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The hours immediately following the ritual Lannon spent in a daze, halfway within his own mind and halfway somewhere else entirely. Following a short period catching their breath and giggling, waiting to be able to untwine from one another, wolf and lynx held paws, walked down the ancient stone steps of the altar, and fumbled along the path way, both shaky at the legs from their own pleasure, exhaustion, and overdriven senses along with the other's, suddenly blasting into their minds and awareness just as strongly.

With afternoon deepening into evening, Lannon began to feel it might be wrong to spend the night and set up camp in such a place as this. Right as he opened his mouth to voice his thought, Sulla nodded - and then confirmation came through in the lynx's head, the thought placed there from an outside source, not his own yet feeling so much like it. Sulla was there, _right_there, so close physical as well as mentally. With anyone else it might have been a shock, or he might have worried about privacy or some manner of separation, but with Sulla...

Wholly mismatched eyes, each individual and distinct now, glimmered at him in the deepening shadow. Every hunter learned how to partition and shield his mind and thoughts when needed, and he felt confident Lannon would too. An excitable and ecstatic yet slightly nervous energy thrummed in the air between them, a mixed disbelief of having actually achieved their goal combined with a sudden wonder at what would come next.

Both of them thought about it as they made their way through the clearing towards the edge of the wood, whereupon they stopped, reached out to touch one another, and looked back over the ancient root-bound altar one more time. This would likely be the last time either of them would see it, unless Sulaya called out for them to return again for some reason.

"Unlikely," Sulla figured. But not impossible,_Lannon thought; _just as it was unlikely for this to happen?

Naturally, Sulla knew that he referred to their bond, between wolf and lynx. Between hunter and... scholar? What was he, now?

He was Sulla's. Whether this impression came from his own heart or the wolf's, it was unclear. But it indeed was true.

After some time walking, feeling as close with a handful of trees between them as they did with their fingers entwined, the two came across and decided on a low overhang of a lifted ridge to settle down for the night. Lannon still had his gathered berries from before, and they sat down and shared those while relaxing and, simply, enjoying the sensation.

He could feel Sulla probing and poring around in his thoughts, freely opened to the wolf like all the books of the library back at Solm. Those, too, were the memories onto which he latched, images and impressions of times and places past, of faces old to Lannon and new to Sulla, voices and scents and touches. Lannon felt him piecing together his relationship with Emnis and Sariya, warm and close yet still missing some vital foundation; he felt him poking around at what, specifically, "magic" was; he felt him looking back through what had made Lannon who he now was. His skills, his talents, his upbringing, his few friends. Madam Kay the alchemist, Lori the soapmaker, his husband the chandler.

Lannon's father. The lynx felt a little pulse of familiarity and warmth vibrate through Sulla's being. He sighed softly, scooted to the side, and rested his head on Sulla's shoulder - and tried his hand, so to say, at wandering back through Sulla's memories, too.

Just as he had thought and feared, they were fragmented and broken past that first ritual, everything afterwards focused solely on Lannon himself. Great fields of time stretched on between little islands of conscious thought and lucid memory, little snatches and shards of shadow and nonsense. There was Sulaya, once; a family of wild mountain lions, roaring and hissing, terrified of the hideous beast in their territory; a small hunting party, shocked to horror, raising their bows... a village in flames, a tree falling over in a storm and nearly crushing his leg. A river. A waterfall. A small, yellow flower...

A white wolf with a sword in one paw. Tul. And then everything before, old and distant, foggy and warped. Sulla's mother had brought him up. Her name was Noma, and she walked alongside Stike, broad-shouldered and strong, both of them fearsome, powerful hunters in their own rights. He had never really known his father, but-

I am Sulla, son of Noma, Luca, and Stike.

-but Luca was the name of his uncle's life-mate. This uncle was Saro, who walked alongside Hex, slimmer and more agile than Stike, more of a shadow hunter than a pack leader. Sulla and Saro were quite close when he was young. There had been Lio, too, a handful of years older than Sulla, a good friend. A hunting partner. He disappeared about a year before Tul's death, and took his companion Sha with him. Sha had been a rare beauty.

The title of chieftess of the tribe had just passed to another when Sulla departed for his bloodrites. He stood before her and the rest of the council, body taut and mind buzzing with the onset of the bond-sickness. Tul stood beside him then, young and beautiful; the wolves with which his tribe bonded aged at roughly the same pace as the hunters alongside them, with each pair beginning from birth. Tul had been at his side for his entire life, and at that point, he imagined she would remain there for the rest of his life to come.

The memory of the bloodrites themselves were either shielded, or fragmented, or some combination of both; Lannon could not access them. He did not mind. His paw found Sulla's, and he felt through the distant yet still very much real impressions and emotions from those few dense years and what had come before. Somewhere along the way it seemed as though Tul had given birth. Whether this happened before or after the bonding, Lannon couldn't quite tell, and the details also escaped him.

