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The White Rose Blooms

"Home again, home again," Dexter sighed, smiling. Always happy upon seeing his home for his son. Two-storied, cheap rent, and with utilities part of it too. Even a small garden he had set up front that Miles would often roll around in during his younger years. Still does whenever it rains. The sky was cloudy and forecasts from the tv earlier said a high chance of it happening.

But his smile disappeared after thinking about what they were going to do today. One would call it a 'rite of passage', because it was his son's birthday last week. He asked for a bike, and sure enough he had gotten it. Two mountain bikes with all the proper gears suitable for a pup his age, as well as the rubber wheel traction capable for paved roads and uneven forest paths. There were latches on the central hinges for a hand-based air pump, and a solar-powered headlight between the handlebars.

Pricey, sure, but of little concern given what he would show Miles later. For a while he remained in the car, weeping in silence as more clouds rolled in to paint the sky a dark shade of gray. His gut feeling told him about fate's intervention today, and that he would see it through. Dexter glanced at his house again, sighing as his mind imagined a life that never was. But he shook his head before he could let it linger anymore than it should. It was a life no longer possible, and he should move on. Miles would help him with that.

He left his car and shut its door, locked it as he walked on the rock-tiled path. The back of his mind, despite his insistence, still showed what life could have been. Dexter winced, a sharp pain in his mind as a reaction to not let it linger. Stopped himself on the first step into the ground floor balcony. Deep breaths, and a keen eye on the close-curtained window making sure his son didn't peek. Moments passed, sitting on one of two chairs that came in a set with a glass-top table,

Dexter stood up, paused in a hesitative thought but forcefully shoved it away, and grabbed his front door's key from his pants pocket. He inserted it into the knob, keeping away more thoughts, and twisted it to the perceived idea as a 'point of no return'. Opening the door to the sound of the Power Rangers theme song in the living room beside the foyer.

He walked in, peeking into the living room with his son watching his show. A young white wolf still in his primary education. He was hypnotized by figures on his screen that he had bought toys of, something he ought to snap him out of in the future. The trance was cut short when he saw his son's ears flick in his direction. His head turned, eyes widened, smiling and oblivious to the tensed up stature of his father. He ran up and hugged him around his waist, calming his father down. The young wolf's tail wagged

"Dad!" Miles cheered, looking up to his father. "Did you get it?"

Dexter chuckled, smiling almost a tear to his eye. Crouching down to hug his son proper, young and short wolf arms around his shoulders while his embraced him tighter, leaving him a long kiss on the forehead. "I di-" his son cheered loud enough to interrupt him. Sweet noise filled the household, chuckling along as his son hopped on the spot and refused to let go of him. Dexter's tail wagged too, and eased his son's grip by patting him on the head. "Alright son, we'll take it for a spin okay but I'll have to change clothes first."

"Sure, dad," his son kept his arms behind him, swaying his body side to side in excitement. Kept himself on his best behavior to further ensure his reward. Of course, it didn't stop him from asking, "Where are we going?"

Dexter kept his wits and smile from that bombshell of a question. Almost cried but his training was enough to hold himself. He took a deep breath, disguising it as a relieved sigh. "Someplace special," he told him. And it was very very special. "How about we leave after your show, okay? I'll have some snacks ready for us too."

"Yay picnic!" Miles cheered and ran towards the front of the tv, hypnotized by the colorful-costumed heroes running and jumping around on the screen.

A picnic, but he harried such thoughts. "And don't stick too close to the tv, okay?" Dexter grabbed for the staircase handrail and went up towards the upper floor where their bedrooms and his personal study were.

"Okay!" Miles answered.

Back in his bedroom, Dexter rushed to his personal bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. Stared at himself wide-eyed, tears welling from both his and the reflection's eyes. Some had already dribbled down his black furred cheeks, damp spots from when he cried on the way up. He continued weeping quietly with an aching heart, arms cusped around himself, tail between his legs. The inner drill sergeant tone in him did not interrupt, letting him have the moment for five minutes. Those shows lasted for about half an hour, including the commercials in between.

After ten minutes of weeping, he washed his face clean, and sorted his fur by alternating between a military comb and a regular brush. Not only all over his ruffled headfur, but the rest of his body fur too. The comfort preoccupied his mind, knowing that even if the rain would wash it all away, the outcome would still be just as pleasant.

Dexter stepped out of the bathroom and onto his closet, opening it. An assortment of civilian clothing hung on the left side, military parade dress in the middle, and uniform on the right, except for a long cloth bag that he kept for a specific occasion. The sound of motors echoed from the back of his mind, laughter and cheers from a few good friends, and a subtle feminine voice that encouraged him to go on. But he shook his head with the voice distorting, and reached for the hangar.

