vigilant constantly. The last time we had been here it had been spring as well, a cold and wet spring. Now it was early summer, and once more the weather was still cool and wet. I had taken a different approach to the land this time, travelling on an old, half-perished track along the mountain-side. I knew this one well. We came to a faded crossing, where the rock walls were scratched and smeared with several old marks Orcs sometimes used. The path divided, one track going downhill and leading into the lower lands, the other continuing with a slight rise and eventually curving into the mountains.

We had had built a shelter in the lowlands last time, but now I chose the way into the mountains without hesitation. Soon we reached a wide rocky valley, full of cracks and small rivers, interspersed with thickly wooded pockets. Before entering it I went on a full circuit. Gildor waited on a ledge overlooking a small pond. He felt considerably better without the pouring rain and as a consequence was much more relaxed about my wolfish fancies now that his possessions were kept dry and the nights not spent in unceasing wetness. This time, though Faire had not come with us, we had even taken oiled skins and a small shelter with us. That meant lugging heavier packs about, so I had to compromise in being wolf much less often than before, carrying my share of the luggage. But that couldn't be changed, and at least we slept dry. And the wolf was receptive to comforts as well.

A sharp wind blew and thick greyish white clouds raced across the sky when I returned. I settled myself beside Gildor, fixing a stare on the little fish below. Too fast now, too small for the time it took to hunt them. Abruptly, I looked away from the fish and into the slope behind the pool, unmoving for a long while. I was glad having come here as wolf first. Memories had less impact on him.

'We could go in now' I said finally, rising and carefully stepping down the rocks to scale the pool's edge. The still water reflected the surrounding rocks and bushes perfectly. The sky was a hazy greyish colour, like another boundary below the surface of the pond. Shech'khai yelo. The fish darted away when I brushed the water with my muzzle. The world beyond shattered, like they said the shadow shattered when the Hawk flew through it.

Along a thin trail we crossed a patch of young birches. As I had expected we found a comfortable cave here. It was located under an overhanging cliff, stretching back into the rock. The floor was smooth and covered in dry sand. Beside the entrance water trickled down the rocks and flowed into a small channel. It had been empty for a long time. It had not been flooded for some time either. As the snow was mostly gone from the heights I guessed we needed not fear that would happen again before the autumn rains began.

I rounded the space once, hiding behind the calm acceptance of the wolf. In the smooth sand, tracks were only shallow puddles. For a moment, I had to close my eyes. It seemed a very ironic twist this, to remember it now. But Fingal's song belonged to our homeland, our summer-land. The sand of the Evermoving's shores was firm and preserved the tracks of walkers for a long while. Until the next wave.

I would have kept wandering through summer once more, but I knew how little Gildor relished the idea now. We had done that the first time in Dunland, and this time I owed him at least the little comfort a cave like this could offer. I had long debated with myself which cave to choose, and this one was the largest and most comfortable.

This was also the one with the most unpleasant memories.

Not far from here was a small clearing. The small clearing in which Orcs had surrounded me and my brother many moons ago. I could not stay here now without going to that place. I had come here for just that purpose. I just could not decide if I wanted to do it later or get it over with. I lay down and watched Gildor make himself at home. There was some firewood still stored in the lower part of the cave. Nothing else. The wind picked up and made the bushes outside rush, stirring the sand at the entrance.

'Will you go hunting?' Gildor asked me as he unwrapped a packet of dried berries, giving them an unenthusiastic look.

'Mice?' I could not resist.

"Definitely not!"

I left the cave, leaping up the rocks at the side of the cave. Better hunt than fret. I left the valley itself for this. No sense hunting in the vicinity when I not yet had to. At dusk I came back with two rabbits. I had tried the fish on the way, but they were quick and so small. I did not have the patience nor the time for endlessly stalking then.

The meat sizzled over the flames. I watched it idly, trying to decide if I liked the raw version better. I had taken my rabbit outside again to eat it wolf-fashion, and I knew for all tolerance Gildor did not really relish watching the wolf eat. I could not recall if I had ever said that was the way Ashi'kha usually ate their meat. Probably Gildor had figured that out already, though. He knew we had not had fire before father came.

