At Winter's End
#4 of Where the Cool Earth Flows
Surprise!! I did two chapters of this one this time. Alright, well the ideas kinda spread out again... Seems to be happening a lot these days... Well, anyway... I hope you enjoy it.
As always comments are appreciated and requested.
continued from 'A Moonlight Stroll...'
Toran pulled back on the reins, bringing his horse to a stop and taking a moment to look ahead, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun with his hand. Down below the hill where he had paused, a stand of cacti and yucca grew around a stone lined depression, one of the rare places out on the plains where a natural artisan spring came to the surface. Back when the territories had been created, the human governments had made an effort to dig wells all over the plains, at least in the half of the territories that was closest to their lands, meant to allow the cavalry and ranchers to have easy access to water, but, during dry years like this one, most of those wells were dry as well, only the natural springs remaining. Knowing that, the Rangers had posted small squadrons at each spring that they had come across so that they stayed open and free. But this one was far too far out to have a guard, only about thirty miles short of the hybrid lands. All the same, a pair of horses were picketed by the stand of greenery, and Toran could see rifles in saddle holsters, and enough saddle bags and equipment for several days in the wild, meaning one of two things. Either their owners were members of the bandit band that he was tracking, or they were scouts for the Rangers. No other humans would be anywhere near here.
A moment or two later, Toran saw a figure clad in a duster walk over to one of the horses from where he had been standing, hidden by the cactus, and the red haired scout tensed, ready to ride away if the man reached for his rifle. With his talents and training, Toran could probably have easily taken the owners of both horses, but as a scout, his duty wasn't to engage, but rather to ride away and report on what he had found. But, as the man looped the strap of the canteen he had obviously been filling at the spring over the saddle horn, he looked up and spied the mounted scout. For a moment, he looked startled, his hand twitching, as if he was about to reach for the holstered weapon, then he smiled and waved with the hand instead, beckoning Toran to come down and join him. Relaxing his guard a bit, Toran rode down the small slope towards the spring, finally relaxing all the way when he saw that the saddle skirts on both horses bore the embossed seal of the Territorial Rangers, the same mark his own saddle bore. When he passed an outlying clump of cacti, the teenager found the owner of the second horse by the banks of the spring, splashing water onto his face from the pool, the tips of his long grey mustache dripping. When the man looked up, the pair exchanged a grin, Toran recognizing him.
"Hey Toran." The man by the horses said, coming back to shake Toran's hand as the youth swung down from the saddle. Toran knew his face, though it took him a moment to match the name that went with it.
"Hey Arty." Toran replied, shaking the man's hand. Arthur Weisman was more of a frontiersman than a rancher, living further out than even the outer ranges of most ranches, right up against the foothills of the mountains, far closer to hybrid territory than not. But, like Toran, Arthur had been friendly with the hybrids for years, though not quite as close as he had been. The pair had bonded when they had both been picked as scouts, back in training, their shared familiarity with their nonhuman neighbors making them easy friends. Arty, as he allowed his friends to call him, was the chief of the scouts for one of the Ranger battalions that was drawn from the area north of Fort McKinnon, making his presence unusual this far south. "What brings you out this way?"
"Probably the same thing as you." Arty replied, gesturing to the fading trail that led down from the north, joining up with the one that Toran was following at the spring. As he said that, the older man by the pool came over and shook hands with Toran as well. His name was Thomas Graydon, and he owned the next ranch to the south of the one where Toran had grown up.
"Myself as well. The Colonel brought out a couple battalions in force yesterday when we got word of another couple of raids. He sent me out to see what I could find ahead of them, though with this heat, I think they are staying in their bivouac most of the day. Its about half a day down that way." He commented, pointing towards yet another trail leading up from the other direction. "It looks like the hybrid bands are all headed in the same direction."
"Hybrids?" Toran asked, taken aback and Thomas nodded. "What makes you think its hybrids?" "The group I have been following hit what looks like a trader's wagon a couple miles back down the road. Everything about the site says hybrid to me." The old man said, his voice carrying a hint of a familiar tone within it. The tone was one that people who had grown up in the human lands always seemed to have when speaking of their nonhuman neighbors to the west. It was a lack of respect, a prejudice almost, against the hybrids and everything that had to do with them. When he said that, Toran and Arty exchanged a glance.
