Direction
n. a course along which someone or something moves.
It was no secret that Flannel was horrible with directions. He got lost so often that Kamui and the others considered making a formal "Flannel Search Party" in case he ever wandered off too far. While reluctant to admit his shoddy way of navigation, Flannel usually appreciated any help that someone gave him in steering him on the right path. But ever since the argument he had with Kamui, the wolf disliked the idea, and didn't appreciate those kinds of jokes in the least.
Garous were so full of pride, after all, and being shot down a peg was something that never ended well with them. Flannel, in particular, was the kind to hold grudges, and every time he glanced at his birthday medallion, he was reminded of the dragonborn's naive words, and the old anger within him would burn anew.
So it made sense that he had to take a short break from everything. He was a wanderer at heart, and he never thought twice about going on some excursion—whether by himself or with some other companion—when it suited him. On a particularly slow day in the week, Flannel headed out from the current base of operations, and ended up at the foot of a mountain range.
They were nameless peaks situated near Nestra, the Dukedom of Muse, and very close to the resort city of Amuzia. Even though this place was nearer to the neighboring Nohrian Kingdom, people from all over the globe could be found there, and Hoshido and Nohr both found a strong foothold in the city. When the fight broke out, as instigated by Valla, people from the light and dark kingdoms fought each other, thinking one another was responsible for such destruction.
Of course, with a newly instituted peace between the two nations—as declared by both crown princes themselves—it didn't quite matter where in the world Flannel was, or how the political stance of Amuzia remained after all of this. The true righteousness laid in the bodies and minds of his allies: those that could see past the banners of dark and light, and those that understood teaming up against a common enemy was more important than clinging onto decades worth of bad blood.
Flannel thought about all of this as he scaled the mountain. First, he did so in his human form, because jumping from ledge to ledge was a feat that any athletic person could pull off. But as the slopes got steeper—and as the rock formations became more dangerous and sleek—Flannel had no choice but to revert back to his true form, seeing as his gloved hands and leathery boots proved too slippery to gain any purchase on the uneven surfaces.
As he did so, the white patches of fur on his body nearly camouflaged against the slate color of the landscape.
Sharp claws dug into the rock, and one wild leap after another made Flannel's progress skyrocket. If anyone were to witness him at that point in time, they would have seen nothing but a monochromatic blur moving through the different paths, leaving nothing but claw marks and scratches behind. Yet he remained alone in this endeavor, as evidenced by his solitary climb to the top of the mountain. Adrenaline ran through his body, familiarly so, like lightning coursing through thunderclouds. The thrumming heartbeat within his chest spurred him onward, and onward, still.
He reached the top of one of the peaks, and stared in awe at the bright moon hanging high in the sky. Its light shone over him, empowering him in both body and mind. He took in a deep breath, and inhaled the cold, thin air through his nostrils. His fur bristled as another cool breeze blew by, a chilling reminder of the sheer height he stood at. And as Flannel stared deeply into the darkening horizon, a terrible realization came to be.
He was lost. Even though he should have just gone back the same way he came, he circled the spot he stood at multiple times to try and figure out where to descend first, only to be confused by the idea of it all. Where was the correct path to go home? Was it down the bracketed bends, or over the sheer drops? And why didn't any of the trees look familiar to him, even though he ran through them for at least an hour, now? Maybe he shouldn't have sprinted so quickly to get to the top, because now his old trail had gone cold and scentless from his place at the peak.
Maybe he should have been more careful before, because now he was absolutely, utterly, and irreversibly lost.
"Oh no," Flannel bemoaned. "Now what do I do?"
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Nishiki was great with directions. Unless he was too terribly distracted, he could usually tell where he was at all times, and he recognized landmarks and formations from all sorts of different angles. Everywhere he went was with a purpose—even the times where all he wanted was to travel or get away on his own—and ever since he got into the habit of repaying humans for his kindness, this sense of direction only increased.