My thoughts kept returning to a night some time ago. A dark night. New moon. A good time for stealthy attacks. New moon. Black moon. The time when the Wolf did not look here, at his world. With a jolt, I realized it was new moon this night.

Cursed circumstances.

Far away from the Now of the wolf I remembered the slow song in the ancient tongue of my people, so old that not even Nightchaser could translate the words completely any longer. Maybe it had never been words, but only sounds. A lament, the Calaquendi would call it. For the Ashi'kha it had the same name as the emotion. Mourning.

Wolves mourned, too. Wordless. Maybe there had once been a language we had shared, Ashi'kha and wolves. That ancient, wordless song was always joined by the furred ones when they were near.

But then, there were the other songs. Those with words. Wolves did not mourn that way.

Again, I felt the need to hide behind the wolf. We diverged again, and the feeling was wrenching.

If there was a curse on my people, it had nothing to do with shadows and darkness, it was the eternal conflict between the wolf now and the elf immortality.

Wolves and Ashi'kha were made of shadow. We were one. So many Ashi'kha had died before, side by side with the wolves. The world was made of shadow.

Time stretching ahead was not a major concern to us, only the next day, the next season. That was what counted. And still we at odds sometimes, furred and unfurred.

Wolves did not mourn that way.

Sensing my reluctance to change or even speak Gildor dozed beside the fire, one hand on my back, scratching. It was pleasant enough to sleep as well, but neither I nor the wolf found rest.

Shin'a'sha. Shadow of lightning.

The world was made of shadow, and shadow was before the world was. The new world lies beyond the shadow, and when you know what the Hawk does, you can walk the shadow paths and see that world. You can follow the Hawk, and he can lead you.

Maybe that was the meaning of the song, maybe it was not. The words were exchangeable in the old tongue. In the end, they were worthless, too. Words were like traces. They vanished, some sooner, some later, but they always were only a trace, an echo of the speaker, the moment. Never real, never alive.

Thunder path. Wind walker. To die is to walk the Wind, to go with Hawk who is the Wind. With Wind, who is the Hawk.

Never mind. It was all the same, in the end.

The end.

Those who walked that path never returned, whether in shadow or with the wind. The Hawk flew them there, but never back.

New moon.

Gildor's POV

The black left the cave some time after dusk, brushing his muzzle against my cheek. I let the wolf go, knowing he would return some time at night. Raven never left that way when he sensed Orcs. Even alone, it was save enough for me to sleep.

I woke from the rushing of wind. Past midnight. It was cold again, and stormy. No rain.

The wolf was still gone and the fire had died.

As usual, I let a tendril of thought reach for Raven's mind.

I am awake, where are you

The exchange had become so unconscious it felt like a thunderclap when I realized Raven had blocked me out. Completely.

He no longer did so as wolf even when he was hunting. For my benefit dimmed our connection down then, but he was not stalking anything now, I could tell. Though I felt the wolf's single-minded intention and elation of hunting disturbing I was always able – or allowed- to catch at least some echo of my companion to know things were alright.

I debated with myself for a while. I had the feeling Raven simply wished to be left alone and was very much inclined to respect that. But I couldn't help worrying. It was just that Raven never blocked our connection completely.

The wind took up. No rain still, but the smell of it. Over the wind, I heard a wolf howl far away. It was not the black. Though I had not yet managed to tell even a little of what the wolves were communicating in their howls, I knew at least that particular voice. In the next lull of the wind the howl was answered. That was the black. It was a long drawn sound, almost like a wail. The savage grief in the sound almost made my hair stand on end. This was not the melancholic sound of all wolf speech, but the sensation came through the bond I shared with the Raven. Beyond the shielding. Or rather, where shields were no longer possible, not after fea-raika.

This was unacceptable. I buckled my own sword on, and then strapped Raven's to my back as well. Raven would not be pleased if I left it in the cave. He was not terribly touchy of others handling his weapon, but it was unspoken law anyway that no sword – any sword – wouldbe left anywhere.