"How do you mean?" Toran asked, taking the empty water skin from where it hung and walking over to the pool to fill it, his stallion following him without being guided, dipping its snout into the water and noisily beginning to drink its fill.
"Well, there are arrows all over the place, and there was a lot of stuff missing from the wagon." Thomas replied, in a tone that said the conclusion was obvious. "I also found a broken spear and a hatchet."
"That's it?" Arty questioned, incredulous. "That is all you got? Arrows and thievery?"
"What other conclusion could you draw from it?" The older man asked, sounding confused.
"How the hell did you get picked to be a scout, Graydon?" Arty asked, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe it. "You need more evidence than that before you can claim it was the hybrids."
"Like what, pray tell?" he shot back, sounding angry and Toran stood up, restopping his full skin.
"Arthur is right." Toran said, cutting off the argument. Despite being so young, Toran's skills had swiftly made the other scouts in the brigade respect his opinion. Despite the fact that none of the scouts technically held any rank other than 'Scout', they treated him the same way they treated the officers. "But all the same, we need to take a look at the wagon."
"I don't get what you two are on about." Thomas said as all three scouts mounted up. "Who else could it be out this far, if not the hybrids? Besides, humans stopped using those sorts of weapons a long time ago."
"I'm not sure, but the hybrids are not thieves. Its goes against all of their ideals to just take things like that, much less kill for them." Toran replied, gesturing for the other scout to lead the way. "But whoever it is that is doing this obviously wants us to think that the hybrids are responsible."
"But what would the point of that be?" Thomas asked over his shoulder, "Surely there are easier ways of getting away with being an outlaw." Nodding, Toran answered the offhand question, puzzling over that very point as well.
"Probably so." the young scout finally replied. "But what better way than pointing the blame at people who can't answer for themselves?"
At the answer, Thomas nodded, seeming suddenly to understand the benefit of such a scheme. The trio of scouts, more used to being alone than in the company of others, fell silent as they rode back down the southern trail, taking care not to override the hoof prints of their quarry, each alone with their thoughts. The heat of the afternoon sun sinking down towards the baking, shimmering horizon made it seem as if the riders were traveling in a hazy world of heat and dust and Toran found his mind wandering again, his thoughts traveling back to the cool of an early spring years ago, when the ground was still dusted with snow, and the green had only just begun to creep back into the plants...
***
Toran stepped off the worn wooden boards of the deck, his boots crunching into the tan colored crust of old snow and dust that still covered the plains around the ranch house. The morning sun was just lighting the eastern sky, the stars above him still shining brightly. As he made his way out to the stables, Toran looked over to the edge of the split rail fence that kept the herd out of the ranch buildings, the rails only dim, vaguely guessed shapes in the dark. But, in a neat line on top of the nearest posts, more than twenty cow skulls had been set out, slowly bleaching ever more white in the winter sun. One thing after another since late autumn had cost his family more and more head of cows, more than any year since Toran had been alive. In fact, taking care of the cattle had taken so much work that he had learned not to take a chance on missing Senyr's signal. So every day since autumn, even though there was no possible way that the passes were open, he had gotten up before dawn and gone riding out to the west, merely a short jaunt, nothing that his father could object to. In fact, the rancher seemed pleased at his initiative, often praising his willingness to get up before dawn to exercise the horses. It still made Toran smile every time he said it, the red haired boy wondering if he would be so pleased if he knew exactly why he was doing it. Pushing open the door to the stable, the youth smiled, grabbing his saddle and tack from the wall. Synching the saddle onto one of the horses, Toran swung himself up onto its back and tapped his heels into its flank.
The stallion he had chosen today was young, in its prime, and it didn't seem to mind the cold, no more than Toran did anyway, the horse eagerly galloping out the doors, heading for the eastern edge of the fence. Actually, the red haired rider had grown to enjoy the biting cold before dawn, the dim hours when the snow made everything a pale blue, as if the world itself were frozen. Urging his horse into a sprint, Toran guided him towards a section of fence that, because of the way the ground had sunk a little, was a little bit shorter than the others. Just short enough... Grinning broadly, Toran held on tight as the horse ran on, swift and sure as only a stallion could be, and leapt into the air, soaring right over the shortened section of fence and landing beyond it. Laughing, the red haired boy allowed the horse its rein, the animal running on west on its own for a while, its breath trailing behind it in thin streams as it ran along the line of the fence, running northward for a stretch. Smiling broadly, Toran let go of the reins, the leads falling down to his saddle skirts, and he spread his arms out to either side, embracing the rushing wind and the aching cold that surrounded them, letting it sting his skin through his clothes. Finally, after about a quarter mile, the stallion slowed down and Toran lowered his arms, leaning down to pick up the reins again.
