#dibella

The Bear clambers up the Tower, not long after descending another, his fur rife with hoarfrost, his eyes guided through the blizzard only by magelight. As he climbs he searches every cave and ponders on every false peak and crag, seeking its Stone. The world here swirls around like the Dawn, like it was never told about Convention. The Bear holds fast against the storm, keeping himself together by sheer will alone - as if there was any other glue strong enough in this raw place.

An argument roars down the side of the mountain, whipping up snow and dust to assault the Bear’s eyes. The Bear blinks away the debris and continues climbing, quickening his pace as he follows the sound. He can’t make out the subject, but the voices are familiar, primal and echoing as they are.

Finally the Bear arrives, topping the peak with one last upheaval of his shaggy coat. The storm here has cleared, but frothing at the edges. None of the six figures arranged here notice him, still caught in their bickering. The Stone, the Fox, sits silent on a throne of rough stone. The Moth and Wolf cling to their mistress, Mother Hawk. She and the Whale shout at each other and at Shor, who still betrays nothing in his stoic countenance.

It is a flickering face to the Bear’s eyes, a face that cannot sit still. Sometimes it is the sharp vulpine features of an old friend now betrayed, and other times it is painted by the snow a bearded stranger, tall and imposing. His chest is the only constant, a savage gaping hole, no heart to pump warmth throughout his icy body. 

“There was no need to kill them! They were our own people!” cried Stuhn the Whale, his eyes bulging and arms wide open. 

“They were traitors,” Kyne the Hawk said, her voice loud but calm, callous as an old scar. “They paid their price.”

“But we could have extracted useful information from them!” Stuhn stepped forward, shaking his fist at her. “They could have fetched a handsome ransom!”

“They are the enemy, Stuhn.” Kyne leans forward condescendingly, dripping the words like venom. “We’ll have none of your mercy upon them for what they’ve done, what they continue to do.”

Jhunal the Owl quietly transcribes the words spoken near Shor’s throne into a hefty tome, already half-filled. Stuhn catches him out of the corner of his eye and rushes to him, slapping the book out of his hands. “Don’t record these words! She doesn’t understand.”

“I don’t understand?” Kyne says, exposing her fierce talons. “You’re the one insistent on your foolish games, you insolent -”

She is cut off by a deep, booming voice issuing from the throne. “Enough,” Shor orders, “both of you. We have a guest.” He raises an arm to point to the Bear, who responds with a low roar.

Stuhn’s head whips back towards the visitor, and his eyes light up like stars. He dashes towards the Bear, tackling him with an immense hug, his arms wrapped tightly around the Bear’s neck.

“Brother!” Stuhn exclaims, laughing as he pulls back to look him in the eyes. “You made it!”

The Bear nods, but he is looking through Stuhn, straight at Shor. Stuhn realizes this, and, blushing, takes his hands off the Bear’s shoulders. “Yes,” Stuhn whispers, “He lives.”

Stuhn steps aside as the Bear begins to approach the throne. He kneels at Shor’s feet solemnly. 

“Rise, Tsun,” orders Shor, and Tsun slowly complies. “Tell me, old friend. Who is right? Stuhn, or Kyne?”

Tsun turns back to face the two arguments, and ponders. Finally, he says, “The prisoners should have lived.” Stuhn beams at him.

Shor shakes his head. “Tsun. Answer according to your nature.”

Tsun ponders some more. Then he sighs, turning his head to look Stuhn in the eyes. “They were traitors.” Stuhn deflates and stares at his feet.

“Face me,” says Shor. Tsun turns back around. Shor stands from his throne, his body nude save for a fox-cloak wrapped around his shoulders. “Who are you, Tsun?”

“I don’t understand,” replies the Bear.

“Are you simply his guilt? His regret? I have no use for that. What piece of him stands before me?”

Tsun closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, they are filled with fire. “His honor,” he declares.

Shor looks at the other gods. They each nod in agreement. 

“Good,” Shor says. “Then we have much work to do. We have a war to win, after all.”