From the outside, the slight bend in the cave hid the light completely from casual glances – no need to douse the fire. I made my way carefully into the wind-swept forest. Raven had shielded alright, but now that I had sensed the slip I knew where to look to locate a trace of him. I followed the telltale echo for a long weary trip, having to rely completely on tracking with my mind. Occasionally the clouds where torn apart, and starlight filtered through. Still, I found enough reasons to curse under my breath. Pits, huge thickets full of thorns, fallen tree limbs, lay right across my path everywhere. And Raven had left no visible trail, it was very dark, and the storm made the brushes and trees hiss and roar.

Everything had remained silent after the first exchange of howls. At least I would not be in danger of running into a whole pack meeting up with the black. It was alright travelling with the changewolf now, but quite unsettling to face true wolves, without the Elven reason and awareness behind their piercing yellow stares. Up to now, I had only encountered the wild wolves Raven had called back in Eregion, and those had mercifully only sniffed at me from an arm's length away. The others – well, their looks had been enough.

I had expected to find the wolf, and sent a tendril of awareness ahead of me when I could tell I was drawing near to Raven. The wolf's reactions when he was ambushed or surprised were deadly. Attack and approach were not always kept apart. Also, I had seen several Orcs go down with a pair of fangs in their throats before they knew what hit them. Raven snapped completely aware of me very late, only when I came out of the trees into a clearing full of high grasses. He was not wolf, and jumped to his feet with a start that gave me a mental echo of the jolt. He transferred a small knife to his right hand, ready to attack, but then relaxed visibly and lowered the weapon.

A blast of wind hit the clearing from above and sent both our hair flying. With an impatient motion Raven swept it out of his eyes. He turned around and dropped to his knees again.

I advanced quietly, walking around Raven to kneel opposite of him, at the edge of a small spot of bare earth that Raven had obviously scraped clear of grass. Only this close I could see that his face was tear-streaked. The strange light of the storm gave him an eerie look.

Things fell into place. The valley. The clearing. Raven had said little, but shared memory provided glimpses of a landscape that fit this one exactly.

"I've heard the wolf" I said softly after a moment.

Raven looked up slowly. "The wolf is not here at the moment"

"No" I reached out to touch Raven's cheek "Wolves do not mourn"

Raven lowered his eyes "I did not call"

"No"

A long silence. Very far away there was thunder. For a moment the storm was utterly still. Raven looked up at the sky "My people" he said, so softly that I had to strain to hear him, "call this shin'a'sha. Thunder road. They say thunder was the shadow of lightning. Shadow path"

"Would you still wish to take that road?"

"Yes" Almost a hiss. "And no"

I brushed across the bare spot of soil "Why?"

Raven drew a ragged breath but did not answer "Here" He held out the knife. It was steel, not of elven make, and rusty. It must have lain around somewhere outside, I guessed. The leather-binding on the hilt was half rotted. Raven would have cleaned and sharpened it tonight. His hand was shaking and he clutched the hilt so hard the muscles on his arm stood out.

"Do you remember…the ritual…of shin'a'sha?"

After a moment, I became aware that Raven had spoken in Ashi'kha, yet the re-opened connection was transmitting the meaning of the weird sounds to me. It was a binding question. If I took the knife now I accepted whatever that ritual included. I thought hard for a moment, digging through the memories I had shared with Raven. I couldn't come up with the exact image but then reached out anyway, closing my fingers on the ragged blade. Raven released his death grip on the hilt.

"You are not binding yourself or me to anything" he whispered in Quenya after a moment when I did not move. "Turn it around…Shina' a'sha is a ritual of mourning and revenge, not to kill the mourner"

"Has revenge made it easier?" I asked after a moment.

