The fire had burned down to coals.
And there, upon the sofa before the fire, lay Athena, asleep. And all along and about her lay a great mound of strange and lovely smoky grey fur which rose and fell with every soft, slow breath.
The fur slowly unwound itself and raised a wolf's head from beside Athena. Grinning, the wolf nuzzled a muzzle into Athena's hair, making her rasp rather groggily. 'Nooo...' she complained, turning her head and attempting to re-enter dreamland. But her wolfish companion put a great paw upon her shoulder and a cold nose beneath the hair upon her neck.
An eruption of arms, legs, pillows and wolf fur ensued leaving Athena tumbled from the sofa while the great wolf leapt down beside her, tail up, and grinning.
'Uf! Happy, now?' she asked, running hands through her long silver locks.
The wolf sat before her and raised both paws to her shoulders in furry embrace. Slowly he began to shimmer...heatwaves over hot pavement. When the phenomenon ceased, a Man sat in place of Wolf.
Long salt and pepper braids hung over his shoulders. A finely made man; spare of fat, dark of skin. Lean muscles like a runner. Upon his back, chest and upper arms were finely detailed tattoos of swirls, spirals and sigils. Legs crossed, he sat before Athena, a sly smile lingered upon his lips, mahogany hands gripped her shoulders.
'It is morning.' A deep voice, only slightly hoarse.
Athena sighed. 'That it is.' She shivered, and glanced at the exhausted fire.
Pulling her to him, they held one another gently.
'I will make the fire,' he told her, clearing his throat he added, 'Coffee would be good.'
They put their foreheads together then, rubbing noses.
'Coffee,' she agreed, 'would be heaven.'
'It is said,' Athena's ManWolf declared, 'that even the eucalyptus trees in the western territories still mourn their lost home back down the Tail End of Turtle Island. They are out of their element here. As are your people, those from across the seas.'
Athena and the ManWolf sat crosslegged upon the sofa, drinking coffee and eating fresh nut and berry scones, fragrant red apples sliced by a long hunting knife.
'These trees, have become ghosts of their former selves. The best of them, their true spirits, remain back at their home camp, the Turtle's Tail. Everything has its place upon the Great Mother.'
Athena accepted a slice of apple from his knife.
'This is why we feel lost here at times, without a history of our own,' she agreed, looked down, regarded apple. 'People came here escaping wars, oppression. And then they brought it with them. The oppressed became the oppressors. Orphans of the storm, they became the storm troopers they had fled.'-- Crunch.
It is so.' The ManWolf reached for the enamel coffee pot warm upon the hearth, and poured for them both.
'And without that feeling of home, without that connection, men become as ghosts also. This is why they kill the buffalo and human beings without respect, without conscience. They have nothing within themselves, no inner...compass. They no longer know themselves. They know not who, or even what, they are. They have lost all connection with their ancestors.
'We,' he put a hand to his chest, 'may have lost our lands, but we still keep our home within us, here! We are not ghosts. We have spirit within, we have heart. We know our tribe. We know our ancestors. We know our history, and the history of this land.'
'You have great heart, mon ami.' Athena put her hand upon his knee. She sighed, and added more sticks to the fire.
'I feel like a ghost myself, at times...coming not only from across the sea but across the sea of time as well.'
Her companion touched her cheek. 'You, have great heart, ma chere. Your spirit is strong. You have tall, strong spirits which stand behind you, guiding you, and you are in touch with them and with your ancestors. You are not a ghost.' He took her hand then, and smiled. 'It was in the Sea of Time I found you and followed you here.'
'I am glad that you did,' Athena smiled. 'You were the brightness in that dark void for me.'
He covered her hand with both of his. 'This is why I am called Wolf Star.'
Daryl bent to his work in the dirt.
Weeding, not his favorite garden chore, but it needed doing. Muttering to himself all the while;
'...St.John and his 'grubbing about for potatoes'...we'll see who feeds better; he with his overflow diet of blubber or my fresh vegetables...we'll see who wins this race...' and other recriminations he worked out as his gloved hands worked the soil, interspersed with snatches of song: '...'Tis a gift to be simple, 'tis a gift to be free...'
Suddenly, a neighboring cat leapt over the fence, landing beside Daryl.
'Well!' He started. 'I've seen you before, puss! You could help keep the birds out, couldn't you, then?' He took off a glove and held out a hand. The ginger tabby took a tentative sniff, unimpressed, but allowed Daryl to stroke his head, and stretched out his neck when he received some cat-massage neath chin. 'Not a bad puss, are you, old tom? Maybe I could get a cat, now that I'm...here.'
Here: not only where but when, he bethought, and not for the last time.
Homebound. Earthbound. Timelocked. Grounded.
Sighing, Daryl removed the other glove and slowly stood. Or tried to...
'Aah! Ah-ah-ah!' He made it only part way up to his full
6-foot and more before he knew he was in trouble. The cat, sensing this, had disappeared. Lucky cat...Daryl wished he could as well.
