Chapter 48

"Obedience"

The grass was itchy. No matter if I stood or sat or laid down, it poked and prodded at every angle, on every surface, regardless if it was covered in hair or not. I heard voices on the wind. Snatches of conversations not spoken by any creature near or far. Sometimes in the quiet. Sometimes in the gurgle of water or the rustle of grass, in the playful grumblings of the pack, and the loudness of a hunt. I had opened a line of communication to the very land itself and it spoke in ways I did not understand, but rather, felt. I used to listen right away, but it quickly became a ringing in my ear that demanded more and more of my attention with every toll. The voices were restless both day and night. With every sunrise and sunset, it grew harder and harder to ignore them, yet I resisted.

My grudges were settled. The curses cured. Life was supposed to be easy after the war was won although I did not know where I ever came up with such a thought because the wild never granted such favors. I, however, was in an abundance of them. I lost count of how many times I left the pack to placate the pleadings of these mysterious voices. Ever since I reconciled with Exile in the winter, they called me out on missions. Most of which, I never truly understood. I could only assume I was there to keep watch or maintain balance in some way or form. Yet, I went to places that were quite normal. I caught the occasional wandering ghost.

There were times I walked for days on end only to find myself turning around and going back. Once in a while, I came upon a disturbance, an act of the wild in motion, on the rise, or at its conclusion. I continued to help instead of hunt. There was even a time I broke up a fight between a spade tail viper and a ferret cat simply by stumbling upon them. When nothing could be done at all, I settled souls. It felt like the time I came across Warrior and the Wanderers on my way back to the grasslands from the mountains last winter. It was not these rare and infrequent happenings that made the grass most uncomfortable, but the remaining majority I could not find purpose in.

Every time I flicked an ear to those teasing whispers I thought, who is it this time? Did they know me? Did they need me? Did it really matter? These secret sirens were the work of the Spirit and even if the wild could not course through me like it used to, I must go out despite the perils of a lone hunt. I would sooner go mad if I did not answer the call.

Finally, I got to my paws.

Mato looked up from amongst the pack sleeping at the bottom of the hill I stood upon. A few curled up together in the den while the rest rested outside where the spring sun kept them warm enough for dreaming. Mato trotted up the hill toward me with a straight, but easy gait. He was far too quick and strong to take to walking. I only made it a few steps down the hill away from the den before he caught up to me. He stepped on my shadow to keep it in place a moment. I stopped and looked back. Mato stood taller than me with the incline. The daylight made sure I did not miss the full pattern of his marks. He made a striking image against the backdrop of a blue sky at the top of the hill. I waited because such an approach meant he wished to speak with me. He, too, waited, finding what it was he wished to say.

"When will you return?" he asked.

Mato never inquired about my comings and goings before, and because he did, I suddenly felt that this time, I might not because I did not have to. My eyes drifted to the side of him in the direction I knew the pack was safe and happy and healthy. I looked at Mato again, smiling ever so slightly by the way the day made me blink. A shift of weight and Mato Shadow Foot released me.

"Go," he said, quiet for an Alpha, but honored as my pup. "While you still have the light."

Because it had always been my favorite.

Mato looked me over once more before he turned away and trotted down the hill and out of sight with a slip of his mane and tail. I continued on my way in the opposite direction, bound by his last command. Goodbyes were not the way of the wild. Then again, there was just enough strangeness leftover from the past two years to keep the wild on the tips of its claws. I did not see Omega trot up the hill past his Alpha's curious silence. Only when he came over the hill and bounded after me did I hear his Spirit calling. A little further away now, I stopped once more. This time, I turned all the way around to meet Omega face to face.

"Where are you going?" he asked, trotting up to me.

He quickly scanned the area and, with no obvious trigger or sign, correctly deduced the reason as one of my missions.

"Shall I go with you?"

Omega was still lean, but taller since the past few seasons, especially now that he kept his head high so that it always floated over the easy wag of his tail. His pant signaled excitement, not effort, and his fur was well groomed and politely sniffed. He stood before me a Blessed. Well-loved and capable of hunting with the best of them.

"Not this time," I told him. "You are meant to stay with the pack."

"What do you mean?" he asked because he had always been with me ever since the attack on the Bone Taker burrow.

I could tell he felt something in the Spirit, but he did not want to listen to it. I was grateful because it gave me the opportunity for one last lesson.

"Why do you come to me now?" I proposed, ready for the answer. "Because it is your turn to keep watch."

Omega stopped smiling. He was too smart and too sensitive to feign ignorance anymore.

"You are leaving the pack?" he asked.

His blessing was impeccable because I did not realize that those were my words until he spoke them.

Omega's eyes started to shine. His brow scrunched up. He stepped forward. Then, rocked back. Tightening his features, he remained where he was. There was much he wanted to say on those quivering lips, but he knew there was only room for a precious few. Huffing once, tears gathering on his marks, he tried to smile when he said

"But who will tell us stories?"

I caressed him with my gaze as if I could hold his head and stroke his fur like so many did to comfort me.

"This is my story," I told him. "Now, you must tell it."

Lips bunching up to bare his teeth at the pain he felt in his heart, Omega started to cry. With great love came great sorrow. Already, he was maintaining balance.

"My dear Hena," I told him, moved to matching tears by his compassion. "This is what you must do as Omega of Many Tongues."

We never would have survived Exile, his pack, the Shaman, or the turning of the wild without his blessing. It was supposed to be a joyous moment. Omega finally had the name he always wanted. Yet he dropped his head, closed his eyes and wept. I came close and put my head over his back. I kept my eyes on the sky as he quieted. When Omega finally calmed, he carefully pulled away and stepped back, finally separating himself from me. His runny nose brought back old memories. I nodded in the direction of the pack behind him. His home.

"March along," I commanded because it was a new name for a new beginning. "I have nothing left to teach you."

Omega proved himself worthy of the Spirit and its armor would continue to grow and strengthen and protect him in my absence. He was no longer my apprentice because now, he was Mighty.