Today was shaping up to be a beautiful day, and, though it still felt cold, the sun had been warmer of late than it had been these past months, and Toran knew that spring was on the way. Taking a deep breath of biting cold air, the teenager turned the horse back to the west, riding up the slope of the hill towards its top. More had changed about Toran over the winter months than just adding another year to his total though. He had grown a couple of inches, and put on a couple of pounds of muscle, his habit of riding everyday and taking on more work with the cattle having made him stronger. But the biggest changes, the changes that meant the most to him, were those that no one could see, and no one knew about save for himself. It had begun in the first week of winter, when a blizzard had buried the ranch in white, and everyone had spent the day indoors as much as possible. All autumn, he had found himself thinking of Senyr more and more as time passed, the absence of the young wolf constantly on his mind, something that others probably would have found odd, considering they had only known each other a couple of months. But, the night of the blizzard, when the house was silent and still, and everyone was bundled beneath thick blankets and furs, that odd feeling of loss, of almost a part of himself being missing, had changed.
His room had been chilly that night, a chill that the house's sturdy construction never seemed to be able to wholly keep out, a cold that made Toran burrow deeper into his blankets in an attempt to escape it. And in those first moments, nestled in the pocket of cloth, several layers deep, he had found himself musing over that last night, the night when he had said goodbye to his wolf friend. The memory of sitting beside Senyr, stargazing and chatting about the future and the wolf's culture somehow made the space beneath his blankets seem warm. Gradually, as the moments had passed, and the dark pocket he had made within the blankets became more cozy, he had found his thoughts gradually shifting, lingering instead on the few moments when they had hugged one another. That last embrace had only lasted a few moments, the embrace of brothers reluctantly parting ways, and yet... As he had lain there in the warming darkness, listening to the whistling wind of the first blizzard, he had found himself focusing on the feeling of his friend holding him close, the scent of the wolf's fur, unmistakable so close to his nose. Those few moments of memory, relived again and again, seemed to bring with them an incredible warmth, a comforting, soothing warmth, easing his mind, chasing away the chill of his bedroom. He had held onto those feelings tightly, luxuriating in them, until he even imagined that his breaths held the scent of Senyr's tawny fur.
Then, suddenly, Toran had found himself scenting something else, something he had never smelled in waking life, but knew at once. It was the smell of pine, and of fragrant red earth, and the cool scent of snow upon the air. Startled, Toran had opened his eyes to find not the darkness of his covers, nor the dim, moonlit space of his bedroom. Rather, he found himself standing in a valley lined with cliffs of red stone, snow piled high on the mountain tops around it, yet, here in this valley, all was green, almost fertile, as if the winter winds had had no power over it. The sky above him was all starlight and moonlight, snow laden clouds lining the distant horizon the only sign of the winter storm that swirled outside the ranch house, and though the air was as cold as ice, Toran did not seem to notice it, though he didn't feel like he was wearing anything, much less anything heavy enough to stave off the chill. And then, his view seemed to shift as if he had taken to the air on the wings of some bird, flying down the valley, deeper into the mountains.
And there below him, he saw suddenly sturdy lodges made from pine logs, their corners richly carved with many patterns, hides covering the doorways, thin streams of pungent smoke rising out of the apex of each roof. Firewood stood stacked outside them, within easy reach, and horses wandered in a paddock sheltered by the cliff side nearby. Finally, as he floated above the circle of buildings, Toran saw the wolvish shapes of hybrids passing between them, although they seemed somehow indistinct, as if they were only shadows on the edge of sight, part of some mirage in the distance. But, as he watched them, they seemed to gather in the center of the village, and all at once, like a star suddenly breaking through cloud, a bright bonfire was kindled in the clear space in the exact center of the circle of lodges, making the shapes even more like shadows, flitting this way and that in the dancing light of the flames. Drawn to the fire, he had soared down until he was among the shadows, flying around the circuit of the firelight. Then, he saw a shape amidst the shadows, a shape that was sharp and distinct, as distinct as the day they had first seen one another. There, sitting with his legs crossed and his eyes closed, was Senyr, the young wolf seeming almost to be asleep. He was clad in his usual buckskin trousers, dyed red and white down the sides, but also in a loose fitting wrap of hide as white as snow, almost like a poncho, his arms free to move beneath it, and, Toran was pleased to see, the red bandanna still tied around his neck.