"No. But that doesn't matter. Here"

He held out his arm and traced a line from elbow to wrist on the inside of his arm. I swallowed an objection and my unwillingness. Constant fighting and killing might diminish what healing gift I had, but ritual or not, this meant was cutting the living flesh of a friend. I am a healer. Not much of it, but still – I am Elda enough still to abhor the idea of marring one's own hröa. If you keep picking up the sword you can't escape scars, but to wilfully produce them…Damn it, he's Dark Elven. And I should well know they have quite a different view of their bodies. They even tattoo themselves. Shedding blood for a dead person was silly. Probably not. Not for someone whose ancestors had died in the starlit dark of Cuivienen. And not for me either.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. I remembered shin'a' sha now.

"I can do it myself" Raven pointed out tightly when I did not move. "At the moment, your hand is just steadier than mine"

Maybe I did not understand the ritual, but at least the impulse. Determinedly, I took Raven's wrist and quickly drew the knife down the length of his forearm. I only realized he had not shielded when he flinched with the pain. He held out his other arm silently. I bit my lip and repeated the motion

"Hold on" Raven whispered through clenched teeth. He was speaking in Ashi'kha without noticing it, but I caught the meaning just as well. Instinctively I closed my eyes, concentrating on our connection.

Shed blood for those whose own blood has been shed.

The shadow road can only be reached through blood.

Blood is memory.

The words were Ashi'kha, blending several meanings in different codes, yet resolving themselves into a coherent, one-sided sentence. When Raven lowered his shields I completed the connection, sharing into the grief of loss. Through scattered, almost incoherent flashes of memory, down, even beyond the last shields Raven kept around his soul. Somewhere I was still aware of the storm, and that raindrops spattered to the ground. Raven's blood dripped hot over my hands. Further down until even the shared pain became almost unendurable. He was going back where I dragged him from. Why the hell was he doing that to himself, I wondered. Before we touched on the void, the raw place where Fingal's presence should have been, Raven stopped with an effort of will that jolted me right through. The force of his emotion washed over me like a wave. For the first time, and hopefully for the last, I exactly felt what the loss of a soulmate meant.

I had shielded Raven then, yes, but I had kept my full awareness back when I had touched on the void to do so. Now, Raven did not even let me come that close, and even shared it was a thousand times worse than what I had felt in the cave before.

Raven's – no, the wolf's mind - nudged me back, and I realized that with shin'a'sha Raven had deliberately allowed himself to call up and feel the full impact of loss. The memories shared directly through Raven's mind were unfiltered, overlaid with the wolf's perceptions and emotions in an unsettling way. No explanation, no reason, just utter strangeness.

I could not say how much time had passed.

- Hot blood on my hands.

- Grief that was not my own.

I stirred, raised my head. Slowly, I became aware of my own body again. The bare earth spot was soaked in blood. Rain lashed down on us now, washing the blood away from Raven's arms and leaving only the raw cuts.

Raven did not break our connection, but retreated a little. Some time later he slowly straightened from his cower, shaking. Let me go, he mouthed silently. I obeyed. Raven drew back further. Closing his eyes he planted his hands flat on the ground on both sides of the spot. From somewhere he took the strength to reach out – someplace. I felt a thin, sucking flow of power around me. Ward-building energy. Raven called that power from the living things around us, pulled it into himself. Still linked with him I could sense him twisting that power around, making it his own. Something I knew I would not dare to. It warped simple wards into a kind of temporary but half-sentient…thing. Energy. Whatever. The power of the earth itself, of Arda Marred, under the shadow – would it not taint to make that one's own?

I could feel Raven once again calling up the agony of losing his brother, but this time he twisted it into anger, and then hate.

'Anger is power. So is hate.

'Hate can consume you.

'Then it will.

Raven broke the sublime exchange. With a scream he threw his head back and tightened his hands into fist. He slammed them to the ground, releasing the power he had built up and channelling it into one tiny spot of soil.

Shaken and drained I stared as a tiny flame, barely an inch in height and flickering blue, erupted from the fringe of the spot and travelled to its centre in a ring, then went out.

The circle was left bare and blackened.

Thunder rolled, loudly this time.

