(3/12) Notes: Rangers stuff? No…I'm trying to mention as little from the show as possible so that it only requires a couple of minor changes in order to make this readable for friends and family. Sorry to disappoint you on that note, but I hope you're still interested anyway. This chapter was going to be the last, but then I started adding a whole slew of scenes, and decided I'd better just update as much as I had complete.
Split in three sections, overlap and criss-cross, tie the end, and repeat…few things were as soothing as braiding. It was not her own hair moving under Kimberly's hand, however, but Darka's mane.
"Pity they don't make hair dye for horses," she sighed, lifting a few more strands of the mare's formerly black but now sun-browned locks. It was the price every dark horse paid to spend time under summer sun, though in reality it didn't hurt the horses, only the vanity of their owners. As far as Kim was concerned, no equine ought to be deprived of freedom just to be aesthetically pleasing, so she put up with the annual loss of ebony. Darka's mane was neither as long nor as lustrous as Fireside's, but she chose her because it always seemed too feminine to braid the geldings.
"Not even sure why I bother," she mused after a moment. "You have an incredible knack for working them out in 24 hours no matter what I do." Darka snorted and shifted her weight, cocking a hind hoof in a gesture of sleepy contentment, so Kim continued her work. These were not the tight knots of show-jumpers, merely loose and uneven weaves. It was not an especially attractive look, but the repetitive pattern helped calm her nerves and reorganize her thoughts. Today was not the first time she had done so, nor would it be the last.
After a moment, the horse swung her head around and vigorously rubbed her head against her owner's legs. Kim knew the gesture was more about knocking away stubborn flies than showing affection, but she couldn't help but feel loved when Darka followed this gesture by hanging her head over her shoulder. Kim slipped her arms around the horse's neck and hugged her back, face hidden against the animal's powerful, solid presence. Its sleek coat was pleasantly warm with absorbed heat from the sun, and standing there in the open pasture, if only for a moment, life made sense.
Kimberly fielded calls from Aisha, Adam and Billy in a single day, the irony of the order not lost on her. With every subsequent call she knew she ought to explain more, knew she should tell them about the secret hidden away in her drawer, but somehow the words never completely formed themselves. Friends drifted in and out without knowing what to say to her, although not for lack of trying. It was ridiculous to think she had to handle this on her own. The power of the spirits had lain in their teamwork, six individual parts making up a whole, but for reasons she simply could not voice, this time it was about the individual. So she accepted their condolences in brief conversations while simply telling them to keep a positive outlook. On her own time, she alternated humble prayer with reflections on Dulcea, trying to remember every word the spirits' keeper had told her about the crane.
Her visits to Tommy continued regularly, and though she always remembered to tuck the image into her purse or pocket, it became more of a habit than a conscious action. On one trip, she told him all about the latest exploits of the raccoons, including Bandit's nearly pathological desire to bathe in the sink (regardless of whether or not it happened to be filled with dishes at the same time). The females continued to remain strictly outdoor animals, sometimes disappearing for entire day or two. He, however, seemed determined to turn himself into a house pet by emulating everything Ned did.
"But if you don't hurry up and come out of that coma," she warned, wagging her finger at him, "You'll miss their whole cute baby stage, and then I'll have to smuggle them in here. And then I'll get in huge trouble, because if they won't even let therapy dogs in this wing, I can imagine how many heart attacks the staff would have seeing a raccoon sitting on your bed…" Jokes were harder to deliver when you never got a response. She paused to drop a kiss on his forehead. "I love you," she whispered, and left.
It seemed to Kim that summer had just started, and yet when she looked at the calendar, she was shocked to discover it was already the first of August. Time to re-order feed and bedding, she mused. After calling the company – a two-hour adventure in rerouting and incompetent responders – she slammed the phone down in disgust. "I hate them. I need to find a new place to order from. Wasn't I going to switch companies last quarter?" Of course, she hadn't, because as infuriating as it was trying to order, once it was placed they were the only local supplier that would deliver straight to the barn. Glancing at the clock, she realized with horror that she was running late was about to miss her chance to visit Tommy at all today.
Racing straight to the car, she opened the unlocked door and glanced down at her purse. Digging impatiently for the keys, Kimberly missed the black-and-white blur that shot inside and crouched out of sight in the back seat, grinning.
