Áskell settled down in front of the bonfires as they were lit, his fur still standing on end as if he were freezing. There had been a number of unsettling happenings since he joined this festival and he hardly knew what to make of them though he guessed it had to do with the activity of spirits. Ari had taken him aside and told him a few stories of the types of spirits that roamed the earth and that during certain times of the year they became much more active. Many of the spirits he was told about could be tricksome or even dangerous but apparently the spirits of loved ones could cross over as well.

Áskell gathered a few leaves and tossed them into the bonfire, listening as they crackled and vanished. His memory had started coming back this season. Visions. Flashes of wolves that he could name and that he had once known but had little emotional connection to beyond the logical fact that this was the face of his father or the face of his brother. There was no mother that he could recall though Ari had told him a bit more about his past. He did find it curious that the macaque was so guarded but he hadn't bothered to press, knowing there wasn't much he could do about his situation anyway.

As the evening had worn on though the emotions started churning away in his stomach. He remembered the long, dark night. He remembered hearing voices and he was certain it was during this time that he lost both his brother and his father. A feeling of unfairness stuck out to him. It was no passing of old age, nothing calm or peaceful but a terrible way they'd both gone and it made him feel angry. Áskell kicked more leaves into the fire and growled lightly to himself, his tail twitching as he watched the leaves burn into nothingness. He tried to push his mind, trying to remember details but they weren't coming to him. He turned his thoughts to happier memories, trying to suss them out from the dark that held so much of his mind imprisoned. He could remember a few, snuggling with his brother as their father told them ghost stories. It made his heart ache.

Áskell got to his feet and strode off away from the feast for a bit. He wasn't sure where Ari had gone but he wondered if there was a way to speak to his father or brother on this sort of night. If there was a way for them to visit, if he could just see or speak to one of them one more time maybe it would trigger the rest of his memories. But how did he do that? Surely there was some way. He'd never been a really spiritual person but what would it hurt to try? He stalked back to the bonfire and dropped his satchel to the ground. He had a few candles left, small and simple ones, not the bejeweled one he'd gifted to the familiars for their altar.

Once he dug them out he set them up near one of the stones, off to the side so that the light of the candles could be seen from outside the stones. Now to light them. He picked up a twig and walked back over to the bonfire, tilting his head so one end of the twig would catch fire. Once he was certain it was lit he moved carefully back to the candles and lit them. There were two. One for his brother and one for his father. He moved so that his body was blocking the breeze, just in case the wind picked up. What next… what next…

Áskell took a deep breath and let it flow softly from his nostrils before opening his eyes and focusing on the candles. He looked up, out into the darkness of the steppes then back at his candles before calling tentatively out into the darkness. "Brother? Brother if you're there, please… give me some sort of sign?" It was with a heavy heart he realized that while he could recall his brother's face he didn't know the boys name. He wracked his brain, staring back at the candle for a moment before closing his eyes and doing his best to focus on that thought, that memory. How could he not remember his own brother's name?

Grief started to well up in his stomach. Grief and guilt and he swore at himself for not being able to recall such a simple fact. He worried if he'd been a good brother. He hoped he had been and that he hadn't taken their relationship for granted but he had no way of really knowing. Tears started to well up in his eyes and he wiped at them stubbornly, trying to stop the fall so the tears didn't land on his candles.

The thinning of the veil between worlds had allowed his brother's words to break through and had like gently prodding tendrils had tentatively touched upon Jigsaw's resting ethereal form. Poking lightly, stirring him politely. He had - he felt - the ability to decline it, to refuse to be pulled this other direction and find himself before the wolf he'd loved so much. The wolf he had patched up when he fell or took a war wound, the wolf who had stabilized him when he'd lost not just their mother but their father too. Though in Somnium the pain of that all was gone, as was the guilt. All he had left was peace, and he was reluctant to step away from that peace and return to the shame of his actions. Jigsaw did not want to return to the earth and be forced to acknowledge the sickness of mind that had made him take his own life. He successfully ignored the prodding, being stubborn in his refusal with ears pulled back and head tipped deliberately away. And then the pain reached him, his brother's tears and the ache in the man's heart. This was not a simple call or reconnection, and Jigsaw's resolve melted along with the lit candles. He relented, feeling the pull and allowing it to guide him to the one who needed him. "Askell?" Jigsaw whimpered softly, hating the sight of his brother with tears in his eyes and suffering in his heart. He didn't know what else to say. What did you say to one you left so long ago? Did Askell even know it was a mistake of a sick mind, or did he think it was a deliberate method to abandon him? "Please don't cry." He settled for. "Speech"

Áskell shivered as the cold wind struck against his back. Part of his mind told him to scoot closer to the fire but the other told him on some level he deserved this, that he was still alive, for better or worse. He felt a mass of guilt sitting in his stomach like a heavy stone and wondered if there was something he could've done to prevent his father and his brother from passing. His memory was so close but so intangible, like the blanket of mist that coated the ground. He could see some scenes, hear snippets of others, and yet it all felt like a long ago dream that he was trying to put back together. Part of him even wondered if he wanted to. So much of what had returned to him was painful.

"Askell?"

His head jolted up at the familiarity of the voice and as he stared at the wolf before him the name suddenly struck him. "Jigsaw!" He stared in shock at the present yet seemingly intangible form of his brother. Like the other was made of mist. Was Áskell dreaming even now?

"Please don't cry."

"Jigsaw… Jigsaw… what happened? How did we end up like this?"

Looking upon his brother once more brought waves of guilt and longing through Jigsaw's ethereal form. Áskell had grown. He was no longer the yearling Jigsaw's imagination would draw up and the yearling had to look deeper to find hints of the boy he once knew. The playful and joyous youth that had once taken hold of his brother had faded into adulthood, and Jigsaw's brows furrowed to think of all the wounds Áskell must have suffered that he'd not been here to heal. That had always been his role - making sure his brother was safe, healthy, and whole. Who took up that role now? Jigsaw shuffled his paws uncomfortably, hating that he could not feel the grass beneath them or the chill of the wind that tousled his brother's fur. "I died." He whispered in reply. "I- I thought I saw.." The memory of that day on the volcano's peak was so faded, and trying to remember through the feverish delusion of his sickness was like trying to squint through fog. "I was sick, I remember hearing dad's voice... I'm so sorry, Áskell." He slid his yellow eyes shut tight, warring with the guilt. Why hadn't he been born strong like Áskell? A strong wolf wouldn't have succumbed to their delusions so readily, a logical wolf would have known his father's voice was a lie. "I.. thought he needed me, so I went. I didn't think.. I should have thought.. you would need me more." "Speech"

Áskell didn't have the wherewithal the know if his brother was actually there or if he was hallucinating again but in the end it didn't really matter. He clung to every word that his brother uttered, trying to make sense of the turmoil within. He felt a stab in his heart as Jigsaw stated that he died. Áskell knew that, had known for some time, but each acknowledgement of that fact was a blow. Jigsaw explained that he'd been sick, that he'd heard their father and had gone to help. From there something had had to have happened. Something that had led to Jigsaw's death and he wasn't sure he could bear it.

Áskell rubbed at his eyes, trying to wipe away the blurry vision imposed by the tears and he hopped forward, attempting to throw his arms over his brother's neck, praying that he'd find a solid form. He needed a hug, he needed to be close to his family. "I don't know what to do now, please… please tell me what to do."