Toran's view seemed to draw closer to his friend, as if he were now walking upon his own legs, the shadows moving to either side at his approach, voices now filling his ears. indistinct, yet not unpleasant, perhaps chanting softly, or singing in a language he could not understand. Finally, he settled down beside his friend, sitting as close as they had grown accustomed to doing when they had spent their evenings together. The chanting voices were like a pleasant hum in the background as they sat, side by side, the warmth of the fire on their faces. And yet, the longer he sat there, listening to the song, the more familiar the sounds seemed to become, like it was a tune he had once known, but had forgotten it somewhere along the way. Then, as the moon rose to its height in the sky, the song began to grow louder, echoing from the cliffs until the valley rang with the sound, as if thousand more voices had joined in a single tune.
Finally, as the chanting song grew to crescendo, Senyr opened his eyes and turned to look at Toran, or so it seemed, for his eyes were glowing bright blue, lighting the tawny fur of his face and the young wolf smiled, holding out a hand towards him. And then, all of the voices were raised together, joined in a singular howl of many tones, resonant and beautiful, and Toran smiled in return, reaching out towards the wolf with glowing eyes. Just as their hands were about to clasp, Toran jerked suddenly awake, the blankets falling away from him as his father's loud voice roused him from the dream he had slipped seamlessly into. Ever since that night, every night without fail, Toran's dreams had wandered in valleys far away, above mountains shrouded with snow and frozen rivers he had never seen, the howling of wolves his constant companion, and always, he had woken from his sleep with a smile on his lips, preferring the visions of the distant mountain valleys to his waking reality.
Turning his horse back towards the south, the red haired teenager headed for the tree at the edge of the gully, hoping as ever that today would be the day. Just the thought of seeing Senyr again was a warm enough notion to make it easy to brave the cold of the hours just before the dawn every day, even when it had been snowing outside. But warmer by far was the thought that for a few hours, they would sit side by side again, and share their winter stories with each other. And perhaps, just perhaps, Senyr would be able to explain just what the strange dreams had meant. Every day he rode out, Toran hoped to see a flash of red in the tree branches, and every day, he had been disappointed, the dull grey-barked branches rasping together like so many withered hands, empty. And yet, the next morning, he would ride out with the same hope, the same warmth in this heart. He had no doubt that his father would think what he was doing was foolish, that even hoping that Senyr would come back at all was absurd. But he had no doubt, none at all. He would see his friend again, and soon. Then, as he rode over the last rise of land, the tree branches coming into view, Toran's heart leapt for the sky, making a valiant bid to be free of his earthly shell, to soar high as he now did so often in his dreams.
Urging his horse into a gallop once more, Toran held on as the stallion moved into a dead sprint, heading for the edge of the gully. As the tree came nearer and nearer, Toran rose in the stirrups, as upright as he could. And as the horse veered to the side at the edge of the gully, Toran pushed himself out of his perch on horseback, leaping for the nearest branch. It was a foolish thing to do, far more dangerous than leaping the fence, but he didn't care. Clambering up onto the thick branch as soon as his hands caught it, the red haired youth immediately reached for a higher branch, heedless of his own hands. Moving with a reckless speed, he scaled into the heights of the tree, skinning his hands on the rough bark, but he could have left all of his skin behind for all that it mattered in those moments. Breathing hard, his breath misting around him, Toran hauled himself up the last few feet, balancing on a high branch, reaching out and grabbing hold of the red cloth that had been tied securely to the high place.
Untying the knot with fingers that fumbled with both cold and excitement, Toran detached it from the tree branch and smiled broadly, the rising sun highlighting him in his triumph. In his hands was the bandanna he had lent to his wolf friend, and Toran looked at the land all around him for a moment, hoping that he might see Senyr somewhere nearby. But, as ever, the land all about him was silent and still beneath the dawn, nothing moving except for branches waving around him in the chill dawn breezes. But it didn't matter, none of it, not the cold, nor the wind, nor the winter that still stubbornly clung to the land all around him. With a heart as light as air, Toran swung from branch to branch, nearly flying out of the tree and back down to the ground, grinning from ear to ear. Reaching the earth once more, Toran tucked the red cloth into his pocket once again and swung himself up into the saddle of his horse, beginning to guide the stallion back towards the house, the horse going that way almost without his input. It had ridden this route so often that it knew what was required of it.