I shivered. After a moment I stirred - and found myself hesitating to touch the shaking Dark Elf. When I did, Raven showed no reaction. He was crying but made no sound. At a loss, I pulled him into my arms and held him close. The wind drove the icy rain into the clearing. I was drenched right through and the sword harness bit into my side. A flash of lightning followed by a deafening roar of thunder made us both jump.

"Come" I pulled Raven to his feet, casting a last glance at the bare spot, now soaked with rain, and started to make for the cave. Raven straightened, taking most of his weight from my shoulder. A flash of lightning turned his haggard face into a sharp edged relief.

Not even Eöl had held that kind of power, I thought. Or had dared to take that power. And the Dark Elf had had quite a lot of that, too. I had been there, when they had brought Eöl into the city.

Something else nagged at me uncomfortably. When Raven had directed the blow at me moons ago it had not been a one time feat, entirely ascribable to his state crazed by pain. He probably could do it again if he wanted.

Does he ever think about that?

We reached the cave in half the time I had taken to find Raven. The fire had not died completely and I staked it up into a blaze again. Raven curled up beside it, staring unseeing into the flames for a while. He didn't protest when I took some strips of linen and wrapped his forearms with them, covering the cuts tightly. I took off the swords and peeled off my wet clothing, spreading it near the fire to dry. I was too tired to dry my hair and shook up the sleeping furs. Raven did not move.

"Come on" I tugged at Raven's shoulder. After a moment, he responded to the touch and moved away from the fire. I wrapped the fur around us both and shifted into a comfortable position for sleep. I found no rest for a long time. The storm outside did not abate. The gale rushed in the trees and sometimes howled among the rocks with a whistling sound. At least the rain ceased after a while. From Raven's breathing rhythm I could tell he did not sleep either, but he lay quiet and retreated into himself. It was an uncanny thing the way he did that. Had he closed his shields his presence would have simply vanished from my awareness. Raven sometimes did that when he was stalking Orcs, and it had the feeling he wrapped absolute silence around himself. I forced myself to relax, and finally fell asleep.

When I woke next the fire was only glowing ashes. Wind howled outside still, but a faint grey light filtered around the bend in the cave. Raven had curled into his customary ball, a position that made my back ache just from looking. How anyone could truly sleep like that I definitely failed to see. And sleep Raven did, like mortals, unable to seek any kind of controlled dream paths. If he did not shield consciously he was as much prey to nightmares as any human fighter I had known.

Quietly I slipped from under the furs and poked up the fire again, adding new wood. Cold, always the cold. At least the ground was dry and sandy. That was definitely an improvement from the bare forest floor of the last weeks.

Over the day, the storm intensified. Raven woke slowly and around midday called the change to hunt. I stayed in the cave, grateful for the dryness and warmth, but shifting gloomy thoughts. I was relieved when Raven returned some time before dusk. The wolf was sopping wet, and carried a mouthful of silvery fishes with an air of great satisfaction.

'There is more where that came from'

He left for a second trip, obviously picking up what he had not been able to carry the first time, and heaped a veritable amount of fish beside the fire. I took over the remaining preparation of our dinner. Once he had called the change Raven looked exhausted and drawn, but did not mention the last night at all. Some time after nightfall wolves began to howl not far away. Their shifting chorus was often lost in the howling storm, but Raven listened with closed eyes.

"What do they say?" I asked after a while, idly whittling down a branch in the vague hope to smooth it enough for an arrow. I had expected an evasive answer or no reply at all, but Raven looked up "Nothing special. It is just…just for the fun of it. They sing. They are happy. Almost all this year's pups survived. They hunted well tonight. The pack is strong. The wind blows. That is what they say"

"Was there ever a time when you did not understand them? As a child, I mean?"

He was startled at the question "If so, I do not remember it" he said softly "I don't think there was. It is easier to howl than to speak. Maybe I…I remember a time when I could not speak as the adults did. But I cannot remember not being able to howl"

"There was a time when I could confuse a wind's howl with a wolf's in weather like this" I admitted wryly, thinking how silly that must sound to Raven – to a wolf. But Raven did not even smile. He drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them "The Ashi'kha say that the wind howls with wolf voices" he said quietly "There is nothing wrong with that…confusion. I…I have the right to tell that tale. Do you want to hear it?"

