Sicilienne, Op. 78 ; Return

[APOSTLE]

He had no idea how long it had been. Seconds, minutes, centuries, eons' time had seemed to meld into one flashing vision on the other side. He'd seen things there that had opened his eyes, and yet, back in the realm of the living, all he could seem to remember was the guilt that encumbered him and the blood that had soaked his fur.

He hadn't awoke with a startle, or an audible gasp; it had been a slow thing. The sounds of birds chirping around him is what drew him from almost slumber, and then a foul stench in his nose ensured he would get no more rest. At last, he cracked his eyes open, shutting them again immediately against the blazing overhead sunlight.

He was parched. Slowly, roughly, he pushed himself so he was laying on his stomach, eyes cracking open every few seconds as they adjusted to familiar, and yet unfamiliar, light. water, his mind whispered; or was it? That didn't sound like his voice. find water it whispered again, and so he did.

He rose even slower than he had woke, his bones almost seeming to creak like that of an old, abandoned cabin. There was something unusual afoot, he could smell it; for starters, why was he... alive? The blood seemed to drain out of his face at the thought. Why was he alive? He didn't have an answer, and as he nervously stepped left paw to right paw, surveying the land, he decided it didn't matter. The voice in his head was getting louder; who was that? It most certainly wasn't him.

The thought of someone in his head was an unwelcome one, but it was not the height of his problems right now; his thirst creeping up on him, the lion stumbled at first before breaking off into a somewhat clumsier walk towards a clear-looking pool of which the stars twinkled inside. But that couldn't be, could it? The stars were in the sky, not in the water.

Oh, he was overthinking things. He looked down into the water, and with a start and an audible shout, jumped backwards, his hind-paw landing awkwardly on a rock, and he tumbled into a heap of snow.

But the snow was the least of his worries. Even the voice in his head whispering for him to find water was quiet now; the lion that had stared back at him in his reflection had not been him. Was he dreaming?

[lycaon v.]

lycaon had only been taking a short stroll around the eastern island, a getaway from his duties, when happenstance brought him close to the starpool, and the yelps of an unfamiliar animal drew him nearer.

he didn't recognise the other lion, paler than him, with odd markings and odder facepaint, but he didn't appear a threat. he appeared to have fallen if his awkward position in a snowmound was any giveaway; his whiskers twitching mirthfully. "are you hurt?" he asked, drawing ever closer. his duty wasn't to care for outsiders and trespassers, but lycaon had never been the rough-and-tumble sort. "your ankle looks painful. what brings you to the isles of the coalition?"

[APOSTLE]

Somehow, he hadn't been expecting anyone to find him; his mind fumbled for answers to his questions, though he had barely understood him, truth be told.

He looked up at the other lion, gaping as he grasped and muddled his speech in his head. Still offput by his appearance, which was not how he'd looked a few months prior. "No." he grunted, weakly pushing himself to his paws, swaying slightly, dizzy as if all his blood had rushed from his head. "The Coalition? Of the Condemned?" he muttered, gaping again. Had he truly ended up back in his brother's lands?