He unclung it, and crouched down to fetch an alice pack underneath them all, and set them on the bed. The large military backpack still had its camping essentials, survival essentials, and enough space for valuables like money or jewelry. A bug-out bag should disaster strike, despite their living area being disaster proof. A small valley for floods, no history of earthquakes, and infrastructure to support any severe weather. Plenty of scenarios that he had prepared himself for, except for one. Not something he'd want to think of yet, not until he'd gotten something of extreme value from the local florist.

Dexter pinched the zipper and pulled it down, revealing an outfit that he uniformed with Chase. If his distressed memory served him right, only one other person besides him had seen it. Not even Miles knew that his father was a biker, some time before joining the military. A misconception one would normally have about the biker culture was the idea that they were all outlaws. When in fact some had intimidating appearances but operated lawfully. Think of a biker club with the grim reaper on their vests, observing traffic law and giving to charity In his case though, his biker club had a more friendly approach to it: 'The Dreamcatchers' as they were called. They had ties with the military that made their recruitment process much more efficient, and the paperwork simplified. A common theme between bikers and soldiers, that he later found out, was the camaraderie shared between them.

Despite the decade-old outfit, he always found time to keep it in pristine conditions. Sentimental reasons because he wore his military fatigues whenever he hung out with his biker buddies. Cuts all the negative perception, or reports for 'indecency'. Because his outfit was a pair of black leather pants with tightening laces on the side of each leg. He was a wolf after all, and it was tradition to weather everything nature would throw at them. He figured Miles should do the same too. After a quick change of his clothing, exiting the room with a pair of pants on, and a backpack, he went over to Miles' room.

"Should still be here," the room was a near splitting image, except for the smaller bed and abundance of cluttered toys on the floor. Most of it was related to the show he watched. Should be 20 minutes in by now. He hid a similar outfit in Miles' closet in the hopes he'd find it. But he found it hanging on the right most side and took it with him downstairs.

The lines from the show were much louder, with a few hi-ya and grunts in between. Fight scenes from every episode. He found it cute that his son enjoyed it, a simple formula that kept children entertained. Watched some of it and couldn't understand anything other than good guys beating bad guys. Something Miles thought about being a soldier, but one of these days he would tell him it was far from that.

Dexter walked into the living room, Miles saying, "Just five more minutes dad!" Without deviating from the screen. The scene was about this giant robot fighting a giant monster. Rather, to be more specific, five giant robot animals that form into one big robot to then fight giant monsters. Stuff children his demographic would like. He sat down on the sofa armchair and peeked into the bag to double check on what they're bringing, as well as having enough space for that special 'gift'. The pants were laid on the arm by Miles' side, immediately telling him to put it on once the show's done.

After the fight scene were the five actors in spandex suits posing in front of an explosion, Miles standing and mimicking their movement shouting, "Power Rangers: Wild Force!" And the credits roll.

"Son, put on these pants." Dexter slid the pair closer to him, speaking in a somber tone. "And put on your outdoor shoes after."

"Am I in trouble?" Miles whimpered, ears flicked down and tail between his legs.

He looked at him and smiled, "I'm being serious because this is your first rite of passage on becoming a proper wolf." A slight curve on his lip was all he needed.

The young wolf bounced as his ears and tails perked up, eyes wide, "Really?!"

Dexter nodded, "You're not in trouble, son, but this is serious. Put on those pants and then your shoes, please."

"Yes, sir!" He mimicked a soldier's salute, and went off to the bathroom in the kitchen.

The way he saluted and marched off made him chuckle in his mind. With a bit of training and some discipline, he could potentially be a good soldier. Dexter reached over for the remote and shut the tv off, the bag taking his seat as he walked over to the window and peeked through the curtain. Clouds were darker, more ominous than when he entered earlier. Still didn't rain, but it could be a storm from the looks of it. His fatherly instinct worried about their safety but his inner wolf said otherwise. Telling him it had to be done for their growth as father and son.

Dexter stood properly and took a deep breath, eight times before his son came out of the corner barefoot but with those pair of pants and shirt that did not match. "Lose the shirt," he gestured at his upper clothing and directed it to the sofa. Pointing to himself, being an example of the ideal wolf.

"Yes, dad." Miles folded it over himself and hung it on the seat.

The thought of his son being pure white on the top half and almost black on the bottom half was comical. A hint of humor before he saw himself in his shoes, except with the opposite fur color. He leaned his head towards their shoe closet by the door where their running shoes awaited. Dexter joined him after grabbing the bag and put his own too.