Today, Nishiki had another goal in mind, too. He traveled to the city of Amuzia once more. The place was previously renowned for its beauty and multicultural inhabitants, and was also one of the few places in the world that didn't care if a person had ears or a tail. There wasn't a market for fox fur or wolf pelts in Amuzia, either, which was one of the reasons why Flannel and Nishiki tried so hard to defend it from the invisible attackers before.
Since that incident, though, large parts of the city were destroyed. The beautiful houses with colorful tiles, the marble pillars and stone stages—even the cobblestone streets with their metal lamp posts seemed to suffer damage from the incident. Despite this, the inhabitants of the city continued to thrive, even when so many of them were injured or killed in the attack. Most of them were songstresses and dancers from the performance hall, a place that, while battle-torn, suffered the least damage out of everything in the city, and still looked as pristine and mystical as it was before—floating gondolas and mezzanine seats in all.
Nishiki was there to repay a favor to Layla, again, who before the attack, helped him with a sprained limb he received while dodging some poachers. That was already another favor in their chain of repayments, since before that, Nishiki helped her out with attending to her sick grandfather, and before that Layla discouraged some poachers from settling down in the city, saying that there was an extensive policy against free-range hunting. Even though the favors had long since passed, he was sure to return their generosity in full, so on that fateful day he traveled to the resort city to see her again.
He met Flannel for the first time there, as well. Nishiki heard stories of the Nohrian wolves that took on the appearance of humans, but had never seen one in real life. And the same newness must have went for Flannel, because he looked Nishiki over and over again like he was some indiscernible artifact. Once the initial suspicion for each other wore off, however, they became fast friends.
And even faster friends after that, when the Vallite forces attacked their beloved city.
Nishiki thought back to all of this as he greeted some of the locals that already knew him, and even managed to help Layla another time, as the two of them refurbished some of the tarnished dressing rooms in the back of the Opera House. When finished, he bade her farewell, and walked the length of the city where he managed to overhear a rather peculiar conversation between two civilians.
One was a tall, old, wiry woman that held large baskets full of food and supplies in her calloused hands. She sighed deeply and said, "You know, the mountain ranges are hellish this time of year. Shame, too, since some of the best herbs grow there."
Her companion was a stout, younger man, who pushed a wheelbarrow full of heavy tools and objects that Nishiki knew not the function of. "A real shame, indeed. Too bad it attracts tourists like flies, as if the Amuzia Opera House wasn't enough glamour for them."
She laughed. "Funny you should say that! I actually passed by a traveler on my way here. He was a strange fellow, truly, who practically begged me to give him my broken hand mirror. Of course I said no, but then he went bounding up the mountain anyway, like nothing had happened. Strange, don't you think?"
"Real strange. He must be no local, then. I've seen the best try to scale that mountain, but to no avail. The trails get too steep for any human to climb, without the help of a horse or a pegasus or two."
"Well, with hair as long as his, not to mention that strange tail, I'm sure he's fine..."
Nishiki quickly caught up to the two of them, and started describing Flannel to the best of his ability, just to make sure they were all talking about the same person.
The woman's eyes lit up happily. "Yup, that's him! Black and white all over, shirt not properly buttoned up..."
Nishiki asked, "And you said he was trying to climb a mountain?"
"Yes, it's not too far west from here. It's closeby to the border of Nohr and Nestra, but it's also near the border of Nohr and Hoshido. Are you thinking of going there? It's a really dangerous place, I'll have you know!"
"Even so, there's no harm in trying."
The man exhaled loudly, and gave Nishiki a stern look of caution. "I see. Then may the Gods protect you, young man."
"Well," he said. "They haven't let me down before."
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Nishiki reached the base of the mountain where Flannel had supposedly climbed. The moon was a bright crescent in the sky, and all it meant was that he needed to find the other sooner, rather than later.
With that resolve in his mind, Nishiki began the ascent.