There were six. Five of them Sulla buried beneath an ancient lightning-struck oak on a mountain ridge. This part of the memory remained clear. From there the memories lost definition and detail, little bits and pieces from the wolf's teenage years mixing and muddling together. Countless hunts alongside Tul, both bonded and before; meals and chores at the camp, sneaking off with the other pups to make trouble, standing in at another uncle's death ceremony. On and on, further and further.

Then, in one barely-remembered portion of a buried memory, Sulla had met a lynx. The lynx had been injured in a storm and taken back to camp, much to the chagrin of many of the hunters there. He would let us die, were we the ones injured, they said. Cut off the arm and let his life bleed out. Let him go.

_ _

No. It was Sulla's mother Noma that proclaimed this. He would have given his own life to save Sta's litter. He tried to, and would have succeeded had I not found him. I would ensure he does not have to. It took days of work and struggle, and in the middle it seemed as though the infection had already progressed too deep - but then, one cool early spring morning, the lynx roused and opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was the young six-year-old Sulla there, puppy Tul at his side.

Or, really, the second thing, but Sulla remembered it as the first, despite how Noma had bent over the lynx and pressed him back down to the bed as soon as he sucked in that first sharp breath. "Hey there," the lynx had said, Common tongue unusual and unfamiliar to Sulla's ears. He had wanted to say more, but a combination of pain as well as soporific herbs put him back under again.

He would spend about two months in the camp among the wolves, waiting for his body to regain strength before his return to the village beyond the trees. For these months the other hunters became accustomed to his presence and his odd way of speech, for he tried his best to share his own language and learn theirs. It wasn't so different, the young Sulla had learned, though his mother was catching on to it faster than him; he remembered watching the two of them sitting together after a communal hunt digging into the feast, communicating in a stop-and-go series of half-phrases and hand-signs. Often the lynx would forget he no longer had two arms, but Noma did her best to put his mind off of this.

What his tribe called ro, the sun, the lynx knew as roa.Shusu, water, became susu, in his "refined" Common tongue. A ca_in Sulla's tongue was a _ko in Azalon's tongue, both silly words for the same big, annoying blackbird. Sulla referring to himself was eo; Azalon telling who he was, was ia. The grammar he couldn't quite understand - how eo lla ea had become ia'la loa io'le was beyond him - but by the end of it, the lynx and Sulla's mother could maintain a thorough conversation in their mishmash of mishappen dialects and handsigns.

Then, fully healed, Azalon left. Sulla recalled no particular fanfare about his departure. Noma as well as the many friends he had made saw him off, each bearing their own gift for him, some for some reason more acceptable to the pup's eyes than others. He disappeared into the trees, and never once returned. And Sulla forgot about him.

Lannon opened his eyes and looked out over the darkened forest. He had tried to see if Sulla remembered anything in particular about this strange lynx's jewelry, but of course the young wolf hadn't paid attention to that. He himself could remember a little necklace, tooth and claw and amber all strung along a leather cord, resting on the table near his father's bed. Always had he wondered about it; he knew his father had hunted for the house before his accident, but other than his weaving, he had never been particularly crafty like that.

Beside him, Sulla sighed as well and reached an arm around to tug the lynx in against him. "What are the chances?" he wondered, not exactly aloud but still enough for Lannon to "hear" it. "I had almost forgotten about that."

_ _

I'd always wondered what happened for that period of time. Father had told me the story before, but I could tell he always left some details out...

_ _

Such an odd feeling. Lannon closed his eyes again and floated through this mental space between the two of them, each of their own isolated thought-spaces bridged together. New and fresh and bright, unfamiliar and strange yet oddly invigorating, and yet-

"Sulla."

The wolf's ear flicked against his head. Sulla lifted his muzzle a bit; it felt as though he had started to fall asleep. Lannon squirmed around so he could face him, legs crossed before him, clothing a bit tattered from the trek through the woods and dirtied from the journey and the rain. Not at all like back at the academy, where every day saw a new, fresh outfit, as washing clothing made up an excellent exercise for practicing Water magic.

The thought had hit him suddenly, and yet Lannon knew it in that instant to be true. Reflexive and instinctive. Wasn't that how this tribe governed themselves? "I wish to continue hearing your voice."

Slowly Sulla smiled, blinked, and leaned in to brush his longer muzzle alongside Lannon's shorter. "Of course, my heart. It takes time to get used to - even I am feeling that, all over again." This time, fully bonded, it felt almost as though Lannon knew what Sulla was going to say, _before_he said it. Perhaps he did. The understanding came clearer and sharper than before, without the words muddling back along the expectation. "But now we have..."