"Are we going camping, dad?" Miles stared at their backpack, fumbling on tying his own shoes before staring back down to correct them.

"Yes we are, son, but we're not staying overnight." Dexter finished tying his own.

"C-can we bring marshmallows and smores?" He whispered out, walking close and hugging his side.

Dexter embraced him with an arm and kissed his forehead, "Not today son." He whispered in his ear. "But you can have all the ice cream you want when we get home, okay?" As a means of cheering him up for what's to come.

He felt his son's body perk up with energy, about to cheer when he softly shushed him. "Sorry dad," he whispered, "yay."

"That's my boy," he patted his head and stood up, slinging the bag around his shoulder and opening the door.

A gentle breeze greeted them that they ignored. Dexter knew this would be a good sign, taking the first step out with Miles following behind. Out of the foyer and onto the path, the clouds above seemed closer than they were.

"Is this part of the passage, dad?" Miles looked up in awe.

"Yes it is," Dexter placed his bag on top of the car and opened the rear to unload their bikes. One large enough for him, and the other small for Miles, their color corresponding to their fur. He set out his son's first, Miles eagerly helping set it down too.

"Woah, these are far different and better than I thought." Miles gripped the handlebars, pulling on the brakes switch and walking in circles on the road. For a while he toyed with the stand, while Dexter got his bike out of the car.

"Yep, and suitable for the forest too." Dexter deployed his bike's stand and went over to his son's to teach him about the other aspects of his bike. He already knew how pedaling works, how to turn, and even hand signals. He pointed at the oblong device that had a rubber handle protruding from it, "This is its air pump, on the bottom end is an intake that you attach to the wheel." He pointed at a nub along the wheel. "You uncap that and slide it in, then you yank on the rubber handle here and pump it."

"Yes dad," Miles' eyes focused throughout the lesson, and his father pointed at the headlamp.

"This is powered by solar, or by the sun so to say." There was a slide switch on top that he turned on, illuminating in a cone towards the road. "It could see far at night. Use it when you're in a dark place, okay?" Dexter switched it off after.

"Yes, dad."

"Alright, get on and let's have you balance it out properly."

Miles did not say anymore, already sitting on the rubber seating with his feet on the pedals already. "Like this?" He leaned opposite of the bike.

Dexter held his hand holding onto the handlebar, nodding. "Mhm. I will be folding the stand, okay?" His foot was about to kick it in. "Use your foot."

Miles nodded, and when his father kicked it in, his bike tilted left thus used his left foot to keep himself upright. It was not too heavy, nor balancing an issue after his father let go.

"Good, now go forward and I'll run with you. Pedal it in the same way you walk and you won't go too fast. Always use your brakes when you do," Dexter squeezed one of them for emphasis. "One to slow you down, two to stop you outright."

He nodded excitedly, already leaning forward as if he were in a competition. Tail kept itself high but fanned behind him.

Dexter squeezed both brakes though, "Take it slow, this is not a competition, son." He added, "I don't want you getting hurt."

The momentum had gone, and the cub relaxed as he exhaled. Dexter worried about dampening his spirits. Miles calmed down and sat upright, to his relief. "I understand, dad," he said. And when his father sensed he was ready, he released his grip and Miles mimicked walking while he sat down. The bike went forward fast enough for his running father to keep up with him. It felt like a cold wind blew against them, through the momentum of their speed. Further encouraging Miles to pedal towards the intersection.

"That's good son," Dexter gave him a thumbs up. His ears flicked around, no cars nearby. "Make a left turn, and don't forget your hand signal." He gestured his open left palm in the same direction.

Miles followed to a tee and made a long curved left turn. Dexter went to his other side to stay on the pavement.

"Good, but you could make sharp turns next time. In driving school, we are taught to give priority to cyclists." And he jogged along, heart pumping with the exercise and his own form of excitement blocking out his thoughts earlier. His tail wagged again, but far enough to not get snagged in the back wheel.

And they made another turn that led back to their semi-circle street. Miles getting the hang of it and going much faster than when he'd started.

Dexter exerted more of himself to catch up, but he warned him, "Use one brake now, and slow down, son." As they neared his car.

Miles did so, and squeezed the second one when he was beside their car. He deployed its stand and leaned back taking deep breaths. "That was fun!" He cheered with both hands raised to the air.

Dexter received that as an invitation to hug his son tightly, smiling and rubbing his head. "That's my son alright," his tone was warm, and he relished in it for a few more minutes, with his son hugging him too. "I'm proud of you." With the hopes that Miles would do better in the coming hour.

"I love you, dad," Miles said.