At my puzzled nod, he started to speak softly, keeping his eyes on the flames.

"The shaman say, before any World was made, and Shadow was driven back to lie at the edge of it and frame it, before that time, only Wind existed. In that time before World and Shadow were separated, in which World was created out of Shadow, the shaman say, the Wind had wings. The Wind took a body and became Hawk. Hawk did not only ride the Wind, as it looked to those creatures that came later and are earthbound - Hawk is the Wind himself. When Hawk now flies to lead the dead to the World Beyond, the Ashi'kha also say that they Walk the Wind.

After World and Shadow had become different places, the Wind became confined within the World. Beyond Shadow, beyond the places where light and dark alternate, no Wind ever came. It died trying to cross Shadow. But Wind was caught in the World for a long time, and he taught all creatures living there the right way to live. Then Wind took a Voice, and began to carry the voices of others. Wind spoke to them, and they heard, and when the Wind howled, the wolves answered.

The Raven also rode the Wind, and played with him. No matter how strong and wild Wind was, Raven always knew how to fly with him. For a while, Wind was angry, but then he remembered that he himself had taught Raven to fly, and now Raven had found how to fly even better. Only when Wind became Hawk, Raven was bested, and he feared Hawk. Raven was proud though, and when Hawk flew, Raven also rose, and he teased Hawk and chased him.

When he saw the black Raven swooping behind him, Wind was reminded of Shadow. If Raven is a part of that Shadow that remained in this world, and I can best Raven, thought Wind, then I may dare Shadow. And Hawk flew to the edge of the World where Shadow lay, and as Hawk Wind passed even beyond the World, beyond Shadow. He found a World Beyond, a world beyond Shadow, where Death had no power.

When he returned, Hawk could not fly everywhere to spread the news, and so instead Wind passed in all the places of the world and told of what he had found. Even into the deepest caves Wind came, and still today the air down there is never wholly quiet – Wind passed everywhere, and still his passing echoes in those places.

Wolf and Raven were always friends. Raven rode the Wind to follow the packs, and Wind carried the scent of prey to the Wolves. He also carried the scent of hunter to the prey, and both parties decided the hunt. Raven followed them, watching, sneaking among the Wolves when they killed and picking the bones when they had left.

Hawk saw everything through Wind's eyes, and whenever a creature died, Hawk came to guide its soul into the World beyond Shadow. Wind especially loved the winged ones, but when he looked among the hunters, he found that the Wolves were closest to him. His passing brought them news of all kinds, and they read the wind as no other creature did. It was they who answered when the Wind blew, and it was Wind who carried their voices far over the lands when they called to each other.

In that Time, Hawk flew far and wide, and his great wings shone golden in the sun, except when he was trailed by Raven, who flew behind him and cut off the light, casting a rippling shadow on Hawk's bright feathers. The creatures then often saw Hawk, and felt safe because they knew Hawk was there to guide them. But slowly Time changed and was changed, and Hawk no longer flew openly, and could be seen only sometimes, high above, his flight bright against the blue sky. When Wind blew hard in storms, only Raven dared him, and he laughed harshly when the gales drove him across the sky. But Raven, though not as wise as Hawk, knew it was not good that Wind no longer took a body so often, and came in secret only, when the sun just rises above the horizon, above the edge of Shadow, and when Shadow withdraws from the World of Day. In the Time when both Shadow and Brightness share the World, Hawk still flew, and today still flies. A bright Star shines in the sky then, and when the Wolves see it, they know Hawk will come, and they howl before the first light of Day comes into the sky.

But Raven shouted for Wind to appear, and when he did, Raven flew angrily to meet Hawk, and demanded him to return, saying that Dread had entered the World now, and the Nightwind was feared. Wind took thought then, but he realized that Hawk could no longer fly as Raven had demanded. Therefore he told Raven to fly and take a part of Hawk's work, and to fly far and wide and tell the creatures that though Hawk would only fly at Dawn, Wind, as he was Hawk, had still the same power he had had in the beginning, before Wind had taken a body, when he had taught them and they had listened.

