Rain When I Die

[Sister Siroc]

Siroc leaned against the outside of the cave and sucked in large gulps of the outside air, the corners of her mouth dry and cracking. One by one, the pains of the encounter worked their way into her consciousness, little sprouts blooming on her back, limbs, head.

But she was too distracted to pay them much mind, her thoughts racing. Oh Winds, what did I just do...

No. No time for remorse, now. She gave her snout a little tweak, interrupting the constant stream of doubts, setting a dam of pragmatism back in their way. She didn't have enough water to spend an afternoon dithering and doubting herself. With a little push against the stone, she forced one footpaw in front of the other, retracing her trail back to Kango's camp.

Unlike the trip out, the desert sky now felt like an overstuffed blanket on a warmer than expected night, hot and oppressive. Stifling. She crested the first dune and paused to take a look around her. The scrubland here abutted the beginning of the prairies, gold and amber meeting each other in a gentle gradient. But there, a stain formed on the sky above: dark clouds from south of the tent city. Just like it had looked above the abbey. As if her actions had left a permanent mark on the land here.

Siroc squeezed her eyes shut and silently berated herself. That thrice-damned gila is getting in my head with these flights of nonsense.

One step. Then the next. Then another. The Sister detached her racing thoughts from control of her body, allowing it to seemingly move on its own. Back to the safety of other beasts. Back to the danger of a king disobeyed. And away from the only home she had known.

The rest of the trip back felt empty, a blur of yellow and blue as the horizon grew then disappeared with each passing hill. And then a dirty white dot began to grow with each cycle:  a mottled growth on the landscape that sent tendrils out into the land and dark trails into the air.

-we don't choose where the wind may blow us, only whether we fight it or allow it to direct our paws. The first sermon she heard at the abbey was running through her thoughts. But it's not mere passivity we're meant to embody. Think of the birds above. Even the great-winged vultures and eagles when they soar for leagues without a wingbeat aren't being guided by the wind alone. A twitch of the features, an adjustment of the wingtip, a slight tilt of the body allow them to set their own course.

There are moments, of course, when you lack the strength, the resolve, to do even this. And do not begrudge yourself those moments. For even the great eagles must rest occasionally. But do not let yourself be pulled so far adrift that-

"Sye!" A piercing call tore through the silence of the desert, shaking her from her reverie. Siroc felt her jaw involuntarily tighten, her back teeth grinding together. "Sye, hey!"

She stopped, letting the wind whip around her, and a familiar scent tickled her nose. Smoke. And not just from cooking fires. That was odd. "What do you want, Preet?" Siroc asked the plover, who was trotting across the field towards her.

"Look, I'm sorry 'bout all -"

"Oh, shove off, Preet," Siroc spat between them -- or, rather, she would have if she had any spit. "Kango might buy your backhills yokel act, but you know it flies with me about as well as you do."

The shot landed with a little hiss from the bird. Siroc almost regretted it, but it had been a long day, and she had already suffered one fool for far too long.

"Have you lost your entire mind, Sye? What in the name of Bea's bones was that for?" The plover advanced, tilting her head to one side to examine the prairie dog's face. "First you act all moon-touched about those traitors we took care of, then you're sniping at the Chainbreaker - he thinks you've gone completely off the trailhead, you know? He asked me -"

"I figured as much," Siroc cut her off with a paw-wave and kept trudging her way back. "Let me guess, don't ruin the fun. 'Stay close to her on missions, but keep out of sight. When off-duty, keep closer. Report back to him any odd behavior.' To see how loyal, how committed I am to The Chainbreaker's cause." Her voice dripped with contempt, and she sniffed. "Beast can give a speech like no one else, but he's got the subtlety of a hammer to the skull."

Preet fell into step next to her partner and gave a small, one-sided shrug. "Close enough. Thinks you fell in too much with the locals."

"And what do you think?"

"Could I get a straight answer?" She hopped in front of Siroc and held out her wings. "Look. Just stop a moment."

She stopped, and Preetya took a step forward. "What happened at the abbey, Sye?"

Her veils suddenly felt suffocating, heavy. Siroc reached a paw up and pulled them back, the fabric dangling behind her like a train. "You know what happened. You saw me drop the torch that started that fire."

"You know what I mean."

"I really don-"

"Siroc!"

Preet using her whole name set her fur on end. Siroc swallowed hard and gave a little nod. "He's half right."

"Tip me in a midden and call me lunch... why didn't you contact me? You know what we're supposed to do if it-. I could've gotten you out of there sooner! I could've..." Preet's voice trailed off and she looked up. "It was my job to-"

"I didn't want to go, Preet."

The bird went quiet for a moment that seemed to stretch longer than the horizon. "You don't mean that."

"I was actually happy."

"They were traitors, Sye. You saw the-"

"I don't care!" Siroc's screech came out with a force that even startled her for a moment. The bird stumbled back, away from the force of it. "I don't care, Preet. I was happy. I was happy to dig in the earth and say my prayers and make my brews and leave my blades buried under my bunk. It felt like home. For once."

"We're your home, Sye. We're your family, remember?"

"Our happy family," she said with a sneer. "A father who's itching for me to shed more blood. Who doesn't trust me. A sister who's spying on me for him. Yeah, sounds exactly like a home I'm just all a-twitter to get back to."

"Oh, and a nest full of softegg spies is better?"

"Not according to the great and powerful Scorpio they weren't."