'Oh, gods...' He tried to sit back down. A squeak of pain escaped him.
'I-cannot-stay-like-this!' he muttered between clenched teeth, caught betwixt sit-or-stand.
'Just do it!' he ordered, and threw himself erect with a will...
'--Ullmp!' The pain caught him in its inexorable grip like a red-hot vise squelching raw nerve ends. Tears unbidden streamed down his face. He dare not move. Sweat mixed with tears and he soon began to pant.
'Diego, hola? Que es?' Manuel called, as he approached from the stable. Daryl couldn't move. He tried to call out a: 'Help!' -- but it became strangled.
Luckily Manuel knew something had Diego in its grasp.
'Hold on...'
Striding up to his employer and friend, Manuel nodded.
'The back again, is it? Alright. Can you walk, move at all?'
Daryl's eyes pleaded. He opened his mouth to answer, tried to move again --
then his face went white and his eyes rolled up into their sockets. Daryl went down like a 6 foot sack of potatoes...Manuel caught him halfway.
.........
Daryl found himself upon the sofa in the parlor when he came to. Manuel, used to these episodes, had him sitting partially up against pillows; a heated flaxseed pillow was pressed against his lower back.
'How is it now?' Manuel was sitting in the wingchair, reading.
Daryl wasn't sure. He tried a deep inhale. Caught his breath. That hurt.
But, '-- Better,' he allowed. 'Thanks.'
Manuel came over to him. 'Okay where you are?'
Daryl nodded.
'Alright.' Manuel knew if Daryl wasn't talking much, that indeed, things were very, very wrong. 'I have a soup started on the stove. Water is hot for tea. How about some valerian?
Help you sleep, maybe.'
Daryl closed his eyes. Again, he nodded.
Manuel returned with a hot covered mug.
'I'll just set this here.' Daryl noticed then the tea trolley wheeled up beside him. 'Ring this,' Manuel touched a small bell, 'if you need me. I'll be around.' He gazed down at Daryl frowning, thinking that Daryl always fared poorly without Emlyn about.
Daryl was trying to speak, he whispered, '--Top shelf, medicine chest, white bottle.'
Manuel was off.
Just kill me now, Daryl was thinking...oh to be gone from this battered old shell...was he only 58? Surely it'd been centuries...
Manuel clattered down the stairs. He had an armful of bottles. 'Here!--' he set down the white bottle, 'it is. And some others, just to make sure. Muscle relaxers may help, although I understand it is a pinched nerve end. Take whatever you need, mi amigo. I'll be here. But I don't want to try to move you upstairs to bed.'
Daryl shot an alarmed look at Manuel: No-don't-move-me writ large upon his face.
'Not to worry,' Manuel assured him. 'I'll just be in the kitchen. And, oh! -- Rosa is returning manana! Just in time, eh? So...ring if you need me. I'll bring in some lunch when it's ready, no?'
Daryl nodded, groping for the bottles...
Uncorking the laudanum, Daryl drank. And drank again.
-- Enough. He lay back, panting, desperate for release.
Sometime later, Emlyn appeared, violin case and valise in hand. Stuffing her mobile unit in a skirt pocket, she glanced about her from the front porch of Nob Hill House. Everything looked exactly as before. This seemed rather amazing to her, considering how much had changed...elsewhere.
She hesitated but a moment, then reached to the doorknob and let herself in.
She thought it odd that the door was unlocked. So quiet! She shut the door. 'Hola?' she called tentatively.
No answer.
'...Something smells good,' she allowed as she wandered into the kitchen. She noted a soup on the stove, but no sign of Rosa's baking...still in Los Angeles, it seemed.
She turned and headed into the parlor. She went to the grand in the corner and lay the violin case down upon the bench.
She set down her valise as well, then went to the curtains which had been drawn shut.
'So dark in here...' she murmured as she opened them. The house seemed changed somehow since she'd been here last. But, all appeared as it had been...she glanced about her.
'Oh!' She breathed. She espied Daryl then, pale and laid out upon the sofa, a tea tray of medicines at his side.
'Diosa, whatever has happened now...?' She wondered as she sidled softly over to him.
Gazing down at her friend, former fiance' and purveyor of pain and pleasure combined, she shook her head.
'You simply go to pieces without me, don't you, old thing?'
She whispered to him, noting that he seemed dead to the world, not having heard her moving about.
She knelt beside him on the rug.
'Diego, mi amor, what have you done to yourself now?'
She bit her lip, wanting to touch him, but dare not. He seemed so still...she noticed him breathing, but very softly, slowly. She took the bottle of laudanum and saw it was empty.
Well, he wouldn't be laid out like this for no reason...no, this wasn't like Daryl. Ever a man of action, finding him upon a couch mid-day was like seeing snow in August...whatever had happened here?
...............
'Just this morning. It is his back. Again.' Manuel was ever a man of few words. But his countenance spoke for him. Em could see worry written bold upon his features as he entered the parlour.
