[Shadowdancer] "The Necessity of Grief"
- From: Elizabeth Bethell <blaise.stjulien@xxxxxxxxx>
- To: shadowdancer@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Tue, 13 Sep 2005 16:26:13 +0100
The Necessity of Grief
*Caitlenn Ross*
It was not, she thought, because of any great need to be around people that
Cait found herself descending into the throngs in New Berlin. In truth, she
had no idea why she walked the streets. Damien was off and about, doing
whatever Fleetie people do, Si was bopping around with her newest and bluest
friend, Colin was sulking in his room back on 'Dancer, which left Cait. "I'm
tired of staring at the same Engine Room," she told herself as she wandered
through the light mist of a Lunar morning.
Being alone didn't always appeal to most people but Cait could never be
classed as the social sort and yet, as she wandered the stalls of the
market, she found herself actually feeling lonely for the first time in
years. If this had been peace time, she'd have gone home to Scotland, to Una
and Hamish... but Hamish wasn't there and never would be again. Kids...
Christ, she'd forgotten the children. Hamish had two sons, bright,
boisterous, charming lads that doted on their strange Aunt whenever she was
home. *I don't think I can bare the thought of seeing those joyous eyes
filled with grief.*
"Grief," came a deep throated voice from the stall next to the one she was
perusing, "is a natural process. It hurts but it's needed to clean the
spirit."
Cait blinked and then scowled. "Bloody Betazoids," she muttered then stomped
around to see a very tall, heavily built man with bright white hair and
dark, almost black eyes. "Would you mind keeping out of my head?"
"I wasn't in your head, I just sensed your preoccupation." Turning around,
the old man crossed his hands over his wide chest. "Death, it kind of calls
to me."
"Nice, I'd say you're the one with the preoccupation then." Cait glared at
him, using her anger to mask her slight, tremoring fear. "And it still
doesn't stop it being an invasion of my privacy." Tapping the side of her
head, she said, "In here is private, no one sees that but me."
Reaching out, the old man took her finger and tapped it to the side of his
own head. "In here, it is sacred but not private. The Ancients see all, as
does the Great Spirit. How can I hide myself from them?"
"So because some deity can see in that means everyone can?" Cait snorted as
she retracted her hand and clasped it with the other firmly behind her back.
"I said sacred, didn't I? There are places in the Universe where only the
most privileged can go and that is because they are sacred, not because they
are private." He smiled at her as if he was humouring a difficult child.
"So you trespassed on sacred ground, isn't that even worse?"
"I trespassed nowhere. You grieve but you're fighting it. I can feel that,
whether I want to or not." Shrugging his wide shoulders, he started to
wander off, still talking to her, his words carrying her forward. "The
longer you stretch it out, the more poisoned and twisted your soul will
become. And you need it clean, sooner rather than later, or you may not
survive what is to come."
"What do you mean: what is to come? You some kind of future seeing
Betazoid?" Cait sped up to match pace with him.
"I'm not Betazoid, I'm Tsitsistas; just as human as you are,
Hotohkenestoohe," he told her. "And I don't read the future, just see the
paths."
"Huh? What did you call me?" She had to walk faster as he picked up the
pace, leading her through the winding market and out into a square. People
were dashing to work like busy little beavers, but for the most part the
whole area was empty.
Pausing once he reached the centre of the square, he turned around on the
spot, his eyes closed and seemingly lost in thought. Just as Cait was about
to ask again, he spoke. "Hotohkenestoohe means Howling Star. That is your
name, Caitlenn Ross. But it is also who you are. You batter against the
conventions, scream blue murder when you are shoe-horned into what is
expected of you and then explode free, spitting blood when you feel
smothered. You howl and you blaze like the stars." His dark eyes snapped
open and he pinned her to the spot with them. "I am Nightwalker, One Who
Walks Through Night. *That* is who I am, my name and my job description."
"It's, er, weird to meet you, Nightwalker," Cait stuttered as she drowned in
his eyes.
Snorting with amusement, he inclined his head to her. "And it is weird to
meet you too, Hotohkenestoohe." A sad, tired smile meandered over his face
as he tilted his head to the side. "You have to grieve."
"I don't know how."
"Cry," he told her.
"That's weak."
"That's human."
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