"I love you too, son," Dexter rubbed his head as he closed the car door, remembering to do that first next time, and made sure to lock it. Perhaps these thoughts were starting to get to him, as well as the juxtaposition of his son learning how to bike. Fast too, given it was his first time at all.

His father went over to sling the bag around his shoulder and got on his bike, having kicked its stand back up. He mimicked the motion in which he did though not as instant.

Dexter spoke with no hint of joy, "We're going to the florist next, I have to buy something very special." And he raised his finger pointing towards the right. "Which is in that direction." Dragged his finger towards the opposite, stating, "And we'll go to the forest after. To finalize your rite."

Miles nodded, not wanting to answer either. It was enough for his father who led the way, and him following behind. Thunder boomed above them, and again far to the west where his back turned when they made a right on the road. And another boom, Miles' ears tried to keep itself attentive to cars but the heavens above scared him. There were some on the main road, a street apart, but only about two from the sounds of it.

Dexter didn't even need to look to say, "Son, keep your ears up and active." A stern voice, "You're a growing wolf. Time to act like it."

"Yes, dad." Miles whimpered, keeping pace with his father who increased it. Faster than his first cycling experience, still manageable. The cold wind blowing against him would've been exhilarating if not for his ears being cowards. There was sense in what his father said; be an alpha wolf of sorts. Next time that thunder would boom, he dared not cover nor cower them.

The heavens answered with a loud thunderous crack throughout the sky, followed by a flash of light streaking between the clouds. Before another lashed out to their world, striking the roof of a nearby town hall. Dexter's heart pumped with excitement, while he could tell that his son behind him tried to suppress a whimper. Good, that's what he wanted. Needed? Most likely.

His father was right going out topless, and against such weather. The following thunder and lightning did not faze him anymore. Except for another lightning strike close to another tall structure some streets away. He followed his father into where there were a few pedestrians walking with their umbrellas out. There were a few pedestrians out, walking under umbrellas. Some of the canines, aware of their activity, didn't bother looking in their direction. While he caught a lion couple staring at them.

"Don't mind them, son," Dexter said. "Mind your own business."

Unsure if he meant that for him or to them. His eyes returned to the road and his father. There were no cars moving along, and nothing within earshot either. This main street had several commercial buildings but any memory of them seemed unimportant for the time being. All he had in mind was becoming a wolf, and the curiosity of what his father would buy at the florist.

The floral shop was a corner store with colorful bouquets and flowers in their pots lining up on wooden shelves. Both Fennixes couldn't identify most of these flowers, except for roses, dandelions, or sunflowers. Dexter looked for roses of a different color, that only this particular florist made. He deployed his stand, Miles too, and turned to him when he got off. "Keep an eye on the bikes, I'll buy something inside." And took the bag with him.

Miles was about to answer when his father hurried inside, almost like he was robbing the place. Inside were steel shelves that retailed pots, others advertised seeds, and even bags of dirt. Though he noticed that they also sold greeting cards, deflated balloons, and other gimmicks for parties. His father went past them and went straight for the only other person inside, the florist, a chinchilla. She was as tense as his father, and nodded to whatever he was saying. She gestured a finger, probably to wait a moment, and went to the back. He glanced at the windows, making sure he and the bikes were still there, and the young wolf waved at him.

Dexter sighed looking at his son. He was here to get something that-, nevermind. A sudden headache stopped him from making comparisons. And the chinchilla was taking too long for his liking. He caught himself getting impatient and inhaled deeply, the shop smell of sweet flowers and candy was another unpleasant reminder, resulting in him coughing loud almost to a gag.

"Mr. Fennix," the florist rushed from the backrooms. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine," he answered, letting out a loud cough. He caught Miles staring, and shook his head at him while giving him a thumbs up. It wasn't enough to convince him this time, being greeted with a sad and worried expression. The same way she- no. Please, not yet. "Where are those fucking flowers?" He hissed.

"I'm sorry," the chinchilla came to the front desk with a white rose in hand. Her eyes found his son waiting just outside, "Is he ready?"

He slammed 100 CAD on the counter, and picked the flower up carefully. His eyes, almost tearful, met with hers of remorse. "Yes. He will be." Crouched down to place its thornless stalk in its bag where it would not bend nor snap, but its contents could hold it in place. "Keep the change."

"It's on the hou-"

Dexter stood up, and nodded, "I insist. Sorry for cussing." And went towards the exit. "You've been very kind these past few years, Ms. Sullivan, thank you." This would be one of the countless times he left her store with a blooming white rose. Not once did she fail.

She solemnly nodded. "Happy to be of service, Mr. Fennix. Give her my regards."

"I will," he stepped out with a tear in his eye.