Grinning to himself as the house came into view once more, Toran couldn't seem to keep himself still in the saddle, shifting and fidgeting uncomfortably as he rode. He knew he was going to have plenty of chores today, but even that didn't matter. Who cared that there was work to be done? The sun was shining, winter was coming to an end and Senyr was back. How could he possibly feel down today?
***
Toran's heart hammered in his chest, demanding that he get up, urging him with all its strength to move, but the red-haired youth instead remained as still as he could, the blankets drawn up over his head, preserving the warmth beneath. Nothing would have made him happier than to go running off right then and there, despite the cold of the dark night outside, but tonight of all nights, he had to remain where he was, still and silent. It was his fault really; all day, he had been fidgety, unable to sit still, constantly in motion, even when he was out riding with his father, inspecting the fences for damage. And, doubtless, that had been the reason his father had treated him to what was almost a lecture for an hour after dinner, talking about what needed to be done in the coming season. Toran knew very well what he had to do in the springtime, he had been helping with it since he was five after all. But finally, when his father sent him off to bed, Toran had prepared himself just like he always had, slipping into his long under wear and laying out his clothes for tomorrow. Then, he had curled up in bed beneath his blankets, listening as the house had gotten quiet, waiting for his chance. But, for what felt like hours now, he had had to remain still, had to act as if he were asleep, his father not heading to bed despite the long talk he had subjected his son to.
Then, finally, Toran heard his father get up from the desk in his office down the hall, the heavy footsteps on the floorboards as he finally finished whatever it was he was working on and went off to bed. But the teenager knew that he had to be careful now, drawing in as a deep a breath as possible as the creaking floor boards approached the threshold of his room, slowing his racing heart, stilling the eager tremors in his limbs. And then, like clockwork, just as he became as still as a sleeper should be, he heard the footsteps pause outside his room, the door opening at his father's touch. For the span of ten long breaths, the longest of his life, Toran heard his father stand in the doorway, watching to ensure that he was truly asleep. Then, finally, he walked off down the hall to his own bedroom, leaving the door to the hall open. Grimacing to himself, Toran waited, counting the seconds as the minutes ticked by at a snail's pace. Then, at last, after the house had been silent for several minutes, he quietly pushed back his covers, sliding his legs to the side, out from under the blankets.
The cold air of the night outside seemed to slither up the sleeves of his long underwear, robbing him of his warmth, but even as he shivered, he shook off the feeling, rising to his feet and moving to the door, carefully pushing it closed, but not allowing it to shut fully, keeping it nearly silent. Once the door was only cracked once more, just as Toran had left it earlier, the boy hurried to the dresser and slid the clothes on that he had set aside, moving as quietly as he could, picking up his boots and moving to the window. Now was the true test of his skill with sneaking out. His father was extremely sharp when it came to temperatures in the house, somehow knowing when windows had been left open, or even when the cool night air managed to find another way inside. Once, when Toran had been little, ice had split the seam around one of the windows in his father's office, leaving a tiny gap between the wall and window and the rancher had gotten up within a few minutes to fix it, somehow feeling the cold draft all the way down the hall and through two closed doors.
Taking a deep breath in preparation, Toran lifted the window, hurrying to put his boots outside on the shingles and slipping through the gap as quickly as he could, shutting the window within a few seconds, barely keeping his feet on the icy roof. Pausing for a few minutes despite the bitter cold, Toran waited, listening and watching for any sign of his father getting up. Only when the world remained dark and silent did he smile, sitting down with his back to the wall on the spot he had carefully cleared of snow earlier, slipping his boots onto his rapidly numbing feet. Then, with a broad grin, the youth rose to his feet and crept over to the corner of the roof, avoiding the treacherous ice as much as possible, beginning the task of shimmying down the pillar. In the warmer months, it had been easy to do it, but he had never actually tried it in the winter. The red haired boy was about half way down the pillar when he felt his fingers, numbed by the cold, suddenly lose their grip. Biting back a curse, Toran fell the last few feet, landing on his back in the brittle grass and snow. Clenching his teeth hard and making a fist so tight with his right hand that his fingernails dug into his palm, Toran waited for the pain to go away, then pushed himself up onto his feet.
