She picked an antler out--something small; there weren't any enormous, long-tined racks like those of the white stag. But it was something, at least, and--with a mounting sense of trepidation--she carried it up to the ledge overlooking the pit of bones.
The landing wasn't particularly good for clarification. She saw light, again; she saw, in a brief flash of her mind, the sort of battles that Pride tended to fight. Ones he thought of as moral, good against evil. But they were of cycles, and she glanced to the child again with a thoughtful gaze.
Giggle took a breath, studying Acheron. The poor kid looked fucking lost.
It occurred to her only vaguely that it might be some sort of weird trick, a hyena-kidnapping of a sort, but only as the slightest sense of confused suspicion. Then it passed, and she sat back, staring a little mournfully at the bones.
She hardly noticed Giggle padding back past her--and blinked up when the hyena nosed her head in a brief, reassuring touch. But Giggle didn't stop, just gave her a warm glance and moved on--and Acheron, somehow feeling even worse, sighed and just leaned back.
She gave the pup--cub? Fawn?--she still hadn't decided--a little nod, and moved on. This time she picked two old ribs, held together with dessicated cartilage and twisted across one another by time. It seemed representative enough of a bond, of the idea of "two together," and so she carried it to the ledge.
There, again, she held it in her teeth and focused:
So did Giggle: and she noted every twitch and fall of bones, every flash of light along their lengths as they scattered and fell.
The little black pup-fawn was sitting huddled, staring at the bones with a lost expression; when she glanced up, it was with an almost weary acceptance. Giggle nodded a little, and tried to offer a silver lining.
She hesitated, then repeated her offer:
Giggle had never seen herself, before, in someone else's future--and while she still wasn't sure the bones meant her, the idea that they might was... disconcerting.
She listened, fidgeting, huddled in on herself without realizing. All that bright hope of a brilliant future seemed to be washed out, now--gray and distant, sheeted over somehow with rain. A little flicker of logic broke through--something inherited, maybe, from Pride but now made all her own. She glanced at Giggle.
Maybe there was some hope, yet; maybe, sometimes--even if rarely--the hyena made mistakes.
But the way Giggle glanced at her--even before she spoke--crushed that spark of hope. All at once, Acheron wanted to rush back to Orion--to warn her family, to ask them not to get in a... a war? Or whatever might come, even if that was the purpose of the Seven. A war like that, in a sense, was why her own stonegiver had died--Pride had only glossed over that, in the most basic terms. 'He was a hero,' and all that, but would it matter if she had to slink back here and rely on a stranger for help-?
Was she a friend-? That... remained to be seen;
The question sent her into quiet thought, her mind cascading back over the events of many cycles.
She already knew the answer to Acheron's question--yes. Yes, her readings were always right. She couldn't remember a single time that the bones--even in their most tragic or outlandish predictions--had been wrong, though a few had left her without an answer. (Like a vision of a single mango; she'd never found out what'd happened with that.) Nonetheless, at the question, she remembered.
Remembered dozens of readings--this one who would rise to be a leader after a great loss; that one who would break from family; another who would return the lights to the caves in dramatic and heroic fashion.
All had come true; every single one of them, so far as she was aware.
At the back of her mind, her familiar prodded her with curiosity; why were they both so sad? What had happened? Giggle did her best to answer, with feelings and images, in a way the bird might understand: family, leaving Acheron behind, but it hadn't happened yet.
It would; but it hadn't, yet.
Acheron didn't answer, at first; she sat staring into the bones like an amnesiac who'd completely forgotten why she was there. But she remembered.
Caves, did she remember.
She felt absolutely dismal, a misery she'd never known threatening to rise up through her; she glanced to Giggle and immediately tried to hide it. She didn't really know her, and it felt strange to open up in any meaningful way. But--as for Giggle's question?
Acheron tried to think it over. Did she have questions? She struggled to figure out if she did, but her thoughts were jumbled. Did she want to ask Giggle anything? Did she want to stay here, or run home to Pride?
She could tell him herself, and warn him--though somehow, she already thought she knew just what he'd say.
A faint sense of pensiveness rose up in her.
She glanced down at Acheron.
Somehow, Giggle's assurance that it was good to know brought a flare of anger to Acheron's heart.
She looked away, though. She might be two weeks old, but part of her knew that Giggle was just trying to be nice; it wouldn't be right to lash out at her.
As for Orion--
As for whether she was okay-?
Instinct nearly had her blurt yes, a covering of how she really felt; then honestly almost had her breaking down with a resounding 'no.' She hesitated, and at length repeated her answer from before.
It had a helpless sound to it that Acheron didn't like to hear in her own voice.
Impulsively, she reached down and moved to nose Acheron's ear, another friendly gesture, meant to be reassuring.
She glanced up, then, and over her shoulder--up toward Omen.
Giggle looked to Acheron again, and then set off, keeping an easy pace.
The bones always told the truth, but damned if the truth wasn't sometimes harsh.
exit Giggle
Acheron pushed up, flinching just a little at Giggle's sudden nudge. She both appreciated it and, somehow, resented the physical affection; she didn't know the hyena well enough to really be thankful, but she knew she meant well, at least.
She was like an overly-affectionate grandma, but Acheron didn't really know about grandmothers, so the metaphor was beyond her to make.
She pushed up to walk alongside the far larger hyena, doing her best to keep up, and with Giggle moving slowly enough it wasn't too hard despite Acheron's far shorter legs.
Giggle began to answer, and Acheron tried to listen--but her mind (she couldn't help it) wandered. It was only when Giggle started to speak of ancient wars, of Overseers and Masters, that her attention was really caught--and some distant, subconscious part of her was grateful for the distraction.
exit Acheron