Similarly to Flannel, Nishiki spent some time in his human form at first—running and jumping with his own strength, and making use of his gloved hands and sharper nails to hold onto ledges. It worked for a while, but the slope steepened considerably, and he had to switch back to his real self in order to complete the rest of the climb.
So that's exactly what he did. The beaststone glowed wildly in his hand, and he flipped in the air, only to come back down as a fully-formed fox.
Now, he grabbed at the nearly vertical slants, and scaled them with little difficulty. He raced across the gaps, and soared over large crevices that would otherwise swallow him whole. The worst of this escapade was his fur scraping by some sharp rocks, but he came out of it unscathed, in the end.
"Flannel!" He began to yell, voice warped to the point of echoing and fluctuating in its own pitch. "Flannel, where are you? It's getting late now!"
Nishiki ran around in circles, guided by the moonlight above him. He stared at its winsome beauty before continuing, and desperately hoped that he could find Flannel before the sun showed its face, instead. With a feverish cry, he called out, "Flannel? Flannel, can you hear me?"
Then his ears perked, his muzzle twitched, and his body hummed with a current like electricity. His sense of smell was such a gift, especially in times like these. For hours on end, he smelled nothing but the dirty rocks, scampering lizards, and towering trees around him. But the scent of a certain garou alerted him, and within seconds, Nishiki went down another direction in search of his friend.
Flannel's scent was different, yet familiar. All shapeshifters had a certain aura about them, and Flannel was no exception. Even though he was the only garou that Nishiki knew personally, he had the suspicious feeling that Flannel was quite different from other wolves in his pack, and that his scent was unlike any other.
Flannel smelled like dust, grass, and linen, with grains of salt and glamorous hints of velvet in between. Other times, he smelled like blood, sweat, and dirt, which were usually signs of his overzealous nature and his tendency to explore and wander. At first, Nishiki was wary of the distinct smell, but by this point in time, he had grown quite used to it.
In fact, he even liked it, although nothing could beat the sweet aroma of soaps or perfumes in his mind.
Still, he vaguely wondered if Flannel would be happy to see him after all this. Nishiki was excited to see Flannel, at the very least, and he could hardly contain his excitement as he nearly bounced down a windy path—the scent of his wolfish friend growing stronger and stronger with each step.
He thought about what to say once he found him, and firmly decided that he would open with a harmless joke to diffuse Flannel's nerves. Even though Flannel never liked exposing his weaknesses to others, there was no helping his lack of direction, and lost was lost. This large, expansive landscape surely proved a challenge to him, yet it made Nishiki wonder how Flannel ever functioned back at home, when Mount Garou was just as wide and mountainous as this terrain.
Nishiki got ahead of himself as he cried out, "There you are, Flannel! I was worried that—"
When he got closer to the end of the path, he noticed something harrowing: the garou was not there. In fact, there was nothing there, except for an empty space that reeks suspiciously of Flannel. Nishiki moved in closer, and sniffed around the surface for another hint. It was Flannel's scent, alright. There was a strong trace of leather in the air, and Nishiki perfectly envisioned the other's gloves as he inspected a certain mark in a nearby boulder.
Flannel was here, he was sure of it!
Then, just a few inches away, Nishiki saw something else. Lying precariously on the edge of the cliff was the medallion that he gave Flannel for his birthday. One side of the medallion bore a single scratch across its body, but the rest of it was still in tact as he found it. When he reached out to touch it, he was mildly surprised to find out that the wood itself was still humming with warmth.
Flannel recently handled this object, clearly. But if the medallion was here, then where was Flannel? Did he drop this while scaling the mountain, or did he leave it behind on purpose? Even though he had some qualms with its origin (being from Kamui of all people), he seemed to like it a lot, so why would he do something as childish as discard the gift? Or was it something else entirely?
Nishiki glanced over the edge of the cliff, and his face fell at what he saw.