"Dad, are you okay?" Miles adjusted himself to get off but Dexter immediately got on his bike, already turning the handlebars right. He looked back at the florist who was tearful staring back at him. At this point, Miles didn't bother to question it and went along, tears too welled up in his eyes.

"Yes. With me, son." Dexter made a round turn and went west. His hand gestured for his son to follow close, the spinning gears behind him not far off. Guilt slithered down his back, or was it a raindrop dribbling down his back? The latter was subtle but there as it started to drizzle with cold winds blowing against their backs.

Miles did what his father expected of him. He braved the sharp cold that the winds blew over his soaked fur. Like the thunder and lightning, no longer frightening, the cold an afterthought. A desire to growl, which he did in a shrill voice, as they cycled closer towards the town's borders. There were no cars going down this road. Pedestrians were present but he no longer paid heed.

Ahead of them was a long stretch of road between forests that stretched out onto the horizon, with a single mountain to the right, and another further on the left. The clouds grew heavy as did the rain, descending in a fog that would soon envelop the land. But it did not stop them for they were wolves.

Dexter had taken their route to heart. His hallowed chest and regretful head intensified as they traveled further away. So did the rain, becoming heavier by the minute. At that point, he turned on his headlights, and his son did too. Then the fog had reached their path. "Stay on the right side of the road, son, and tell me when you do not see me anymore."

"Yes, dad," Miles answered, staying on the road closest to the lamps. His focus point was the white rose that had a luminous aura from within the fog. For a moment, his forearms that held onto the handlebars had that same faint glow too.

Their path was straightforward with a slight left curve that skirted along the mountainside. They even passed a sign that warned of landslides but this weather would not cause it. Dexter's ears kept track of Miles' bicycle and their distance from each other was very near. And that guilt crawled along his back again, the lingering cold it brought and that of the weather seeped between his fur and over his muscles. He shivered but made an effort that his young boy would not see. Now it enveloped his chest, nature's invisible arms embracing him, and that feminine whisper echoed in his ears. More tears fell down, lost to his cheeks moistened by the pitter-patter of rain.

Miles growled again, maintaining the bravado as a strong wolfman, even though he had been shivering a minute after they had left the town. The roads were smooth, and despite the rain, not slippery. He relaxed himself at the reminder that this was a birthday gift from his father, one that he had asked for too. "Thanks dad," he whispered, hoping not to distract his father.

Dexter heard, smiling as it helped ease his thoughts. But his cold emotions snapped back immediately as they were past halfway towards their destination. These roads were familiar by a nearby river curving towards their road. It was when he would barely hear it again when he would make his turn into the forest. "Son," he called out, gesturing his hand to the left. "Can you see my hand signal?"

Past the fog, Miles saw the silhouette of a hand extending left. He mimicked it, keeping a strong grip on the handlebar. "Yes, dad." He said.

"Good, we stick to the left side of the road." And started tilting towards the center, "Now." He was quick about it while there were no car engines nor headlights in the distance.

Miles followed, aligning himself to the rose that he noticed glow brighter as the fog further thickened. Almost like a lamp. And he himself started picking up on the river's running water. His ears perked against the rain, excited with the idea of fishing. Maybe his rite of passage would involve catching a fish with his bare hands. His tail swayed left and right, though heavy from the rain.

It intensified almost like a bathroom shower, except with only cold water. Dexter normally endured this. In fact could sleep in the snow with his current outfit. Not today of all days though, grunting as a disguise for his whining.

At least his son couldn't hear it, himself shuddering too. Of course he wouldn't be scolded for it, not wanting to be a hypocrite. It was a harsh trial though for both of them. Hopefully Miles would never have the same one as his father's.

The running river slowly made the turn away, "Miles, follow close. This is where we get off the road." And both wheels got onto the mud, deviating away from the road. His muscle memory recalled driving a car through here at night. It rained then, wasn't as foggy though.

Miles slowed a moment when his bike went over the mud, only dropping a few feet behind his father. The muck got onto his pants hoping it wouldn't anger his father. At least he was tall enough that it wouldn't get on his fur, still white and wet. The cold's still cold but knowing they were near gave him the strength to soldier on. Perhaps become like his father too? Only when he was a real wolf.

Despite the thick fog, Dexter knew the way without coming across any wildlife. His ears heard nothing other than the river, still constant. They rode alongside it, like he did eight years ago. Two bright yellowish headlights of his old car, unsure of where he was. Chase in the back wondering out loud where they were. Everything Chase said was murmuring to him, a faint "Dexter," followed by something unintelligible. "Dexter?"