"All the time in the world?" Lannon finished with a smirk. Sulla chuckled as well, and then the pair looked at one another, smiled, brushed muzzles again... leaned in for a kiss, a second, a third. Not only could they feel their own warmth and love, but the other's radiated out through the bond as well, deepening the contact, pulling them closer together.

"Yes," the wolf rumbled into a space between kisses. "All the time in the world."

~ ~ ~

Once night turned to day, Lannon learned what it truly meant for a member of the tribe to hunt. He himself could not draw the bow, as the twinge in his shoulder still prevented him from doing so with much strength, as he had demonstrated in the first days. Sulla crept through the bushes and between the trees, just as Lannon had watched him do so many times before, but now he could feel it as well. When Lannon kept low and quiet a good stone's throw away, he still knew precisely where behind him Sulla crept, what he was looking for, and what he expected.

A noise to his right; the lynx froze, perked his ears, tilted his head... and Sulla felt his suspicion at the same time he himself did. Over there. Without a word passing between them the wolf broke off from the path and cut a wider berth around the target, bow relaxed, arrow nocked yet not drawn. He moved with caution and care, yet still Lannon could pick out the note of nervousness and shaky indecision beneath his thoughts; Sulla believed the prey was aware of his presence and would bolt as soon as he moved to take the shot.

So Lannon moved, instead. A few well-placed steps through the brush, a quiet yet deliberate snap of a thin twig beneath a footpaw - and a wide rack of antlers turned to face his way, the sleek, angular head lifting up on the broad neck, the sun-dappled pelt shimmering and then holding still as the deer surveyed its surroundings, specifically towards Lannon's direction. The lynx stayed there, crouched down and holding his breath, Sulla's caution mixing together with his own. He felt the wolf's approval and satisfaction, then also felt him clear his mind, raise the bow, line up the shot... and then, in the time it took him to blink, the arrow loosed, flew, and connected.

Joy and satisfaction surged through the lynx, and he sprang up with a sigh of relief on his lips. Then, though, he took the effort to tamp that down, exchanging it for a wary, curious caution instead. Sulla felt it as well, and when the wolf's familiar figure appeared between the trees, he moved slowly.

"What's wrong?" But then, remembering Lannon's request the night before, verbally: "Is something wrong?"

The lynx gave a sheepish laugh. "I was just thinking, or wondering, ah... how does your tribe... regard hunting?"

Sulla thought about that for a moment. 'How do you mean?'_he was going to say, but their link allowed him to feel and precisely sense Lannon's meaning. The lynx had grown up hearing stories and reading tales of old tribes of warriors and druids, civilizations closer to nature who treated it and its gifts as sacred, holy offerings. _'Do not take something of the woods without giving in return', or at the very least, 'thank the Mother for the offerings She has granted us.'

Still the deer breathed, though it lay in a growing pool of sticky warmth as both its energy and its life trickled out of it. Sulla came forward, knelt down, stroked the back of his paw along its broad, beautiful neck, and then while its eyes were on him, head propped up and angled by those lovely antlers, he slid his knife across its throat.

"We are part of nature," he explained slowly. Lannon felt him piecing together the words while he spoke, giving voice to a deeper thought and feeling. "When we speak of the forest, we speak of _ourselves._Everything works as it must, and works as it does. To deny what is freely given to us, if we would only reach out to take it..." He wiped the blade off along his thigh. Lannon wished he wouldn't do that. "That would disrespect the forest, and thus disrespect us. Our purpose is not to hunt; our purpose is to survive. The forest simply expects us to hunt, so we do."

Lannon thought about that for a moment. He came forward and knelt beside Sulla, still stroking the pelt of the now still deer.

"So where do I fit into all of this?"

You don't, Sulla was going to say. He felt it there in the back of his head, but then something stopped the wolf. When he spoke again it was slower than before, more careful and deliberate.

"You came from outside the forest, and yet you are as deeply entwined with it as we are. Perhaps more than some. You bear my daughter's mark; I am told that she is now the spiritual leader of our people, and shall succeed my mother as Chieftess when her time passes." As he spoke Sulla tapped and touched along his dagger, the same one that Lannon had given him what seemed like so long ago now. It looked unusual in the wolf's paws, this large, taut force of nature, this still half-feral hunter, holding this small thing all of clean lines and sharp angles. "She values you. She believes that the forest needs you, and that we as well need you."

"She tried to kick me out when I first arrived."

"And yet you would not budge. You came from outside, and now what you have done, and what you will do, echoes and resounds. You are..." Sulla tilted his head up and back to think. "You are a rich, strong wind, blowing in over our woods. We can do nothing but follow your lead."

That made Lannon chuckle. He moved around to the other side of the deer and began to slide his paws underneath, to help it up over Sulla's shoulder. "What if I bring a terrible storm?"

