The wedding reception is full of wolves enjoying themselves, eating, drinking, and laughing. Fern has been making the rounds with Rudy, talking to friends and family as they go but the whole time, the gray girl can’t help but be distracted. He had been at the wedding ceremony, the wolf from the fairytales her mother had told her about in what feels like another lifetime. Soft blue eyes sweep the collection of wolves every now and again as she looks for the winged wolf that had taken center stage in many of the bedtime stories Meadow would tell. Truthfully, she had taken all the stories Meadow told her of the wolves the older wolf had met in her travels with a grain of salt since her mother had been prone to flights to fancy. Yet… she had just seen the mythical wolf that the little pup would beg her mother to tell her about over and over and over again until the gray pup could see him in her dreams.

Eyes scan the crowd once more and her heart skips a beat as she sees him. Turning to Rudy, Fern politely excuses herself to make her way over to Mortis. His name is ingrained in her memory alongside the story of how the two had found the great horned owl named Rigel. The winged boy, Mortis, had sung a song and the owl had flown down and into their lives. A momentary pang of sadness tugs at the gray girl as he wonders where Rigel is and if he is okay. He had been loyal to Meadow and, the moment she had left this world, the grieving owl had taken flight and has not been seen by the gray girl since. Fern shrugs off the sadness and plasters on a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Sidling up to the wolf she had dreamed of as a pup, the gray girl clears her throat to get Mortis’ attention, meeting his gentle gaze before saying, “Mortis? Can I… uh… steal you for a moment?”

A pale paw points toward a door that leads out to the balconies that overlook the blooming gardens as Fern turns her pleading eyes up to the winged wolf. Words are failing her in this happy place and, if he chooses not to follow her, the gray girl is certain she will loss her nerve to talk him. So, she stands there, eyes begging him to follow her out while her lips stay unmoving.

"Fern Lark"

Mortis was taking a break from the crowd. He took a plate of food and settled himself in where he could watch Basilisk and Hazel. They thought they were being sneaky, grabbing larger and larger plates of food and feeling like rebels. At least it was an innocent sort of trouble. He was startled from his watch at the sound of a voice. He turned to the stranger who had asked for him by name - not terribly unexpected, as the Warlord's son - and blinked. Whatever he had been about to say was forgotten as he met a pair of familiar eyes.

They were Meadows, looking up at him from the face of a stranger. He hadn’t thought of that sweet healer in a while… he assumed she had moved on from the Hallows, perhaps around the time Resin had died? He didn’t know she had any children. “Of course… yeah, sure.” He said, getting up from the grass and pushing his plate to the side where no one would trip over it. “If you don’t mind me asking, are you related to Meadow?” he looked over the stranger's shoulder, as if expecting the place she was taking him to was somewhere Meadow was waiting. Perhaps she had asked this relative to fetch him for her? But his eyes couldn’t find her. “How's she been, do you know?”


"Mortis Fatalis"

Blue eyes are wide as she looks at Mortis, emotions lingering just beneath the surface. Wonder is written on her features as Fern turns to lead the winged wolf away her breath hitching a moment as he asks if she is related to Meadow. Images swim up from the depths of her memory; unbidden, unwanted, painful… and filled with love. The smile that she gives Mortis as they slowly move away from the crowd is thin, tight with pain and choked with emotions. Still, the gray girl does not want to breakdown in tears in front of the gathered wolves so she keeps her answer short, “Meadow was my mother. My name is Fern Lark.”

She uses the last name her mother had chosen for herself. The tender-hearted healer had never felt like she deserved the same name as her older sister and when the young Fern had innocently questioned her mother about, Meadow would just offer the pup a smile and explain that Resin the strongest wolf the she had ever known. Then she would watch the birds catching riding the air and say that she was more like the larks at home on the breeze. Back then, Fern had not understood what she meant but now… well, she is beginning to realize. Blue eyes steal glances at the winged-wolf as they walk, wondering if he knows about what happened to Meadow.

