Cut Rock River Broken

He was tired.

He had been searching for so long, so focused on finding and taking in the blossomed Karina now that she was older, that he hadn't noticed the changes his own body had undergone. (Such as his own paws become tinted red, thanks his travel-worn skin.)

God, had this all been in vain? He had lost Karina's scent long ago, but he was stubborn and wouldn't give up. Even when Inna had left (he hoped she had gotten home safe), missing her mother—their mother—and worried for the arrival of spring, Aleksei simply kept walking. He could have gone home, rested up, tried another day. But, no; in his head, he had to be the saviour. He had to be the hero, had to be the protagonist, had to be the eldest, the inspiration, his father's protégé, a worthy successor—but it was all for nothing, because now he was a simple, sad, lonely man with no one but himself to blame.

What if Karina didn't even want to be found?

Hissing between his teeth, Aleksei dipped his left paw into the cold river, accepted the sting as punishment for being so bullheaded. As he lifted his head, his throat tightened and a strangled “oh” escaped his lips, barely a whisper against the wind. His eyes settled on—on a familiarity, a memory, a home.

An abandoned den that left his mouth drier than ever, caused the bile to roll in his gut.

Quiet and nervous, like a small bird. “Leki … we go?”

He stepped further into the river, furrowing his brow.

Braver, protective. “Yeah. We go, Rina.”

And if he cast his gaze further downstream, maybe he would see-

A curious child, so young and innocent and naïve, questioning the ways of the world. “Dad, you won't ever guess what happened. The river's gone all hard! Well, not all of it. Bits of it. What is it? The hard stuff, I mean.”

He pushed through the water, which was more like ploughing through treacle with how tired he was.

A father, speaking with a chuckle—he could not be more proud of his children. “Ice, Aleksei. That's ice. Like wolves, the seasons have cycles too—there's a building warmth for moons, followed by a gradual cold for just as long. You're seeing your first winter.”

Ah. He … he was home.

How many winters have you seen now, son?

Aleksei's head snapped to the side, just a fraction, and his eyes grew wide. The ghost of a figure stood across the water from him, proud and strong and just. He lifted himself onto the rocks of the river, slabs of granite that jutted out randomly, and tested the air anxiously, afraid the world might shatter if he dare breathe a word. “Father?”

Just a little further, place your feet on the stones. “Father.” That's it. Like when you were a boy. Remember how you used to hop across the rocks? Like a frog, you were. He scrabbled desperately, navigating wet slabs, claws digging in desperately to find purchase, to haul him faster to the other side. “Father! Father, I'm here, I—oh!” 

And then he slipped.

Water rushed up to greet him, plunging him into icy cold that broke his spell with a sudden hiss. For a moment, Aleksei struggled in blind panic; his limbs would not move the way he wanted them to—they flailed wildly and jerkily. No, no, no. He twisted and turned, and he only saw bubbles and hazy blue shapes. Come now, son. Would you walk with your father again? He would not die here—he could not. He was Aleksei Baranski. He was a son of the river. He had always respected water, but now he would conquer it, command it. He threw his paws down, focus now, and found solid ground beneath him. He pushed his limbs, forced himself up, up, up, 'til his crown broke the surface.

He sucked in a desperate gasp for air. He choked out his cry, searching desperately. But his father was no longer there. Come now, son.

A wet heap of fur and shivers, Aleksei heaved himself from the shallows of the river, slumped to the ground as he wheezed, coughing and spluttering out the water he had swallowed. “Idiot,” he whispered under his breath, eyes squeezed shut. “You nearly died because—because you cannot separate your reality from blasted fantasy.”

And then it struck him.

This whole time, he had been working under a fantasy.

He would find Karina. And then Orren. And then Lekalta. He would become his father, he would lead a pack, he would be a hero.

What a whimsical future. If only.

Oh, how could he have been so stupid?