Source danced in the sky tonight. Ribbons of light, green, white, and blue formed a spider's web in the sky, seeming to catch the stars in their net. Under it all Makael stalked his prey. He silently trekked through the ashen trees around him, their dark trunks his constant companion. Following the deep hoofprints made by the Stag, he weaved through the underbrush, careful to stay downwind and make as little noise as possible. The tracks led him to the top of a ravine, with the night sky laid bare before him, he surveyed the valley below. The stars and Source lines were his only light to see by, but he could pick out the signs of the Stag, broken branches, disturbed underbrush, and white scoring on the black canvas of the trees. Makael plotted the course of the beast in his mind, looking down at the tracks, he saw every step taken, every branch broken, the beast was tired. He took the bow from his back and checked its tension, a mirror to his own. He drew a strip of sinew across the length of the bow and fit it into the notches at the ends, he spared a small glance at the ornate designs carved into the wood of his instument, and as he began to climb down into the valley, memories came climbing up from the pit he had left them in. 

"Happy Birthday," she had said, the day his mother gifted him this bow. He silently made his way down the steep hillside, carefully watching the terrain as the memories played, unbidden, in his mind. He remembered the first time his mother had taken him out into the woods near their home, he remembered her showing him how to shoot, how to cover his tracks, how to find the tracks of others, and most importantly how to kill. Makael inspected another white score on the hardened bark of the tree, from the marks, he could tell that the beast had traveled east. This Stag was clever, doubling back, not like those he had hunted in his childhood. He remembered how no one else understood, Makani thought it was a poor way to learn to fight, and their father saw it as a practical way to get food, but only his mother had understood. After all, she was the one who taught him. Makael stalked through the trees and finally sighted the Stag, it blended in with the trees thanks to its stony armor, but the breathing gave it away. Its chest expanded as it drew in, and small puffs of mist escaped its mouth as it exhaled. The frantic labored breathing of a tired animal on the end of its rope. He drew in his own breath and slowly slid a red-fletched arrow, another gift his mother had given him, from the woven quiver on his side. His father and sister would never understand. When he was out here, he was more connected to the Sources than they would ever be, they sang for him, and he was part of them. The lights above, the trees around him, the dirt beneath his feet. He was at once infinitesimal and an integral part of the universe. Under the Sourcelight he felt the distinct popping sensation as he knocked his arrow, the motions ingrained into him, he sighted the small gap in the Stags armored hide. In one fluid motion, he raised his left hand and pulled back the string to his cheek. He took aim at the gap revealing the creature's skin and drew in a second breath. He felt his shoulders and back tensing with the weight of the bowstring, and he checked his posture. Feet perpendicular to the target, slightly apart, weight distributed evenly, he heard his mother whisper in his ear. He lowered his right elbow slightly to be in line with the ground and began to let out his breath. For a moment, everything melted away. His family, the outside world, those things did not matter, all that mattered was him and the Stag, predator and prey. From a distance he was indistinguishable from the trees around him, his arms their branches, but on the inside Makael felt the tension in his body, ready to burst. He could almost feel his mother beside him, a strange sixth sense telling him that she was there, but he knew that she wasn't, and as more memories threatened to break into his mind, he forced them down and focused on nothing other than him and the Stag, predator and prey. As the last remnants of his breath left his chest, time slowed. lungs empty of air, he made the necessary small adjustments and let go of his tension, pointing the fingers of his right hand straight at his target. sending the arrow towards its grizzly task. The Stag raised its head in fear just as the arrow found its mark, burying itself in the small, exposed patch of skin that covered the creature's heart. For a small moment of time hunter and prey locked eyes, there was wisdom behind the eyes of this creature, a wisdom beyond that of the creatures that he had killed in the past. There was something in these creatures that elevated them above other animals.  His mother had taught him many things, but not how to kill an intelligent creature. 

Makael looked into the dead eyes of the Stag. All the Source had left this creature. The once bright emerald eyes were now dead and lifeless somehow drained of their color. this was always the hardest part, looking down at the life you've taken. He took solace in knowing that, while this beast would die, he and the others would live. He had gotten lucky with the weather this night, The extra light of the Source in the sky had allowed him to secure the kill, and now, looking down at it, pushing all the memories away, he was left with a single feeling, exhaustion. Hauling this Stage up the hill was going to be grueling work, so he decided to do it tomorrow. With the trees staring down at him, he took out his chisel pick and hunting knife beginning to separate the carapace from the skin. He carefully made a small stack of the shell. Other hunters in the Slatewood would see it and move on. The people living in these woods wanted to preserve it as much as possible and he admired them for that. they sacrificed their own greed so that the forest could live on, would that others treated the wilds the same way. He tied the remaining shell onto his pack and climbed up the nearest tree. Most people would camp in a tent on the ground, but Makael preferred to sleep under the stars. He tied his pack to the trunk of the tree and set up his hammock between two others. Laying there, looking up at the Source and the stars, he couldn't sleep.