Raven flew first to the Wolves, and they cared little how Wind appeared to them. They were the greatest Hunters of the World, and their Song was heard and the message understood by all, Hunter and Prey alike. Only that the wind continued to blow concerned the Wolves. Wind therefore decided he would be a Voice instead, to be ever present, and now a Wolf running softly in the forest is heard only as a whisper of Wind, and the Howl of the Wolf is echoed in the Howl of the Wind. Sometimes, in the season of Raven, when the Storms blow wild and hail and rain lash the land, and in the season of Wolf, when snow falls, Wind becomes visible still. In the snow, the shaman say, you can see the body of Wind, and snow driving down to the earth is like Hawk's feathers when he ends his flight in a dive and comes to rest on the ground"

He looked at me uncertainly "That is the Wind's Tale as I was told it by Nightchaser. It is usually sung, but…I am not a singer…This is also the tale as you may keep it and tell wherever you want and whenever you see fit"

I hesitated. Songs or tales were precious gifts for many peoples who had no writing. Darkstone had told me something like that. What did the Ashi'kha do? Raven said precious little about his people.

"I do not know what the proper response would be to that among your people" I said carefully "But I know that sometimes the Avari trade for tales. Is there something I can offer in return?"

Now Raven looked genuinely startled "I…don't know. I keep them, but…" he broke off.

"You keep them?" I asked curiously. Raven nodded slowly "I am the…the remaining Keeper of the Songs for wolf clan. Niy'ashi and I were. I can not sing, so we shared the…place. I…keep the words and the tales. Niy'ashi kept the…chants. The melodies. They…will have to find someone to take that place if I return…when I return" Raven stared into the fire again "There is indeed something you can give me in return" he said slowly after a while "Though I ask it for myself, not for the whole clan as yet"

I nodded, puzzled, waiting.

"Tell me this: What do you know of houseless fёar?"

I tossed a few broken sticks into the fire and walked over to sit down beside Raven. This was not a topic I relished. Bothering with the unseen was definitely not what I considered my leisure pursuit. It was enough to see and fight the very material effects invisible things had on the world, I did not care to explore the causes. Also it was not something considered proper knowledge. But still, I could say what I knew. Maybe I could find out a little more about Raven.

"Why do you ask? Your brother?-"

Raven closed his eyes for a moment before answering. "I thought he might…be around still. So I tried to call him"

"And did you find…him?"

"Not last night. But before…" Raven broke off.

"You tried looking for…his fёa? How? When?"

"A few moons after…he was slain. And no, I did not find him. But something that was…definitely not Niy'ashi"

"My people believe that the fёa obeys the call to Mandos immediately" I said slowly "Communion with the dead is…not only forbidden but outright dangerous. At least so I have been told. Maybe therefore no one knows what's going on in the shadow world between Arda and Mandos. Maybe we should bother to find out. If fading is the same as becoming houseless"

Raven looked at me searchingly "So" he said after a moment of silence. "I thought you might know…what I found. What I could have found. How I could have found out…if it was…had been…Niy'ashi once-"

"I…do not know…where you looked" I said slowly. "I do not now what places one could look for the dead" I took a deep breath. I had grown used to the wolf, to the wild magic Raven used, his strange way of mind-speaking. But the dead – I sighed. Silmarussё had obeyed the summons. I knew.

"Let me correct that" I said softly "I know where to look for the fёar of my people. But you are asking for Ashi'kha fёar"

I had known Raven would immediately put one and one together.

"You looked for her as well"

It was a statement. I had never told anyone except Silverleaf. It was no use getting accused of heresy on top of perverted love. Raven, in any case, was not going to rail either, it seemed. I nodded "The night she was killed. Almost…well, a few hours afterwards. She…was not there…anymore"

Raven looked away for a moment "So there isa way to find the dead. If they are there, that is…You know nothing in my wildest dreams would have made me guess you might have tried that path. You must have been pretty desperate then"

I suppose my silence was enough answer for him "The houseless ones can be strong" I said abruptly "Did you think about that? You cannot key your searching to one fёa alone. You could have found yourself out of your body and in…in between or wherever?"