"Oh. But you said-" At Siroc's sharp look, she diverted quickly. "You got him to talk?"

"Yeah, getting him to stop was the tricky part."

"So... was he causing all this?" she gestured at the sun-baked earth around them, her wing kicking up little dust devils from the parched ground.

Siroc nodded. "Seems that way. Somehow."

"Then, if he's dead, we don't have to go!" Preet's voice pitched up in excitement. "Oh, thank the stars above, we don't have to head into that cursed..." Her voice trailed off when she noticed Siroc breaking eye contact and glancing at the horizon. "He is dead, right?"

"Not exactly."

"Sye!" The bird hopped from foot to foot, agitated. "You know the code! One of you is supposed to be dead right now!"

"Oh, you want me to hobble back there and throw myself on one of his traps, then?" The prairie dog spun on a heel, hiding her face from her partner. Have to play this just right... "He's taken out four of our siblings and you're just mad it's not five?"

"Tsk!" Preet clacked her beak in annoyance. "You know that's not what I mean..."

"Well, sorry I'm not dead, Preetya."

"That's not what I - ugh!" The bird hopped back around her, giving a little push. "Look. Stop. I'm sorry, all right? I'm glad you made it back. And -" She stopped and gave an exhale to settle herself. "That's the other reason I came here. We lost another one."

"Hell's river. What happened?"

"A fight between some Curved Claws and Denners over some petty little spit of land for a tent. Got ugly." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "It was Thistle."

"Little fool tried to stop it himself, didn't he?" Siroc's voice went hollow. He was just a kid. A little dirtmouse. If some fox or sand cat decided to take a swipe at him - he didn't stand a chance.

"We're going to perform the rites. I thought you might - you would want to be there."

"Yeah. Thanks, Preet." She didn't want to be there, but she knew her duty. She offered the bird one open arm and pulled her into a stiff, conciliatory half-embrace. "Are they starting...?"

"As soon as you get there." The bird said, muffled by Siroc's robes.

Siroc released her, and turned to the camp once again. "Kango can wait. Lead me to it."

---

They made their way to the ceremony, which Siroc knew would be outside of the camp proper, but still within sight of other beasts. As if we were stuck guarding them, even in death. No more words were shared, which meant the prairie dog was stuck with her thoughts. Would Kango believe this story? Does Preet? Would it work?

Most of all, though, she remembered back to the last time she buried a sibling, how the grief spilled out of her like a libation for him.

But she still hadn't wept for her other sisters.

Maybe Preet was right. Moro's death was bad. Real bad. Her paw moved to a small pouch at her waist, and even through the canvas, she could feel the hardness of one of his spines that lay in there. No tears. No tokens. I didn't give them any of the final respect a sister deserves.

With that thought, the plover led them around a small stand of rocks to a shallow, makeshift grave. Inside was Thistle, half-wrapped in linen. Above him stood a young hare.

"Dusty," Siroc greeted him.

"Sisters. It's all ready."

"You know his lineage?" Preet asked.

Dustkicker nodded, and began to speak, "Thistle replaced Melody, who replaced Evenin'Morn, who replaced Littlebells, who replaced Star-reader, who replaced Miko, who replaced Alaine."

Preet picked up a large gourd from next to the grave. Siroc fished out a much smaller wineskin. The bird stepped forward first and poured the contents. Water splashed over the mouse's head, soaking the fur of the beast beneath.

"To slake your eternal thirst."

With far-too-practiced movements, Siroc stepped forward next and poured a small nip of the liquor over the deadbeast's lips. "One last drink." She then took a drink herself and passed it to Dusty, who did the same then handed it to the plover. "Between friends."

Dusty moved forward with a small, broken sling, and laid it at Thistle's feet. "Your arms, to pursue them even in the next life."

Siroc suppressed a frown at that line. Sands take me if I'm stuck spending my afterlife like this, too.

But the pull of tradition was strong, and Siroc unconsciously knelt to perform the final rite. She drew a blade and trimmed three tufts of fur from Thistle's chest, then handed one to each of her siblings.

"May we never forget."

"And may this chain never be broken," finished Preet.

Each Ring member reached into a small pouch like her own and pulled out a small, grisy totem. Siroc's was a patchwork of fur and feathers from a half-dozen beasts braided around one of Moro's quills - and she knew Preet's was almost the same. Dusty's was longer, and his paws were shaking, which made the work slow-going. Siroc's paws, however, moved with an automatic precision, adding Thistle's fur to it. He wasn't one she worked with, but he was a Brother.

She stared at the memento mori for a few moments. Before, she would've looked more like Preet, who was softly crying as she wove hers into the neatest, most uniform loop she had seen. Now?

Now I just remember that I'm not carrying anything from my other sisters with me. They're... scattered. Forgotten. Forever.

But, I suppose they might not mind that.

Siroc reached over and gave the bird a soft nudge. "I'm heading back, to report to the Chainbreaker."

"What are you going to tell him?"

"Exactly what he needs to hear."

The bird cocked her head to one side. "He's already on edge, Sister. He's not as close as - I mean - you can't talk to him like a proper Brother or Sister, you know."

"I know that."

"I'm just asking you to be careful. You know better than to poke a buffalo."

Siroc gave her best imitation of a confident grin, "No promises, Preet. Wish me luck."

"Mmm," the plover grunted, noncommittal.

Then Sister Siroc turned back south once more, toward the heart of that living city.