Brushing off the dusting of dirty snow he had picked up, the red haired youth didn't bother to wait to see if his disappearance had been noticed, turning instead and moving off at a jog, heading for the ridge and the boulder field beyond it, his boots crunching through the crust of snow once more. He had waited long enough for this, and he wasn't going to waste another minute if he didn't have to. When he had slipped through the gap between two rails of the fence, Toran finally turned and glanced back, his smile returning when he saw that no lights had been lit in the house, the other buildings of the ranch likewise silent and still, meaning his was free for a few precious hours. Without another thought, the youth picked up his pace and ran up the slope of the hill, his boots kicking up sprays of snow as he went. It didn't take him long to reach the edge of the boulder field and this time, he didn't even pause to decide where to go. Somehow, he had a feeling where Senyr would be.
Finally slowing his pace on the ice slicked boulders, Toran walked off towards the left, where the boulders were the most jumbled, looking for one formation in particular. And then he saw them, the two drunken boulders holding one another up. Grinning, Toran picked up his pace once more, heading for the bowl that they shielded. For just a moment as he walked up, Toran wondered whether the drifted snow would have sealed off the gap that he had crawled through back in the autumn, but when he knelt down to look, he found that though the snow had piled up deeply on the fine silt and sand, the gap beneath the boulders was still clear. Once he was through the gap in the stones, Toran stood up and turned around, expecting to find the young wolf seated on the shelf, as he had been the last time they had seen each other, but the space was empty. Disappointed, Toran frowned, looking around in surprise. Then, he caught a sound behind him, opposite the shelf, the rasp of hide upon stone and he turned, once again expecting to find Senyr there, but again finding only empty stone. And then, just as a frown was forming on his lips, he suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing up and he whirled around just in time to catch a glimpse of a tawny and white blur before it slammed into him, knocking him over into the drifted snow.
"Oof!!" Toran exclaimed as the breath left his lungs on impact with the snow drift and for a moment, he couldn't comprehend what exactly had happened. Then, he heard a familiar laugh and he grinned, raising his head to find Senyr looking down at him from his position on top of his chest, his exuberant greeting having caught the human off guard.
"Its so good to see you again Toran!!" Senyr said, suddenly embracing his friend tightly. "I missed you."
"I missed you too Senyr." Toran said, laughing and hugging the young wolf just as tightly, not minding in the slightest that the snow he had landed in was starting to creep down the back of his shirt, his joy at seeing his friend overwhelming all discomfort. After a few moments, the two teenagers released one another, the wolf rolling to the side and sitting up, letting the human up. When Toran had dug the accumulated snow out of his collar, he looked over at his friend once more, unable to keep from grinning. The wolf was clad exactly as he had been in the dreams Toran had had, the white wrap around his torso made from fine doeskin that had made him nearly invisible against the snowy backdrop. "Is your tribe back as well, or did you come back alone?"
"They should be back in our usual camping place today, but I rode on ahead so I could see you." The wolf replied, pushing himself to his feet and holding out a hand. "I wanted to surprise you."
"Well, you succeeded." Toran replied, taking the wolf's outstretched limb and letting him haul him upright, looking down for a moment as he brushed himself off, using the opportunity to hide the sudden blush that had come to his cheeks, though he couldn't say why he was blushing at all. After all, it wasn't like seeing his friend again was embarrassing. Quite the opposite in fact; he was so overwhelmed by joy that it was all he could do to keep from laughing. Looking up again after a moment, he looked over at his friend once more and examined him, searching for anything that had changed. The tawny wolf had grown a few inches too, and filled out some as well, but that was about it, Senyr looking the same as always. "Come on, lets find a better place to sit, out of the snow."
Nodding, the wolf allowed the human to lead, the pair walking off towards the eastern edge of the boulder field again, clambering over the rocks with the same enthusiasm as they had in summer, heedless of the cold and the ice. Finally, when they had found a flat stone shelf, shaped so there was a boulder they could lean against, the pair settled down against it, sitting close to one another to stave off the winter's chill that clung to the stones. When they were relatively comfortable, Toran spoke again, glancing over at his companion.
"So...I had a dream about you." he said, the wolf looking at him in surprise.
"Really?" Senyr asked, smiling and sounding pleased. "When was this?"