A dagger is stabbed into the gray girl’s heart when Mortis asks about how Meadow is doing and emotions roll across her face. Fern can’t say it here, not where others might intrude on a moment that should be private. Looking up at the winged-wolf, she gently says, “I will tell you about her in moment. Let’s… go visit the sunflowers. Okay?” With that, the gray girl allows silence fall as she takes Mortis to the place that houses Meadow’s favorite flowers. When they arrive, Fern moves to sit in front of the smiling flowers as a tear slips free to run silently down the fur of her cheek.

Blue eyes do not leave the bright flower as she gently says, “She talked about you all the time Mortis. I… I feel like I know you even though this is the first time we are meeting. Meadow… mom loved you Mort. Mom will always love you.” Emotion chokes off the rest of her words as more tears fall and Fern turns her bright, tear-filled eyes up to meet Mortis’s gaze and she flounders to find the right words. Silence stretches thin between them as Fern struggles. Finally, she whispers, " Meadow is gone."


"Fern Lark"

The was struck him like a blow, and he hunched his wings around him as he followed Fern. Uncertain what she was going to tell him. Surely news would have reached them at home if something had happened to Meadows. She had once been an Armada wolf, and she was family. Auntie Dew, as he used to call her.

He followed her silently as she led him towards the sunflowers. He sat beside her when she sat, but his attention was on Fern, and not the flowers she had brought him to. Her words weren’t the shock they should have been. Not with the tears in her eyes, and that was ringing in his ears.

He shuffled a little closer to her, because he knew now that they weren’t strangers at all. They were two wolves who loved the same person, and felt the grief of her passing. They were cousins, by Mort's reckoning. By choice, if not blood. He wrapped a wing lightly around her. Tentatively, a little uncertain. He didn’t want to crowd her. “Meadow was an amazing wolf. Whimsical, and sweet. She never let the expectations of others drive her to be something she wasn’t.” He gave Fern a small smile, ignoring the tears burning in his own eyes. “She could charm the birds from the trees, whatever she might say about what happened. I'm glad to meet you, cousin Fern."

"Mortis Fatalis"

Fern had wanted to spare the winged wolf the pain of learning about Meadow’s death in front of others but that one word that slips past her tongue. It is natural to speak of the deceased in past-tense and, her mother has been gone so long. Heck, the gray grey can’t remember the last time she spoke about Meadow in the present tense. Still, when she sees the physical reaction that Mortis has to the simple was Fern cannot help but feel like she has slapped him across the face. A heavy weight settles in her chest, choking her with emotion and causing her to feel as if she drowning on dry land. Still, she numbly leads the way toward where the sunflowers await, wanting… no… needing to explain Meadow’s absence to the tender-hearted-boy that filled so many of her mother’s stories.

They arrive and sit together, Fern watching the flowers as she is unable to meet his eyes. She talks in halting, emotion-filled gasps, fighting to hold off the shuddering sobs that want to take hold. When she finally pry’s her gaze away from the happy faces of the sunflowers, she gazes into the winged-wolf’s eyes with a tremulous smile on her lips. Fern remembers dreaming about what it would be like to have a friend with wings. How soft and luxurious the feathers might feel and how she would hide under them whenever she had a chance. So, as she feels the gentle wing wrap around lightly around her, the gray girl instinctively moves closer to Mortis’s side, allowing a sudden feeling of safety envelope her. He speaks of Meadow and she listens to his kind words as few more tears fall down her pale cheeks.

Then Mortis speaks of her mother charming the birds from the trees and a small, feeble laugh is pulled from the gray girl. The word cousin lightens her heart and she offers him a bigger smile that pulls her lips tight as she wistfully thinks of what might have been. Looking up to Mortis, Fern softly says, “I am glad to meet you cousin Mort. You know, mom told me so many stories about you. ‘The kind boy with wings’. That is what she called you. And the story of how you two met Rigel was always my favorite bedtime story. I do have to ask a question. Can you really sing like a bird?” The heaviness that had settled over the gray girl lifts as she speaks of the happy memories of Meadow. The tears no longer fall as she leans into his side and they talk.

A breeze ruffles her fur and causes the sunflowers in front of the pair to bob, making it appear as if they are laughing with joy along with them. Right then, Fern knows that Meadow sent the breeze and is laughing along happily from wherever she is.


"Fern Lark"