She sighed. 'I'll stay here a while, Manuel. If you have other jobs to see to?'
He managed a small smile. 'Of course. Gracias, Emlyn. He will be glad to see you when he wakes.' He sighed in turn. 'He has never been one for malingering. Diego is a man on fire...you cannot keep him down long.'
He bent to the tea table and examined the white bottle.
'He may need more. I'll bring some back from the chemist. And lay in some food for later. Rosa will be back sometime tomorrow...and a good thing, too.'
Em took Manuel's hand. 'Gracias. I hate seeing him like this! And I'm so glad you are here.'
'Of course.' He smiled and put his other hand over hers. 'He is my friend.' He paused but a moment. 'You know he saved my life. Rosa's as well.'
This was news to Emlyn. 'No I did not know this! Oh, Manuel!'
He patted her hand. 'Many years ago now. A story for sometime later, si?' And taking the bottle, Manuel left upon his errands of mercy.
Emlyn moved one of the wingchairs closer to the sofa so that she may keep an eye upon Daryl. She hardly knew what to think now...obviously Diego needed her here. For now, at least.
'I live to serve.' Em murmured, but of course it was more than that. It pained her to see Diego thus; his enormous ego could oft times be unbearable, but when he was reduced to mortality like all the rest of us, it simply seemed the planets had whirled off their orbit and the world had somehow gone sky-crooked.
'And so you are mortal man after all, mon amor...'
Emlyn knew not when, but merciful sleep overtook her at some point.
.........
It was quite sometime thereafter that Daryl roused at last from his troubled dreamland. Morpheus had done good work however and he felt less pain and confusion. Still, he wasn't anxious to test himself just yet. Small, slow movements...
He managed to roll to his side, and then he saw Emlyn, fast asleep in the chair beside him.
This was not altogether the welcome sight it could have been, at some earlier point in time perhaps. But now...he did not care for any more witnesses to his imminent deterioration.
His head rolled back and he shut his eyes. Damnation...
He now knew how Dorian Grey felt. Somewhat.
Unbidden, a small tear rolled down the corner of his cheek.
None of that shite; he rubbed it out. But there was no denying it: now that he was out of the time slip-stream, he would begin to age like any mortal man. Any many long years of owing the piper would have to be paid -- in spades.
He threw an arm over his eyes. Didn't even want to consider what all; organs, tendons and such, might be gearing up to throw a monkey wrench into his inner clockworks. And who opened the bloody drapes in here, anyway?
He sighed. One good thing: at least Em had moved out. His deterioration could proceed apace without her here in a ringside seat to witness it all.
An old saying slipped sideways onto his mindscape. Something...was it Kipling, perhaps? -- something about old lions being at their fiercest when they become old, they know their time is soon upon them, and wish to go down fighting.
Daryl decided then he would prefer to be an old lion rather than an old turtle on its back, legs in the air, helpless, as he was now.
'Cara? Diego? Are you awake?' Her voice.
Her voice cut into him like a knife...
He cleared his voice. 'Si, Josephina. I'm here. I'm fine now...'
She came and gently sat beside him, taking his hand.
'I heartily doubt that, cher.' She kissed his forehead, smiling. 'Again with your fantastic tales.'
Diego smiled. And sighed. Within minutes, Morpheus showed him mercy and sleep took him once more.
...........................
'It's snowing again.'
Athena stood at the cottage window, gazing out at the gently falling flakes fat as goose down. A slight shiver ran down her chakras.
Wolf Star crept behind her and put an arm about her.
'A good day for hunting. Snow hides. And when you burrow down, hides your scent as well.'
She turned to him then.
'For whom do you hunt, my Wolf?'
He smiled and took her hand.
'I have my tribe, and my pack. And you.' His forehead touched hers. 'I know not when, but I will return. I may have venison. And we will share your fire once more.'
'Does your tribe know...who, what you are?' Athena was ever one to speak her mind.
'I am...outside of my tribe. But they know who I am. They accept my gifts. But, I am, hunh...somewhat like you. In between, here and there. So I am considered, ah, different. Do you know of the heyoka or coyote trail? I have spirit helpers, and others. Some, others do not see. Only me. So, I follow my tribe. Watch over them. Help when I can. But I do not share their fire at night.Some tribes have problems with shapeshifters. Usually, I sleep with the pack.'
'You are accepted there?'
'Um. More so than by human beings. But, I am still considered a lone wolf. An uncle, if you will. Accepted. But still apart.'
Athena sighed. 'Yes. Much like me.'
'You, and I. Both the same.' Wolf Star put a warm hand upon her heart, 'In here.'
'That is where it matters.' She put her hand on his. 'Must you leave so soon? I never know when you will return...'
He smiled. 'Ah. Perhaps I do not need to leave just now.'
He led her back to the fire, and made a nest of the pillows still strewn over the rug, and they soon forgot about the snow, and tribes and packs and time and others, and all the world outside...
.......
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Walela: Warrior
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