Aberrant: The Middle Children of History - The branches of the infinite tree

[Wakinyan]

The green glow appeared on the horizon followed by the concussion that bent the trees. Wakinyan's eyes turned toward it as did his many other senses. It was raw corrupt Wakan, tainted and filthy and driven by madness. It wished to consume everything.

The great Thunderbird rose to meet the wave of sickly green taint as it washed over the land. His wings beat and lightning cracked and thunderheads flew from his wings from one horizon to the other. A storm to meet a storm, with a roar he charged the miasma of corruption and the clash torn asunder the land. Any structure of mankind simply ceased to be. The ground was rent asunder as the two forces sought to overcome the other.

Wakinyan could feel the mind behind it, he did not require telepathy to feel the insane anger. The unfocused unleashing of suffering and the death. The death of the one who had loosed this force upon the world. It was a dying gesture of fury and vengeance that would scar and taint the world as far as it could reach.

The messenger of Wakan would not allow this. Power flowed from his meeting the Balefire headlong unleashing his own rage. Rage of one who would stand against the onslaught. Screeching the Thunderbird fought for the soul of the earth.

------

Wakinyan woke from his nest with a gasp of breath. His irises flashing with blue white lightning in the dark of his cavern home. His home, he was home he looked down his side to the female nestled against him. He knew Ptesan-Wi saw his dreams the link she had reforged between meant she had to make an effort to dream her own dreams not to share his.

But he knew these dreams were not dreams, at least not totally. Glimpses and flashes of events that happened on walk along the spiral of worlds. Worse still his unconscious mind began to weave his visions of prophesy in as well. So much jumbled information he could barely sort anythign out. Had it happened to him? Was it going to happen to him.

His mood growing brooding the great griffin like Nova slid himself out of his bed careful to try and not wake his wife but knowing she would know he left her side but still politely and silently moving out of the chamber.

The crisp spring morning air refreshed him. He inhaled deeply and slowly let it out calming his mind and centering his spirit. It had been so long since he questioned his thoughts or abilities. Something about his last trip across the veil of worlds did something he felt scrambled, muffled. It was like having knowledge on the tip of your tongue but no matter how much you focused you could not speak it.

It was frustrating but still a small price to pay for being home. Wakinyan walked among the carved pillars that led to the caves entrance in the early morning light lost in thought, trying to sort out the puzzle that his mind had become.

[Ptesan-Wi]

Laying silently, Ptesan-Wi felt her mate leaving the den, and then the cave, his mind in turmoil and worry eating at his enormous heart.

He wasn't alone.

In the days and weeks since his return, the powerful telepath had been beside him every step of the way as he worked through the memories and dreams of his travels through other worlds. And through the process, she saw - over and over - the harsh reality of the most common theme in every one of those worlds: corruption.

Once he had left the cave, she quietly rose herself from the soft furs and feathers of their bed. With careful steps, the nude goddess made her way to the immense wash basin, opening the wooden shutter that let cool spring waters fill the defacto tub. If she asked, she knew that her mate would warm the waters for her, but a decade had done much to acclimate her to the cold... that, and she wanted to give him a bit of time to himself and his worries. Sliding into the water, she considered her own.

Over the long years, she had come to truly believe in the spiritual aspects of the Lakota; had internalized them and even restructured her self-identity by them. But at the same time, there was no denying that the physical shell that Wakinyan possessed was that of a nova. And in the middle of the third decade of the 21st century, it was increasingly obvious that novas carried an innate flaw, one that threatened to consume all but the most vigilant.

Scrubbing her skin clean was easy enough; washing away dread was a different matter entirely, one where she found far less success. The simple truth was that, without a great deal of discipline, she was likely to lose Wakinyan again in time. After all of his concern about outliving her and her comparatively frail shell, it was a bitter irony.

Drying herself with homemade linens, Ptesan-Wi donned her trademark muslin and buckskins, brushed and braided her long black hair, then - despite the foreknowledge of eventual doom - stepped out to greet the day.

[Wakinyan]

Arched wings silhouetted the dawn, peaceful and majestic against the rocky top of the mountainous home. Wakinyan's brooding eased in the spring sun. His ears twitched as he sensed the movement of his wife and whatever was left of his foul mood eased like the morning fog. Every moment was a treasure to him now it was almost impossible for him to fall back into such a poor mood.

"Good morning my love." He said as he finished stretching out his wings. "I am sorry if I awoke you to early." He padded toward her his light careful steps barely stirred the rock beneath his feet. Lowering his head he butted against his wife's chest then turned his cheek against her bring one of his eyes even with hers. "Sorry about that dream."

[Ptesan-Wi]

Despite the gloom of her previous thoughts, a smile came easily to Ptesan-Wi's lips, and she laid her small hand upon Wakinyan's massive shoulder. *Hínhánni wastee, mihinga-ki. Chante sica yaun sai ye; you can't help the dreams, and they might be useful going forward.*

The soft smile creased into an impish grin. *We should go on a buffalo hunt, you and I. It has been forever, and it would be a wonderful symbol for the tribe. And I'm sure that with a little prodding, I could remember that recipe you used to like so much....*

Click to reveal..

Lakota text translates as, "Good morning, my husband. Don't have a sad heart..."