Upon arriving at the hospital, she got out, only to gasp at the sound of a bark in her ear. Whirling with disbelief, she looked behind her and found Wiley sitting up, looking quite pleased with himself. "You stowaway," she muttered. "Something about your brain is scrambled, I swear…" she began, and then realized that Wiley now held something in his mouth, a burnished bronze disc. Eyes wide, she recognized the medallion she would have forgotten if not for her clever terrier.
She took it and looked at him in amazement. "I take that back, dog. There is something spooky about your brain…good boy!" He wagged his stump of a tail and prepared to jump out after her.
"Uh-uh," she countered, pushing him back. "You don't get to come in, not even after that display of wily intelligence." His ears pricked up at the sound of his name, then he seemed to shrug, and curled up on the driver's seat to take a nap. Though the day was not unseasonably warm, she rolled the windows down a bit, locked the door, and left him to guard. Kim would be lucky to steal fifteen minutes, but she hurried inside anyway.
"Thought maybe you'd fallen into a coma yourself," joked one of the doctors, who had told her before that he could set his watch by her regular appearances. She smiled thinly, not interested in chatting.
Once in the room, time seemed slower, more leisurely. The quiet was also a time to think, peacefulness she could not hope to obtain at home, and after a minute Kim drew the circle from her purse to study it. Now, looking at the piece more carefully, she saw things she had never bothered to examine before. On one side, of course, the crane was flying through the air, a simplistic etching. On the other side, however, she discovered the image of a falcon's head, and there, so small she had to squint to see it, in its eye was a tiny shape almost like another bird. At the bottom, scripted carefully in miniscule symbols and translated to English above, read Trinity of Avians. Though its color had dulled in the past month, when she held it up to the light, letting it sway gently on its chain, she caught tiny glints sparkling here and there.
She cocked her head to the side and frowned as she looked between it and Tommy. The falcon. That had been his spirit. Did it have more weight than the crane, then? And what was the third bird in the trinity? Was she missing some key clue?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden change in the monitor, its beeping increasing with alarming speed. Panicked eyes shot between him and the machines, and without being entirely aware of what it meant, Kim knew that this was not supposed to happen. It was a battle for life, and he was losing. It was a sickened realization.
"No-no-no-no-no. Don't do this to me, not after everything else. It can't be too late," she begged. "I'm not losing you…this isn't happening, you can't fail!" she finally wailed in apostrophic despair, not caring where help was or if it was coming at all, just clutching his hand blindly, the medallion in her palm pressed between them.
As though a fire had been kindled, the metal seemed to heat, warming her skin. She felt power flowing from it, until, as in the woods, the crane burst from the surface, draping itself over Tommy, breathing life and grace into him. With a silent scream of triumph, the falcon too burst from the picture, drifting over the crane. Pink and white glows intertwined, a golden tinge cast over them both. Kim watched the spectacle in wide-eyed wonder as the monitors slowed their frenetic pace and calmed themselves, as the outlines of the birds faded. Any moment now, the medical staff would be here, responding to the call that had been so urgent mere seconds ago, but until they did she watched the glowing circles that lingered where crane and falcon had vanished. As they, too, faded, she waited with bated breath…until, groggily, his eyes opened and fixed on her. There was blank confusion for a moment, and then he smiled.
"Tommy!" was her only word as she threw her arms around his neck, a hundred fleeting thoughts channeled into one loving hug.
She wasn't able to stay much longer; there were tests to run and treatment to be administered. With some reluctance she stood up and left him to their care, silently thanking crane and falcon both, sliding the medal as deftly as ever out of sight and into her purse as she did so. All signs pointed towards extremely positive prognosis, and this time she knew there would be nothing else to worry about. Her grin was a mile wide by the time she reached the car, where Wiley was already barking – whether in triumph for the recovery, showcasing that rare and intermittent sign of ESP or merely annoyed with her for having left him alone for so long, she couldn't tell. Still, she cuddled the dog before she drove home, realizing that as infuriating as the beast could be, had he not snuck into the car, had he not been clever enough to grab the item he knew she always carried with, she would not have had the medallion that day. Perhaps she would no longer have Tommy.
"Good boy, Wiley," she affirmed again, nodding at the dog now sitting on the passenger's side. He flicked his tongue between his teeth.