"Dad?!" Miles shouted, the white rose disappeared into the fog. "Dad!" He stopped in his tracks, turning his head around and trying to listen for the sound of bicycle gears. The rain was too loud for him to hear though, especially as it drops onto the leaves. "I can't see you any more!"

"Dexter!' Chase sounded different, almost feminine. He stopped in his cycling and turned around still under the illusion of being in his car. About to shout at him only to realize that the coldness of that evening was harsh weather, and the droplets falling off from the leaves tapped his snout. He blinked twice, twice more after.

"Dad!" Miles shouted. He cycled forward slowly, looking for that white rose again. Rather be with his father than a wolf right now, shouting out for his father again. Especially as something crittered around the bushes.

"Move forward a few paces, son!" Dexter voiced on top of the rain. "I'm sorry!" He felt guilty, and this time around he'd be side by side with his son. Moments after his apology, he saw the faint light approaching him, followed by the white silhouette of his son.

"Dad!" Miles moved forward to be by his side and leaned across to hug him tight. "Please don't go," he pressed himself against his dark fur and cried.

His heart broke there, crying with the rain. He hugged him tighter, whispering that he wouldn't. He would never dare, but the idea exposed him to the core grievance. They were close to it as well as the river had its bend near to the trees. And he couldn't continue yet, his son's white fur was a reminder. He cried himself into his shoulder, rubbing his back. This would be the second time his son would've heard his father crying.

Miles wept with him too, for the first time he felt his father weep. And for minutes this went on, against the backdrop of a dispersing fog and under a softening rain. Thunder boomed again, causing Dexter to grip his son tightly, and he hugged him back too. "It's going to be okay dad," Miles whispered before quietly whining.

Dexter got off his bike and let it fall onto the mud, Miles got off too but deployed his stand. He knelt, hugging his boy and burying his tearful muzzle against the white. He missed her so. Her gentle touch, the assurance and support she gave him for all that he did. For she knew he was good.

Miles hugged his head, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked up to the dark skies, that it was late in the afternoon already. And his father remained like this, cry turned to a bawl which tugged his heart strings and crouched with him. His arms shifted into another hug, this time he felt his father's beating heart, healthy but with frailed emotions.

And when the rain worsened again, the shifting weather that was as harsh as Dexter's mind was on him, he picked up the bike and walked with it. Miles followed. The mud here had signs of travel, almost like a car that went along. With the fog lifted, Dexter could see the headstone near the river's bend. It was on a clearing, surrounded by trees that had embossed markings of the initials 'FNX'. He cried in every step that went towards the cleared patch of dirt. Especially as Miles got closer to her.

There were dead stalks surrounding the grave. Faded green, flowerless stems where white roses bloomed. Dexter knew she loved them in bloom, always happy to see one whenever they went on a date. Only one she asked. Never a bouquet, never a bunch. Even on their special day, the halls of the chapel were lined up with one white rose on each stand and no more. And on her final day, there was no flower but life to bloom yet. Here she finally saw him in person.

It felt like instinct when Miles cried, making him think twice about why. His heart ached, not realizing he had let go of the bike too and approached it with open palms. He never thought too much about it other than the occasional sad thoughts that he never had a mother. Only to realize that she had been resting here all this time. The name on the headstone that read, 'Here lies Alexa Fennix. A loving wife, an amazing friend, and a proud mother.' And it metaphorically stung him, reading that last line causing him to kneel on the mud, not too far off from the grave itself.

Dexter went over to his son's bike and leaned both of them against one of the marked trees, watching the moment unfold and trying to cry in silence. He quivered, covering his mouth. A whimper escaped, "Here he is, Lexy..." his voice trailed off. He wanted to say more. To say how proud he was of his son, and how well he had weathered the storm. How he had turned out everything they had hoped to be and more. The decent grades, the humbled nature, and always striving to be better to impress them.

Miles teetered over to her headstone and embraced it, tears falling on top of it. He tried to speak at first but couldn't. The times he wondered where she was in his younger years, the jealousy of other kids having a mother to call, or being stared at for looking different from his father. His mind recalled the photo albums his father showed, their wedding photos, and on the day of his birth. The family they could've been.

They both had similar thoughts of what life would've been with her; Dexter getting promoted and his wife and son to pin the new rank on his uniform. Alexa, with a tray of poutine and iced tea after her husband came home from work, and her son from school. Miles received his diploma and posed with his parents during his graduation.

"I love you mom," Miles whispered as he kissed the top of her tombstone. He had her white fur color and his father's red eyes. And he was struck with a memory.

Eight years ago, on the hospital bed, Alexa held him so close in her arms with all the strength she had left. Dexter beside, helping hold him up so she could lean to kiss his forehead. The first and last that she ever could, leaving him and Dexter crying.

