born of a bloodhound. | open

[BLOODHOUND.]

They remember their mother. Her loss still aches, an acute emptiness in their heart. By their side. They miss her, on nights when the moon is fullest. They remember her skill the skill of her people, passed down to them, from her. From her brother. They'd all lived at the edges of Talos, their homeland, cast to the mountains by ever-encroaching industry, the greed of others. They had not yet received their name, when it happened.

They remember the loss of their parents like they remember their name. Like they remember the loss of Artur, of Boone. It's all fresh in their mind, as they stare up at that great white moon, as its glow settles and shifts over their pale fur. They can almost feel their uncle's arms around them, feel his quiet tears upon their shoulder.

They remember how Bloth Hoondr was their mother's true name. That she had passed her abilities down to them, in life, and in death. Their eyes. Their ability to track their prey. Ferocity, in battle and in matters of the heart. Their uncle had granted them with their mother's name, tears in his eyes, his last breaths fading from his lips. Bloth Hoondr had meant everything to the both of them.

They remember Boone, reckless and bright. A friend to them, as they tried to navigate a modern world, a modern life. They had been close. They were the first, to name them Bloodhound. They'd found it easier to say, in their tongue. Boone had invited them to the Apex Games, barely more than twenty people fighting in an alley, at the time. They had tested their merit together, lived together, shared in their glory together.

Left the ring together, until they didn't.

They had held Boone in their arms, trembling, sobbing. Knowing their wounds were too great. There was only so much technology could do, only so much anyone could do. The game was not over, and many more had died previously. It was only a matter of time. Their companion, their félagi.

Bloodhound had won that game, and had walked victorious, but alone.

They had continued to play. Continued to win, or come back stronger than before. And the Games grew.

They find these memories painful, twisting at their heart. How they wished to have introduced Boone to Artur. To their parents. They find comfort, at the thought of meeting them all once more, in Valhalla. Of fighting together, with their mother, Bloth Hoondr and Bloodhound, when the wolf comes.

But for now, they rest beneath a tree, the cool night stretching ever onward, basking in the moonlight.

THE TRUE TEST IS BEFORE THE ALLFATHER.