Zahra, Ilham, and Hanna

It was pride that turned angels into devils

You wait a little while longer in the cold, wet embrace of the mud-slick snow, hoping, praying for your mother’s flaming, luminous form to brighten the horizon ahead- or even your father (because despite the dream and his words imparted in it, you are yet to realise the true gravity of your loss). To the south your weary skull points briefly and you catch a glimpse of the glinting coastline. There are rocks there, the likes of which you have never seen before. They tower like jagged teeth against an endless blue sky, shimmering ice that both intimidates and captivates. Perhaps when this chaos has all come to rest at last, you will ask your mother to take you nearer so that you might poke about the frozen coastline and touch them. “Yes,” you mumble inaudibly to your tenderhearted companion; it is a fine idea.

The little Kitsune’s rough tongue soon has the gash upon your fetlock, and the graze across each of your stinging knees well cleansed. Your pale eyes fold in to find her sweet pallid face and a smile distracts the melancholy from your expression. She gazes up at you endearingly in return and you both feel a surreal flood of warmth overwhelm your thoughts - all despite the bitter wilderness around you, and the hopelessness of the predicament you both have found yourselves in. You cannot express in words how glad you are to have her company, so for a moment you rest your little sooty chin between her big, triangle ears. “Bird,” you whisper softly, “…sisters f’ever.” She leans her thickly furred shoulder against your cold, shivering breast, and you are amazed by the strength she now possesses after only a week by your side. You draw inspiration from this - you have to find your mother…

You pull your soggy mass from the snowy tundra and wet mud stains your slender undercarriage a putrid dun-brown. Quickly your gangly legs align beneath you and though you offer before starting off forward, little Bird refuses to ride. She bounds forward through the slush and presses a gesture of support against your lean, lower limb. A grin tempts your frown, but the aching worry in your heart is too great.

There is a murmur of movement in the distance ahead of you (and a little to the left). You think you can see her! And your pulse quickens until it drums raucously in your ears like the pace perhaps, of a thousand soldiers. Your sister gallops off to the side, clear of your rambling hooves as they collide suddenly with stiff dirt. Your knees jar and you gasp loudly, but you both find quickly that the gravelly earth is far better for traction than the slippery snow behind you.

The melting landscape is a blur of changing colour now - but your eyes remain fixed to the firelight before you.

It is because of this you fail to see him. It is Silas’ shimmering star-shine that snares your attention away, and you throw yourself off course brazenly so as not to trample him altogether. You cry out as Bird slides to a panicked halt - you stumble perilously close, but you collect your balance and quickly turn back towards your mother’s black, feathered companion. “S’las?” He is not so spritely, as you look down at him expectantly; his wings splay out to either side of him and he lies there, almost entirely motionless. Your nostrils flutter softly as your lips move to brush against him, and his tiny skull lifts slowly to greet you. There is a weakness about him that disturbs you - it has an uncanny similarity to the withering posture of your mother in recent days. Nevertheless you and Bird work him to his feet eagerly.

You glance back up to find that the glow above your mother in the distance has paused. A great sigh of relief escapes your young lungs and you fuss about and pester the glittery bird, entirely unaware of the bond sapping him of vigour. “C’mon!” you insist, lifting your wings into the cool wind like you have seen him do time and time again, but he resists, fluffing his feathers in sickly fashion and settling low across his grounded talons. His behaviour baffles you and you nudge him curiously, playfully (an act that once upon a time might have provoked a swift nip before flight), but he almost topples and you recoil with a start. There is something wrong you realise, though your experience with illness spans only to the strange shift in your mother’s manner. Puzzled, your imploring eyes travel towards Bird, but the Kitsune only mirrors your confusion.