And it all came back to Miles, looking to the heavens that rained down upon them, firmly believing that his mother was resting pleasantly. He could've sworn she said that she loved him too, and that she was proud of him. Or maybe it was just a feeling.

Dexter knelt in front of her grave with the white rose in hand, leaving it there in the center. He arranged the mud to make sure it does not get blown away, saying "Hey Lexy, I sent you two flowers today. An extra for the one you didn't get all those years ago." Through his tears he smiled, looking at Miles.

Miles felt honored, moving around to hug his father, and they cried in each other's arms. For the next several minutes they held onto each other, expressing their gratitude for having been in each other's life. He acknowledged his father's best efforts to be both parents, despite the military tours and responsibilities of an officer. Dexter, on the other hand, felt proud of his son to have honored his own mother, his wife.

Light flashed before their eyes as another electric current streaked between the clouds, dancing about in erratic patterns. Followed by a multitudinous barrage of thunder causing Miles to cower under his father's arms.

Dexter scooped him up gently, his son clung onto him still whimpering. "It's going to be alright son, we're here." He planted a long kiss on the cub's forehead, leaving a warm patch on his fur that helped relax him. And he felt a warm tingle along his shoulder, a shift of movement from behind his left, doing the same thing he did.

Miles felt it too, a gentle cup of his cheeks as another warmer kiss was planted on his forehead. They didn't see anything but they felt her there. Both her boys looked at each other and smiled, hugging once more before looking fondly at her grave. She had been there all along.

Rainfall had become more torrential, coming in waves as strong winds pushed them. But both Fennixes resisted it, both of them having knelt down in front of her grave to leave a silent prayer. Miles had inhaled the cold, the scent of mud and fallen leaves, exhaling out warm air that heated his clasped hands.

"Thank you for coming, son. You have succeeded in your rite of passage." Dexter said simply.

Miles heard despite the surroundings, his tail wagged. His focus was still on his late mother, asking, "Can we stay here a bit longer though?" Without breaking sight of the gravestone. He kept reading her name over and over.

"Of course son, it's why I have my tent with me." Dexter held his drenched bag. Given its military quality, its insides were still dry until they started setting it up. "Let's stay with mom for a bit."

Miles' ears perked up, turning to his father now. He helped him unsling the bag and set it down against the mud, Dexter assuring him it was alright to dirty it. His father was a soldier after all, he'd been through hell and back. The tent was deceivingly small but in the rolled nylon fabric were already disassembled poles that could be set up. An ingenious and efficient habitat on the fly, or so they thought. Winds were too harsh for them to set it up properly in the open, next to the grave.

"Over here," Dexter gestured near their bikes and in between the trees where he tied the tent down on their trunks. Inside he had thin but warm blankets ready. And after that he put out some apple juice and crackers for them to snack on.

Miles excitedly got his but the taste was near bland. Military standard, his father mentioned, and that it was still far better than what he got during his time. Still, better than nothing. From the mouth of the tent, they had a good view of her grave. And that was when he noticed the engravings on the trees, "Why do these trees have 'F' 'N' and 'X'? Is that supposed to be us?"

Dexter nodded, recalling how he carved it all with his hunting knife. Of course the plot had been bought too. He was no trespasser. "Yes, this is our spot, son. Fennix. Think of it as a personal cemetery, and that anybody caught here, especially disrespecting the grave, can be punished under rule of law."

Miles' spine tingled at that even though it was his plot too. But he wondered more, "Why not have it in a cemetery then?"

He smiled and reached over to rub his back, and then the tip of his right ear making him giggle. "We're wolves, son." Dexter looked out and onto her grave again. "Our ancestors have come from the woods, and we shall return to the woods." And this spot would be for his family too, but he'd rather not bring it up with Miles today- rather tonight as the light dimmed against the thinning rain.

The clouds scrambled, revealing cracks of a light-orange skyline mixed with the blue, with a distant horizon coming over with its cerulean dotted by white speckles of starlight. From the corners of moving clouds they hid a full moon, revealing its curves from time to time, yet still early for its glow to show.

Miles had another, "What was mom like?"

Dexter had two answers for that, and he ought to share more of his personal life with him too. He felt proud sharing it too, starting with, "Very sweet and caring, which inadvertently taught me how to raise you." It tugged on his heart strings that answer, and he went on, "Supportive, loves to express her positivity with your passions." Gesturing a thumbs up that he recalled her doing whenever he did his biker gang gimmick. "I remember when she was supportive of my participation in the Dreamcatcher's biker gang."

"That explains the pants," he toyed with its tassels. "But when did you become a soldier?"