"I thought of nothing" Raven said "I'm not shaman. I wanted to know if Fingal had gone or was still around. In whatever form"

"Why did you do that last night?"

"You do not answer my question"

"Answer mine first"

Raven frowned irritably, rubbing the bandages on his arms. "It's all about hate, you know?" he snapped "And I did that before, going back. When I tried to find Fingal. That is the way we can look for fёar. The way Nightchaser told me"

I remained silent, so Raven went on "That searching requires a full trance – I think that works the same in our races. Though it was not 'going back' really. It was all around me at that time. What I know about the houseless ones for sure is this: Some of the…spirits that make a werewolf into one are…were…Elven once. That is why they are too strong to be destroyed, and we can only break their hold over the body they inhabit….Can your people talk to them?" Raven added "Or if they met werewolves, could they drive the spirits from their…carriers? Hosts?"

"Yes, to the first question, as far as I know, no to the second. And don't bother to ask, except the thing with Silmarussё I have never tried either. And I prefer a bow or a spear to deal with any were-creature I might meet. I don't know anyone who might risk losing his body to a corrupted fёa for the sake of the creature it possesses at that moment. Besides, I don't think anyone knows your definition of werewolf"

"It's not mine, it's Nightchaser's, and I can prove it anytime you want. Find me a werewolf and I will show you"

"Most certainly I won't. But tell me – has nothing ever gone wrong? Did never one of your people lose such a…battle?"

Raven shook his head, staring at his scratched hands thoughtfully "No. What if you would have found her?" he said abruptly.

I gave a wry laugh "Only you could ask that!"

"Yes, maybe. Because I think you would have…the thought to…let her in must have occurred to you"

I watched him for a long moment "It is said that it works – but as to how, I do not know. The…dream paths can take you to a place where you can communicate with those who went west. Sometimes. Sometimes not. And only if they you seek are willing. But never with the ones who are…dead. Not with Silmarusse" I paused "We can search the dream-paths if you want. But you said before you did not know them. Even if we went there, I doubt we could find Fingal's fёa there…I know where I looked for Silmarussё. I could lead you there as well"

Raven bit his lip "A foolish and perilous thing, a wrong deed justly forbidden by the rightful rulers of Arda", that is what your people say, isn't it? You know, to the wolf that is but black marks on paper, and words hold no power for him – but father quoted that at Nightchaser when he realized what shin'a'sha could be. I know I have no right to accept that offer, let alone to have you asked that"

I shrugged.

"You would do that?"

I took a deep breath "I might be hung for horse rather than just a sheep. Yes"

Chapter Notes:

Arda Marred: In Athrabeth Finrod a Andreth Finrod says"for you live in Arda Marred, as do we, and all the matter of Arda was tainted by (Melkor), before ye or we came forth and drew our hröar and their sustenance therefrom"

Eöl again: was it just Eldarin arrogance that he was called the Dark Elf, or was there more to it? What did he learn of the Dwarves besides their smith-craft? His "enchantments" which he "set about" Aredhel "so that she could not find the ways out" (The Silmarillion) of Nan Elmoth would seem to have been either too strong or too foreign to be broken by her – and she was certainly a powerful Elf. So- he probably had some skills that moved the other elves to call him Dark Elf not only because he lived in Nan Elmoth (in The War of the Jewels Eöl is even said to have learned his craft during slavery in Thangorodrim -).

Houseless ones: "Some say that the Houseless desire bodies, though they are not willing to seek them lawfully by submission to the judgement of Mandos. The wicked among them will take bodies, if they can, unlawfully. The peril of communing with them is…peril also of destruction. For one of the hungry Houseless, if it is admitted to the friendship of the Living, may seek to eject the fёa from its body…" (Morgoth's Ring)

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