Prelude: A Choice

[Sister Siroc]

A slight rustle of cloth - almost a constant in the abbey - was all that heralded Siroc's passage down the dormitory's main hall. She turned the corner, forcing one paw before the other, as she neared the first of three doors along this passage.

The headmistress's key slid into the lock like a whispered secret, and she sealed the first of her sisters in. Beatrice.

The West Wind focuses on the mind. On teaching us about others. Much like the calm breezes from the steppes, it is collected. It is contemplative.

She squeezed her eyes shut and willed her paws once again. Her mind replayed the last night spent in that room, learning of a deeper meaning behind The Canticle of the Winds. A night spent in prayer and discussion, laughing over dusty old scrolls and their bad translations. Amazement at the insight they still provided. Mostly feigned, but.

But.

It's the Wind of the mind, Siroc. Wisdom, understanding, knowledge... it sounds simple, but it's more than that. Beatrice had reached across, laying a paw on her breast. It's about here, and then raised it to her brow, as much as it is here. It's about feeling, empathizing, really knowing another. You know?

She didn't. And Beatrice hadn't.

Siroc continued to the next door. Sister Amaranth.

Her forehead touched cool wood as the prairie dog leaned against the weathered portal.

I grew up in the South, so of course I've always loved the South Wind the most! Her infectious attitude. Her laugh, oh bless the Winds themselves for her laugh. It's not just about helping others, Rocky. She'd been the big sister to us all. Cooked the best food. Knew the best jokes. Secreted away the snacks and showed us where we could hide little things of our own... where Siroc would hide the abbey's eventual doom: a disused cellar and a newly made still. The South Wind's all about one simple idea: make the world a little bit better than how you left it. They fancy up the words, of course: Empathy, Discipline, Balance... but at the end of the day, it's just doing right, you know?

She stopped short of the last door and caught her breath. It was cracked, and a dim flicker told her that another beast was awake.

"Sage..." Siroc barely made a sound, almost mouthing the name.

She remembered the first lesson for novitiates, and forced a gentle, constant inhale. The air inside my body is the same as the air outside. She let it out. Then she took another step forward and gave the door a gentle push.

"Hmmm? Is that you, Sye?"

The nickname burrowed into her, worming itself deep and gnawing at her will.

"Yeah. It's me, Sage."

Sister Sagebrush looked up from her bed, great wide eyes peering into the hallway.

"You can come in."

Siroc slipped inside and moved to the bedside, brushing her skirts forward and sitting down. A soft paw covered hers and she looked up into the face of the sand cat.

She knew.

Siroc knew she knew.

You don't need to study the East Wind, was all she'd told her, you experience it. The realm of the physical. Endurance. Sincerity. Strength. The world around us and how we survived it.

A fortnight ago, Siroc had been in this very room. Drunken, babbled confessions poured from her like an unholy fount. What she'd done. What'd been done to her. Hopefully not what she might have to do - what she was about to do. It was still a tangleweed in her memories. Sagebrush had been an island through it all, letting the waves of grief wash over her, simply wrapping Siroc in her great arms. When she had finished, Sage kissed away her tears and ran a paw over her ears and let her stay close, until sleep took them both.

And now, she knew.

The cat's paw moved up and brushed back her veils. "Let me see you properly."

The paw stopped at her cheek and ran over the pink rivulets and ridges over her scarred flesh.

Siroc shivered as the paw mirrored Preet's movement from earlier.

The paw then moved higher, and pulled off her hood, then yanked her into a tight embrace. No words were spoken. If she knew...

"I'm glad you came to say goodbye, at least."

Siroc nodded, numb. "I'm sorry."

"No." Sage shook her head, and went about replacing the head coverings. "No being sorry. Just be better."

Siroc rose and left.

She shut the door and drew the key from her pocket. Muffled by the distance and barrier between them, Sage's soft soprano stilled her: "Sye?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't have to do this, you know."

Siroc closed her eyes. Deep in her chest she felt a flutter, a gust, a dust devil, a twister of hope and denial and rage at a world she almost had, at the divinity that was stolen from her.

"I know."

She turned the key.