Prepare

The winter was drawing to a close. She’d left Cairo to his shift of Sentry duty along-side Paladin, heading off to her own patrol, quartering the moor and keeping tabs on whose scents were most notable. She’d been at it for an hour before Gwen’s voice reached her ears. Much less powerful than it used to be.

She’d been raised to be pragmatic and realistic regarding illness and old age. Her own parents were aging, faster than they should have been. Even she felt old, sometimes… much more, lately. The stories had been passed down of the original Guinevere’s death, and the illness that had felled a much-loved Queen. And as the current Gwenevere’s health deteriorated, Aurielle felt a bone deep fear that it was the same kind of illness.

She broke into a lope to cover the distance more swiftly, not at all keen on the way the older woman’s howl had been cut off, with a barely audible from that distance hacking that had no doubt devolved into a full on fit. She slid to a stop and trotted the rest of the distance to settle beside Gwen.

One look at the woman confirmed that there was no recovery from this. There was, at the back of her soul, a stirring sense of grief not entirely her own, as if an ancestor looked through her eyes and remembered. Little wonder as to which, she thought.

Simply, she said, “It won’t be much longer, at this rate. Will it.”

There were no tears or pleading cries to fight it. Gwen didn’t need that. Instead, the gradated blue eyes watched the older wolf levelly, waiting to see and hear what her friend needed of her. Out of all her family, Gwenevere had been the one strong constant, regardless of if the older woman considered her as a part of the Adravendis. Even her own father had faded, lately. It ate at him too deeply to see his mate and son so… locked away in their trauma. He looked, to be honest, almost as bad as Gwen, by now.

“What do you need?”

Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Hear" ---- Think