"Some time after joining them. Most of the bikers were in the military. Chase wanted to join, and by extension I did too. And Lexy, your mom, was still very supportive about it. Well, we were already going steady at the time." He chuckled, blissful as his mind reread his inner album of memories.

"And what did she do?"

"Oh, a job befitting her personality." He said, "She's a caregiver for orphans when she and I dated. Then she got shifted to taking care of the elderly because of staff issues." Dexter suggested, "Maybe we can visit them tomorrow and see if we could find more photos of your mom there." His tail wagged first, already set on doing it. Certain that Miles would say yes.

Which the young wolf did, tail wagging just as excited. "Sure! I would love to." And he reached over to hug his father again. And for a while. It was a long hug, and Dexter kept him in his arms.

Little did the father know that his son fell asleep, chuckling as he set him down on his lap. Dexter watched over him and the grave for the next few hours, his ears listening in on their surroundings. Sure enough there were only the crickets chirping, and the river that ran along the curve. The rain had completely stopped and not even a drop fell. His muzzle peeked out of the tent, sniffing their surroundings of wet earth and moist bark, reminiscent of his training days. Before he looked up and saw the clouds forming around the clouds of a mottled night sky.

If he were to guess the time, it would be about eight in the evening. His son squirmed on his lap, opening his red eyes that the moonlight twinkled, staring up to his father. Dexter looked down and caressed his cheek, "Hello my son, I will show you the next thing you have to do as a wolf."

Miles, still hazy, only wanted water, "Can I have some water, please dad?"

"Sure, son," Dexter procured a sealed small water bag with its own spigot, uncapping it. His son sat up and he placed it on his paws, taking a good gulp of it. Not like he'd worry about running out of water. There was a river nearby.

"Hehe, it's like a capri sun." Miles took another sip of the water. Enriched with minerals that normally helped a soldier. The slight taste didn't make it seem off, or tainted with anything. It technically gave him a glimpse of the soldier's life, in addition to the tent and his not too flavorful snacks earlier. After finishing his drink, his father patted his back that encouraged him to burp. He asked him, "Are you gonna howl?"

Dexter smiled, knowing his son had seen the full moon. He had intuition, a quality he hoped for him to hone in the future. Nodding, he said, "Mhm. You are still too young to officially do it. Wait until you hit puberty."

"What's puberty?" Miles tilted his head as he got off his father's lap, Dexter standing and walking out, feet sloshed into the mud. He gestured at him to follow with the wave of a hand. This would be the first time he'd see his father howl up close.

"I'll tell you when you're older." Dexter walked towards his wife's grave and stood by her side. The flower still rested, white petals reflected by the luminous glow of the moon. As did Miles' fur, the white wolf standing beside him.

"The moon sure is beautiful, mom and dad." Miles wagged his tail, brushing over his father's back legs.

Dexter never thought he'd be able to hear Miles say that, but was very touched that he did. "Yeah, it is." He replied. A memory in mind, on the eve of their first date as they walked through the park. A full moon, followed by an embrace of the light and the dark. To which they both then howled into the night.

And last month when he howled alone, in sorrow. Other wolves have heard, have howled with him in his grief. But with his son beside, it wouldn't feel like it, surely. Dexter took a deep breath at first, flowing all of his negative emotions into his heart before he would pour it out in one instinctive tone. Miles felt an aspect of his father he had not experienced before.

From his first howl decades prior, to which Alexa joined him on their night. The eve of their wedding, and the lonesome after she had been buried. On the night of his son's first birthday, and tonight when she and Miles had reconnected again. Those memories internalized down into his heart too as he took one more deep breath. Dexter Fennix, with the witness of Miles Fennix and in spirit of Alexa Fennix, howled into the night.

Loud and pleasing to the ears, his eyes shed tears as the wolf's song echoed throughout the night. Joined by the harmony of tens more amongst the woods, be it feral or anthro. The oldest, and even the youngest.

Miles heard the call, his instincts jolted his body as he raised his head and let out a premature tone of his youth. And upon realizing his mistake, he took a deep breath and let out his first attempt of a howl. Dexter squeezed his shoulder when he did, warm and assuring. Even though it was not proper, the shrill and weak voice overlapped by his father's, the act of trying was what mattered.

And Dexter paused for a moment, followed by a cut-howl, followed by a longer but lower toned one. In his memory, he remembered that his wife almost shared the same tone he did. Perhaps a trick of love, because of all the howls he had heard throughout his life, hers was the most distinct.

When it was all howled and done, he turned to Miles still trying to howl. Perhaps in due time this White Rose would Bloom much more.

****