"Well, it was the night we had our first real blizzard at the ranch." Toran explained, "We were stuck inside all day and I was tucked in, getting ready to sleep, when all of a sudden, it was like I was on the edge of a valley in the mountains, looking down. The valley was green still, but the rest of the mountains were frozen, covered in snow." As Toran laid out the dream for his friend, telling him of taking flight and hearing the chanting voices, the wolf's smile changed, broadening, but his eyes held a look that Toran didn't expect. It was as if he couldn't quite believe what Toran was saying, but when he came to the point where he settled down beside his friend, Senyr's eyebrows rose, as if that was the detail that gave the whole thing credence. "And then, just when I was going to take your hand, I woke up." Toran finished, shaking his head, "I have never experienced anything like it before. But every night since then, I have had more dreams like that one, all about flying over the mountains. Do you know what that is all about?"
"I do, or something like it, though I have never heard of a human being able to do it." The wolf replied, shaking his head in turn. "The shaman call it Spiritwalking." At the human's puzzled expression, the wolf continued. "During certain ceremonies, my people can sort of, leave our bodies, and become part of another creature, or else see things that are far away, sometimes even visit other tribes. I have only done it a couple of times myself, but every time it has been like you described."
"Well, what does it mean if I can 'Spiritwalk'?" Toran asked, feeling unsettled by the whole idea. It sounded rather farfetched to be honest, and if his friend hadn't obviously been serious, he would have discarded it as nothing more than more superstition. Seeing the worry in his gaze, Senyr smiled, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"It means you are not like other humans, that's all." The wolf said, giving him a little shake that made Toran smile in return. "I told you were different. I knew it the moment I met you. You are really something special."
"Thanks Senyr." Toran said, and his companion nodded. "That means a lot."
"Anytime Toran." The wolf replied and the pair subsided into silence for a little while. "That first dream-vision you had, the one with the bonfire?" When Toran nodded for him to continue, Senyr glanced away a little as if he was shy speaking of it. "There was a ceremony that night, one of our festivals honoring our ancestors. I was just sitting, listening to my tribe mates chanting, when all of a sudden, I felt like someone was sitting beside me. I looked around, but I couldn't see anyone, but, just for a moment, I would have sworn that I caught your scent. I thought it was just because I was wearing your bandanna, but I guess it was more than that."
As he finished speaking, Senyr looked his human companion in the eye, holding his gaze for a few long moments, as if searching for something there. Then, all of a sudden, both of them smiled, laughing at the same instant. Shaking off the odd moment, the pair settled back, looking upwards again, beginning to talk once more as they always had done, the hours passing unmarked, and unnoticed as they swapped stories and news. Only when the eastern sky was brightening with the dawn, the pair finally ended their talk, getting up at last and stretching the chill stiffness from their limbs.
"We are going to have to figure out a better way next winter. Four months is too long to be away." Senyr commented, giving a yawn.
"Yes it is." Toran agreed, looking out towards the ridge. Then, when he looked back at his friend, he felt a sudden, strange feeling well up in his heart, a feeling that had always been there when he was with Senyr, but now, it seemed to have become far more present. It felt like a thrill that crawled its way up the spine like a breeze, making him want to shiver. He couldn't even describe the way it made him feel, but it wasn't like it was unpleasant. Quite the opposite in fact. Then, struck with sudden inspiration, Toran took the red bandanna he had lent to Senyr out of his pocket and held it out to his friend. "Here. You should have this." Smiling broadly, the wolf took the cloth and tied it around his neck once more. Then, with a wide smile on his face, he trapped the human in a warm hug once more.
"Thanks Toran." He said. Then, he said something odd, something that Toran had never expected to hear from him. "I wish all my friends were as close as you. I promise I will be back soon. Maybe even tomorrow morning."
"I hope so." Toran replied, not slackening his embrace until he felt the wolf start to pull away.
"Now," Senyr said, clapping the human on the shoulder. "You should be getting back, the last thing we need is for your father to catch you sneaking back in." Nodding at his friend's jest, Toran hopped off the boulder, landing in a crouch and turning to wave before beginning the jog back towards the house, the wolf returning the gesture before clambering over the rocks back towards the west. Toran knew he would probably be exhausted before day's end since he hadn't slept, but he would willingly have spent every night the way he had spent this one, no matter how he felt later...