"Sometimes - a storm is needed." The wolf grunted, then stood. He wobbled a little bit but righted himself without much issue. "It brings rain, and clears the debris. Does it not?"

"A storm can destroy."

"It can. Did you?"

Sulla had slung the stag over his shoulders, one arm keeping the hind legs down against his chest while the other gripped the antlers like handles. Surely he looked as out of place as Lannon did, but for all the opposite reasons: here was this tall, broad wolf, this hunter and warrior, striding along with his captured prey all while wearing a simple outfit which barely fit him, shirt and trousers and loose rope belt. From what Lannon knew, the others in his tribe tended to wear loincloths, if anything, and-

"Sash." The image popped into his head as they walked. "Uncle Saro standing there alongside his companion Hex, cloth hanging down halfway to his knees with the under-wrappings snug in place. It drapes along the hips, moving with the hunter's body, staying level. And then the sash, the over the shoulder strap. Tight to prevent snagging, not too tight to restrict movement and agility. I see him crouching down behind the brush, one leg brought up to his chest, the other behind him in a squat so close to the ground, while he leans over and around the trunk. He reaches back and slips an arrow from the quiver through which that sash, that strap, is strung.

_ _

"He wears a special design, created by our friend Lio. Lio also brings us metal arrowheads from beyond the forest. He asks us not to tell, but we know. His design of quiver comes down and around, so that the hunter need only to reach down and back instead of all the way up over their shoulder; it is faster and easier, and puts less strain on the muscles. I wonder how Lio is doing now... I wonder if he is still around.

_ _

"The sash comes up and around, one hip over the opposite shoulder back to the hip. There is also his knife for combat, his knife for utility, his third knife, and a little pouch, but nothing else. It cannot be heavy. We must remain quick and agile."

_ _

Lannon wondered how he would look in that getup, the loincloth and sash and nothing else. He thought about it for a moment, then glanced over at Sulla beside and somewhat behind him, and couldn't help but smirk and chuckle, too.

~ ~ ~

Day 59

Morning

_ _

I can't even begin to properly capture everything that has happened in this short span of time.

_ _

I shall say simply: the ritual, the bloodrites, succeeded. Even though I can no longer touch any sort of magic, even though Sulla and his people do not even recognize what we call magic, it has succeeded - and it is doubtless a magical phenomenon. I felt the same kind of tug and pull that I do sometimes around Sulaya, who lives and exists more deeply entwined with the natural world than anyone else.

_ _

Had I retained my skills, had I not burned myself out, that would make for my next subject of study: primordial magic. But still, it was worth it.

_ _

I must leave out the specific details of the ritual. It is a deeply secret, deeply intimate process for the culture and the individual, and I have no wish to break that privacy here, especially after experiencing it myself. Everything I had heard before from all of the rumors growing up, and from the things my father had told me in stark opposition to the horror stories shared by the other children... it is a wonderful, beautiful thing.

_ _

Sulla and I are bonded, just as he was to Tul. Fully, completely. As one. The foundations of what I felt before after the first ritual are still there, but it's still so much different, so much more. I'm just amazed with the way it settled into place, and how it feels natural. It doesn't seem uncanny at all to have his thoughts so close to mine, as though I could lean over and bump my ideas against his as easily as I can my muzzle to his shoulder. He is there, constantly, quietly.

_ _

I can sense his thoughts and his feelings. I can tell when a noise up in the trees startles him, and when he is distracted by a brightly colored bird flying by, and when his mind wanders back to different times. He can pull the same from myself, of course, but it doesn't feel at all intrusive or prying. At times it can be a bit uncomfortable, and I'm not quite accustomed to it yet, but these will come in time.

_ _

I am amazed by what has happened. I am humbled by the power employed by this tribe, out here in the depths of the woods. The source of their power is their bloodline, and their adherence to ancient ways and traditions - and where do I fit into all of it? Before, Sulaya regarded me as an outsider and an anomaly. And then I did the things that she could not. So who am I, here in the heart of the forest? What's next for me? This can't be all. As happy as I would be to stay here, foraging and hunting, researching and studying alongside Sulla, hunter lost and then found again, this can't be everything.

_ _

...

_ _

Evening

_ _

The realization, the idea, came to us as we prepared our hunt, setting the skin to hang, preparing the mixture, curing the meat, cutting the antlers for later carving. We are to take Sulla back home to his tribe, to see his mother and his uncle and all of his friends and clanmates who thought him lost.

_ _

It is a pleasant thought. It floats there between us, Sulla remembering how things used to be, me filling in the gaps with what might have changed. We turn where we kneel each on separate sides of the hut, and even though we cannot see each other through the walls, the bond tells us that still we look one another in the eyes.

_ _

_That is our next task. But for now - we have just recently returned home. As much as this little hunter's cabin out in the forest can be called domestic, we would like to enjoy this for a while first. _