His mind began to wander, he wondered where Airyn was. A good friend from childhood, she had left them to join the Imperial Guard, Makael knew that he would likely never see her again, but he still hoped that she was doing well. He thought of all the trouble the three of them would get into together. Makani always wanted to climb to the highest places, and he had to admit, he wanted to as well, though he seldom did. When Makani had an idea, all she thought about were the possibilities, but all he thought about were the consequences. He remembered the time when Makani had dared them to steal pastries for Sun's Day from a local shop, and all three of them had gotten caught. Their mother had to...

He began to wonder where Makani was. He was not happy with how they had left things. While he and his sister had not always gotten along, they had at least supported each other and stayed together. They were children of rebels, and as such they looked out for each other. Sure, she was brash and never thought of the consequences of her actions, but she was his sister, and he missed her. The words that she had thrown at him that day came to the surface of his mind. "All you ever do is run" she had said to him. Each word a dagger in his flesh. "If you truly cared about Mother..."

He tried to think of his father. A good-for-nothing deadbeat, he was the one who had started the rebellion in the first place. Makael loathed his father. He was a slimy man, once a lowly thief who stole and lied his way to notoriety. He said he was a changed person, but Makael didn't believe him. He still hid things from them, and he had sent their mother to...

He tried to think of anything else. He forced his thoughts to the family that had taken him in. He wondered what Eyldan would make from the large pieces of Stag shell he would bring back, or what gossip Eymryth would have from the local markets. He was excited to see Eyma most of all, the little girl would always regale him with a new epic tale of her beloved Nym, the mythical barbarian that she had dreamed up. His mother would have liked them... No matter how hard he tried, every thought took him back to his mother, no matter how far his mind ran, he was always faced with her. His normal diversion strategies were failing him. Here, with the stars looking down on him. He was no longer able to run from his thoughts. It had been years, but he saw the image as if it was still right in front of him. 

His mother's head. On a spike. her face wracked with pain and surprise as if she was not expecting to die. It was a clear day, not a cloud in the sky, but he remembered the cold. As if the air itself wanted to eat its way through him. The palace built into the mountain behind her was covered with a light dusting of snow. He remembered Makani, his sister, looking away and weeping. She had clung to him, and he had tried to comfort her, but he could not tear his gaze away from the terrified eyes. They had stared skyward, stared up into the heavens. He remembered looking at her face then and trying to dredge up some feeling, something. Some emotion that would prove he cared for his mother, but he could not. In that moment, the person he hated most of all was himself. All he could think of was the danger of being in that place, surrounded by Empire soldiers. What if they saw his sister crying over a traitor? what if someone recognized them as that traitor's children? The blood dripping out of Makella's severed head was still warm as it fell on the ground, Makael felt disgust, but nothing more. He silently ushered his sister away from the grisly scene, and back home. He remembered the argument afterward. every word Makani had thrown at him felt intended to pierce as deep as possible. She knew exactly where to push to inflict the most pain. "You don't care about anyone other than yourself" she had told him. "You never really cared about Mother, you never loved her, if you did, you would want revenge." That comment hurt him the most because he was terrified that it may have been true. He had sent insults her way as well, and all it did was send her into more of a rage. When the Royal Guard had attacked the Rebel hideout, they had both run, but in different directions. 

He had left the Rebellion, he had left his family, whatever remained of it, and he had left his life. Even though he had found something new, something peaceful, he still felt guilty. He wondered if Makani was still alive out there, fighting for the Rebellion, fighting for their worthless father. He doubted that he would ever see her again. That should have hurt, but it didn't. He was not sure what was wrong with him. Laying in his hammock, staring at the night sky, the heavens splayed out before him like a gutted animal, the lines of Source entrails of the universe. His problems felt tiny, but to him, they were all he could think about. His problems and the image of his mother's face. Mouth open, dead eyes looking towards the sky. He remembered similar nights like this, him and his mother laying on the ground, in the wilds, looking at the stars. He tried to shed a tear, tried to let them come, but he produced nothing. Memories of his mother came back to him. How she said his name, with such love, as if she remembered why she had picked it every time. How she had celebrated when he had scored his first kill. How she had always sung to them when he and his sister were little. He remembered when she first took him to the Slatewood when he turned 16. It was the first time he had ever been off his home Plate. He thought of the bow on his pack, how she had made it for him to grow into, and how even now it was the perfect fit for him. Every beautiful memory of his mother confronted him as he stared at the dancing ribbons of light in the sky. He thought that maybe here, so close to her and everything she loved, he would finally be able to cry for her. In the woods, he was free to be who he was, and right now he wanted to remember, to remember, and to mourn, but he just... couldn't. He let all the wonderful memories fill his head, and as he looked up at the heavens, he felt nothing. He had not wept for his mother and was worried that he never would. As he closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep, he could only see her head on a spike, mouth open in suprise, staring at the sky. She had taught him many things, but she had never taught him how to grieve.