Further down the side of the cliff was a leather glove, forgotten and worn as it stayed in the treacherous hold of a thorny bush. Nishiki didn't need to retrieve it to know that it was Flannel's glove. His heart sunk further, and he felt the rush of air and gravity hit him all at once as he realized the situation.
"No," he murmured, staring into the depths. "Don't tell me that he fell off this cliff, just now..."
Moments passed and nothing answered Nishiki's pleas, except for cold wind that rushed through him. He waited another minute—then two—before deciding that the only way to figure out Flannel's fate was to go down the chasm, and see it for himself.
Nishiki didn't hesitate anymore as he grabbed the necklace and the glove in one fell swoop, and—as he stared down the abyss with a steely, amber gaze—began the quick descent into the darkness below him.
I finally caught up to you, Flannel.
Hang in there, for me.
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He remembered hearing a voice. It wasn't uncommon for him to hear voices, whether they were from his allies around him or in his enemies in front of him. And as a non-human, Flannel had connections with magical forces that no human could ever hope to know, and those forces often manifested in the form of disembodied voices. While terrifying at first, Flannel grew used to hearing some of them, and so he learned not to be afraid.
But this particular voice that he heard was unlike all the others. It was bitter, hollow, and fleeting. It sounded familiar yet foreign all at once, and whenever he tried to focus on some word or phrase in particular, he became lost and confused, instead. Like a dream that grew harder to remember the more you thought about it, Flannel lost hold on this airy voice. Yet it called out to him, nevertheless, and told him that he was falling.
He didn't recall a moment where he faltered. In fact, he barely remembered walking near the edge, let alone falling off of it. But what else could explain the unending darkness around him, and the sharp pain that struck him at odd angles? What else could explain the moonlight as it disappeared far above him, or the haunting sensation that pooled in his stomach as he stared helplessly at the sky?
Flannel tried to move, but strong discomfort bordering on pain cut into him, and rendered him motionless as he had to stay down where he was—lest he suffer indelibly, otherwise. Flannel had no choice but to think over these moments in time, and try to figure out how his situation came to be.
How did he even get down there, anyway?
He thought about the answer to that question, among other things. He recalled what he did before journeying up this side of the mountain, and how useless his attempts to return home were. Flannel knew his sense of direction was worse than a newborn's, but he couldn't help it. He was always bad with navigation, and he never understood how directions worked, ever since he was young.
Despite everything, Flannel wasn't the forgetful type, so the fact that he couldn't remember being near the edge of the cliff, or falling ever downward, or landing on his back in an awkward position all worked against him, and made him feel even more frustrated with his lack of progress.
When he scanned his surroundings a second time, he saw a shadow move up ahead, and he instantly imagined it to be some sort of predator trying to off him in his current state of weakness. Of course, he wouldn't back down from a fight, so he reached for his beaststone—which tumbled out of his hands and landed beside him in the dirt—and sprung up to his feet afterward, fully transformed and adrenaline-fueled.
"Back off!" Flannel roared and raised his large fists to strike. However, the other creature was quicker than he was, and so they dodged the attack and leapt forward at him. He tried to raise his claws upward to tear the thing apart, but he missed by a fraction of a second.
It was just enough time to realize that something was hitting his face, yet it wasn't a weapon of any sort.
It was a tongue.
"...Nishiki?"
"Hey!" He cried out to him against the overly-affectionate act of licking his face. "It's me!"
"What are you doing here? Also, get off me!"
"Oh, sorry!" The fox hopped off of him, and the triad of glowing fire spheres followed after his movements. They bobbed in the air after him, and once they returned to his sides, he spoke. "Are you okay? I've been looking for you all night!"
"Honestly, I've been better. But how did you even get here? How did you know I was here at all?"
"Some locals tipped me off. I really owe them, otherwise I would never have found you in one piece! Let's get back to the others, okay?"
