He was dreaming of his birthday. This was the first time in years he could even remember something akin to a party though there would be no festive merriment. The candles were glowing. Their flames stretched tall and straight towards the sky. Figures stood around him like points on a compass. However this gathering did not point north or towards some charted destination. Instead it was directed inward, pointed at him and his sister.
A wolf lay at her feet covering a large body, black fur sodden with the blood that had been offered. The chanting began to get louder and an icy wind rose up around her. He looked from face to face some he knew from another time, others he had yet to meet. They stood straight and still, braced against the buffeting winds that were now chorusing around her. A howl pierced the night long and mournful. As the cry sounded her body began to arch upwards from where she stood. Slowly every fiber of her being began to move up and he sank down towards the ground. She was slipping away, he could feel her rising away from him. Panicking he struck out, pouring himself into her body. Blackened branches streamed down and around her limbs as he filled the void, desperate to reach her and hold her to him. The force of his resistance and the wind pulling her upwards from the body bent the form backwards till only her toes touched the ground.
In a strangled scream she begged him to let her go, and still he held tightly. Binding his spirit to hers. His eyes, now hers, scanned those gathered looking for some way to stop this, some way to save his sister. Closed eyes, taught expressions, hair streaming back from their faces they were as caught by the energy as the body he was clinging to. The grey sky darkened casting shadows deep across the small circle and the candles became orbs of blue white light that turned the figures into ghostly carved statues of black and silver and red. He blinked shocked, red. She was so close, the only color in the grove, small hands spread wide and red hair streaming around her face. Instinctively he reached out to her, his hold on the ephemeral being releasing to extend his arm towards the only color he saw.
There was a great rending sound that reverberated throughout his entire being. He felt stretched downwards as if the earth itself was sucking him to its depths. His knees hit the ground just before his hands and he looked up to see that red hair briefly before the falling body of his sister struck the ground between them. Once again he reached out and was stopped by the holy crack of lighting that skewered his vision. He blinked dazed, his eyes seeing only white jagged lines as his ears buzzed. Slowly he could make out the hunched and sprawling dark figures in the barren winter field. His eyes fell to his arm still outstretched and followed numbly along its form until the black spindles became fingers reaching across the scorched ground where his sister once lay, stretching towards the red haired figure.
Pierre bolted upright in bed slick with sweat and shaking uncontrollably. A year had passed and still his sleep was often disturbed by the recurring dream especially when his days were taxing. Lately it was every night, as if in warning. His ragged breath exhaled in short gasps as he looked down to the other side of the bed to see if he had woken Evie. He dearly hoped not, he did not wish to bring her more pain even that of lost sleep. Sometimes it seemed all he brought her was pain. A barely audible whisper issues between his gasps, "Dear Gods, what am I doing?"
The Breaking Storm
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