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.

What will happen to Pride? she asked, quietly, in her mind--and then threw the bone down below.

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.

"I think your father might leave you for a time for a battle, of some kind. His chrysalis? I'm unsure. But I see light and dark, which may be good and evil; I see cycles that repeat."

Giggle took a breath, studying Acheron. The poor kid looked fucking lost. "If you ever need a place to stay, kiddo--now, or twenty cycles from now--you can come here, okay? I'll make sure you have a place to stay safe." The offer was given somehow both harshly and gently--an insistence, brooking no argument, yet a kindly one.

Then I'll fight with him, she thought, fiercely. She didn't say it aloud, but the determination was immediate and fiery.

"-Okay," was all she blurted, though--an acknowledgment that she'd heard what the soothsayer had to say. And to Giggle's offer, she reeled a little, surprised; she'd come for a fortune, not an offer of a new home. "Thanks," she said quietly. Memory sparked, then, though; she peered more closely at Giggle. "Is it--you they mean? When they say I'll have a new, uh--bond? Or whatever it was?"

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: Who will ally themselves with Acheron, in that vision? she wondered, and then--with a gentle lob--dropped the bone downward. At her side, still half-asleep and ruffled up, Omen watched it fall.

So did Giggle: and she noted every twitch and fall of bones, every flash of light along their lengths as they scattered and fell.

"It will be," she said slowly, taking her time--making sure she wasn't missing something, first--"someone who has given you truths. Someone who has heard wisdom, and granted it to you; who has passed on good advice, a message that might be from beyond." She paused, and--again, audibly--breathed, "Shit. -That might be me, kid. Or it might be someone else," she added, glancing at Acheron. Her heart melted, a little, in sympathy; her touch had been impulsive, but if the old hyena had been capable of hugs she might've offered one just then.

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. "The bones say you'll be taken care of, either way," she reassured her quietly. But she didn't pretend it was all good news; this was only that silver lining. "After that... who knows what might happen? But you'll be okay, kid."

She hesitated, then repeated her offer: "And you can always come back here."

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. "Your readings... are always right?" she asked quietly.

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-?

She's not really a stranger, now, though, some part of her mind thought.

Was she a friend-? That... remained to be seen; maybe, Acheron thought. But her heart wasn't really in it.

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.

"Yes." Her answer was quiet, solemn. "I'm sorry," she added, and turned back, padding back down toward the pup.

"Is there anything else you want me to ask? Or do you want to ask anything of me?" she added; "or would you like to just stay here, for awhile?"

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? "I don't know," she blurted, and abruptly, weeping--for the first time in her young life--threatened to spill out. Her breath hitched, and she pulled back on herself.

"I don't know. Sorry," she repeated, a little more quietly.

"Ahh, hell," said Giggle, wholly unaware that Acheron was probably picking up every single foul word and filing it subconsciously away for later. She plodded over and plonked her hefty rump heavily down beside the pup, eyeing the bones.

"They don't always bring good news. I know it can be hard to hear," she offered, that hoarse voice hardly reassuring, but she tried. "It can be good to know, though. To be prepared. I can... walk you back to Orion, if you want? -You live there, right?" she added, with a glance to the pup. Or had Pride moved cave, without her knowing? "I can talk to your dad for you." It seemed cruel, somehow, to ask one so young as Acheron to tell Pride the future that had been foreseen.

She could tell him herself, and warn him--though somehow, she already thought she knew just what he'd say. He'll take me seriously, and then he'll start preparing for war, even if that part I misunderstood, she thought, grimly amused. But it was what it was--and maybe there would be a war.

A faint sense of pensiveness rose up in her. I'll have to ask the bones about that--but later, she reasoned--when she wasn't comforting a two-week-old hatchling.

She glanced down at Acheron. "You okay?" she asked her quietly, even though the answer was fairly clear.

Somehow, Giggle's assurance that it was good to know brought a flare of anger to Acheron's heart. Good to know-? How did that make it any better!? It'd still happen, wouldn't it?

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--"Yeah," she answered, quiet. But for how long? What was gonna happen to get her kicked out of her own home-? The realization she'd have to explain all this to Pride gripped her hard, and panic threatened to set in--but Giggle's offer, though--to walk her back--nipped that in the bud. A shuddering sigh of relief left her in a rush, and she nodded gratefully to the hyena. "Yes... please," was all she answered, quietly.

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.

"I don't know."

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. "Come on, then. We'll go slow; tell me if you need to stop, okay?"

She glanced up, then, and over her shoulder--up toward Omen. Come, if you want; we're going to Orion. The bird took wing at once, a mixture of excited and nervous--they'd only gone to Orion once or twice, and on one of those occasions Omen had wound up trying to rescue Giggle from the void. ...Again.

Giggle looked to Acheron again, and then set off, keeping an easy pace. "I'll talk to Pride for you, and then come back. But you can visit here any time, you know. You'd be welcome with the Bonebound, or I can take you to hear stories from the Lorekeeper, if you want. Do you know who she is..?" Giggle went on, looking for something--anything--to distract the child.

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.

"Okay," she agreed quietly, down to single syllables for a moment. As for the Lorekeeper-? "No," she answered, but there was half a question in it, and faint curiosity in her face as she glanced up to Giggle.

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.

I hope this all works out, she thought, feeling a lot more uncertain than she'd done when she'd arrived here.

exit Acheron