"Huh. Alright, then. But don't worry about me so much! I-I could have found my own way back, y'know..." Flannel muttered. His voice wavered with emotion, caught up in his throat and hesitant to leave in clear waves. He felt heat rush up to his face, and his eyes flickered downward out of shame.
Just how many times am I gonna mess up in front of him?
"Is that why I found you at the bottom of a ravine?" Nishiki mused. "Or why you dropped your glove and necklace?"
"Okay, okay!" Flannel quickly said. "I get it, I need your help. You don't have to rub it in my face, y'know."
"Alright, so long as you know it!" Nishiki almost sang as his tails flickered in playful movements. "You're injured, too...we should get back already, and have a healer take a look at that wound."
Flannel almost forgot that he was injured, but at Nishiki's insistence his body remembered itself, and the wounds in his side were real and bleeding. Yes, he really had fallen off the cliff, and he was lucky that his garou form took the worst of it. The feeling of exhaustion and agony laid in wait like a silent predator, and would strike Flannel when he was least aware of it. So he had to act now, while he still had the energy to do so.
With some hesitance in his step, the wolf followed the fox up the steep trail to the surface, where they would return to their allies and comrades-in-arms, and make up for the lost time spent engaging in this escapade. Over each unsteady rock and each unruly step, they brought themselves closer and closer to their indispensable friends and unshakable cause.
With some hesitance in his step, Flannel followed Nishiki until they left the mountain, and ran home with nothing but moonlight—caught in their fur and in their eyes.
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Within the convalescence of the healer's tent, Flannel reflected on the day's events. Mostly, he brooded over the fact that he couldn't remember falling off the cliffside, in the first place, and how strange it was for him—an essentially immortal beast with inhuman capabilities to remember and sense certain things—to forget an entire sequence of life like that. How could he omit a few hours of time from his long catalogue of life, unwillingly so? How could he end up somewhere totally strange, even though his directionless sense of self was famous for getting lost at times? Shouldn't a person remember the pain of being pushed off, or the panic of slipping from an edge? Shouldn't someone be able to recall the exact way they fell off the trail, and how they strayed farther and farther away from their original goal, all the while?
Shouldn't he know what happened to him that day?
Of course, overthinking things wouldn't do him any good. It wasn't like him to be so absorbed in something like this, anyway. He was definitely a "live-in-the-moment" kind of guy, especially since the circumstances of his life constantly forced him to be aware of the impending death that could strike him at any time.
Hell, he almost died today! He survived the incident, and even managed to complain to Elise (his healer at the end of the day) about the whole thing. So why was he so hung up over it, now that it was over? Just because he couldn't remember the exact details of the event? Or because Nishiki had to be his hero and save his pathetic ass from wandering until he was dead?
Regardless of the answer, one thing was for sure. He had to be more careful with his adventures, because he couldn't rely on someone bailing him out everytime.
Although, he didn't really mind Nishiki's presence being there, injuries and oddities notwithstanding. In fact, he might have even liked to see Nishiki again, just as a friend, if nothing else.
The thought made him smile, against all odds, and he felt himself calm down considerably as he breathed in deeply. Then, Flannel decided that it was time to rest, and so he said goodnight to Elise as he closed his eyes against the growing darkness of the world inside and outside the tent.
That night, he dreamed of strange but beautiful things. A sheer cliffside, with impossibly tall trees and buildings sticking out from the peaks. A thunderous laugh and smile, reflecting and echoing in waves around him. A hushed voice full of darkness and poison, lingering after his own fleeting figure as he ran and ran across the rocks and canyons—sprinting over the large gaps and shadows like they were nothing.
And finally, the soft touch of someone's fur—or hair—registered in his dream, and a presence like the sun enveloped him whole. A sweet laugh resounded, and when Flannel held Nishiki's hand in this make-believe fantasy, he felt warm and light. He felt invincible and vulnerable. He felt strong yet weak, and it was just as well.
The real danger wasn't in the cliffs, he realized, but in the raw happiness that existed in Nishiki's smile.