It had been at dusk that the queen and her king had finished their routine together, and he had offered something different for their night. It had been noted that the woman recently had been feeling slightly under the weather, often easily tired and sometimes experiencing chills and mild headaches. Each time she was asked, Minka had given a gracious smile and offhandedly attributed the symptoms to the change of season that was beginning to inch its way through the Lore. It was a reasonable thing to believe, and so they all did. How could they know any better? How could any of them suspect the vile thing that had taken root at the base of her skull, replicating so slowly yet irrepressible by her body's best efforts? Each time, she brushed their concerns away. Each time, they returned that beautiful smile and continued on.
His invitation had brought a light to her eyes, their destination a secret to the woman but promised to be an absolute wonder. She could not know the amount of planning he had put into this occasion, so much thought having gone into the moment ever since he had stumbled upon the secluded clearing with its thick, verdant growth and vivid, crystalline waters. The man had enlisted Kova earlier that day, disclosing his plans of giving Minka something of a retreat for the night to the boy alone and asking that he be sure to watch over his siblings. All of it had fallen into place so perfectly, and as the pair traveled shoulder to shoulder to the Glen, the king considered that perhaps tonight he would finally achieve some breed of disclosure on his relationship with the queen.
She had been so happy simply to be alone with him, and Gent truly couldn't fathom why, and yet the glances she bestowed him, the small smiles that swept across her maw, were as gold coins and gems for him to horde as treasures. He'd done his best to encourage those casts, to take her mind away from their responsibilities and her own faltering health, to build upon her mirth. As well of a job as he'd done, she still was out of breath by the time they had arrived, paw steps all but dragging through the thin littering of salmon crab apple leaves. She leaned on him ever so slightly, and yet still he couldn't know, for those auric eyes still shone so brightly up at him.
It was on the second hour of their refuge within the Glen that things began to change. They lay together beside the softly roiling pool, the moonlight strong enough to still encourage a surreal cerulean glow. She was cradled against his side, skull reclined against his shoulder to gaze up at the stars that nearly choked the black sky with their multitude. His eyes had been settled upon her graceful face and nothing else, soaking in every expression made as she spoke, reveling in this chance to learn more about her, her thoughts, her past, her fascinations, her aspirations outside of their shared responsibility. She had been midway through a sentence when the peace surrounding them began to spiderweb oh so subtly.
Her voice drifted until she was no longer speaking, despite her thought being unfinished. Those halcyon eyes of hers shifted out of focus, passing up the world around them to seek something deeper. Then they became searching. Then they became lost. Then they became hollow. Gent's alarm did not occur instantaneously. At first, he merely thought something had distracted her, and at last his pale gaze was torn from her to sweep the clearing, searching for whatever had snagged her attention. Nothing had changed, the only movement remaining to be the fall of the water at their backs and the lazy drifting of fireflies upon the air.
"Minka?" he prompted, taking in her features once more only to receive nothing in response. Still she stared ahead, and suddenly it felt as though she were no longer with him at all anymore. Once more he looked ahead, following the path her eyes seemed to be on, and still seeing nothing of note. Before it could truly register that something was wrong on this basis alone, motion returned to her. At first, it was a subtle vibration, channeling from her skin to his. In only seconds of passing, she was in the throes of full forced convulsions.
A yelp escaped him before he could bite it back, and the leviathan was visibly caught between an urge to leap to his feet and one to press himself around the overtaken woman and forcibly still her. After a single moment of hovering in an indecisive crouch, the latter impulse won the battle, and the king hugged the queen to him and held her tight. Panic overran his mind, the adrenaline flood gates opening wide within his system, surging him with an utterly useless wealth of energy. There was not a single inkling within his head of what was going on, much less what had caused it nor what could be done about it. The only idea that made any breed of sense within him was simply to not let go.
"Minka!" he hissed into her ear, "Minka, it's alright," voice truly pleading, "Minka, please stop," as though he could lead her back to him from whatever this was by words alone.
Yet he couldn't, and she didn't, not until it had finished with her.
When she finally stilled within his arms, it was not the stillness of a calmed soul, nor of sleep. This was more than quiet, this was more than calm. Minka fell limp, not even a heartbeat left within her.
The realization was far swifter to dawn upon him this time, and with it came successive waves of immense despair.
"No... no no no... nononono...." he vocalized, first in whispers but as the words rushed faster from his mouth and the horror mounted the raw emotion within him added volume to the denial. There was something he was missing, there was more to all of this than what he was perceiving. She couldn't be gone, not like this, not now. The words faded from his lips, silence overtaking the clearing once more. A silence that he couldn't bear. Untangling himself from Minka's limp form, he crouched over her, a monstrous black paw lifted to tenderly, gingerly touch her face. Despite the unnatural stillness of her body, she looked so peaceful, her eyes nearly completely closed with only the flutter of lashes left between the lids and her black lips slack. A slow, prolonged whine leaked from betwixt his fangs which were exposed in a penitent grimace.
How could he have let this happen.
Having no other recourse, and unable to endure this abrupt isolation, he lifted his muzzle to the sky. His voice stretched over the land, choked with flurried notes of panic and anguish. It called for the wolves of Round Stone Crest. It called for all souls within the Timbers who might have an answer. It called for time itself to halt, to crawl backward and give back what it had so abruptly taken from them all.