You had met in passing – at the birth of his last three children. Their legs were spindly and they rose bowlegged and unsure, still wet from their mothers’ womb. This was the first (and only) time Eight had formally met you. You were a Valley member though (for however short of a life she had once you arrived) – and Eight was keen to watch for your where abouts. You were always at the edge when first footsteps fell, and spent the rest of your time silent and boding in the thick pine forests. You were never ignored though, no – how could you be when you spent so much time so close to Kilter?
While the magician king had not spoken with you in depth, it was as if he knew you. He prodded your mind as you roamed free and wild and lone. He tracked your progress through the heart of the Valley, in his ever omniscient way. That was what entailed being a guardian and a king, right? It was imperative to have a keen eye for those who lived with you.
And now? Now the world was amiss. Now the Valley and her dark thicket of pines were no longer. Now, the Valley had split apart, and so had many of her citizens. Now there was no pack of wolves to guard her walls, nor any traits to bless her denizens. Now, Eight could not seek you out in his mind, now the magician king could not find his child as easily as plucking an apple from a limb.
And this is why he seeks you out. Because, while he tried his best, he was no true father figure, and Kilter had run rampant and quiet on his own. Because Kilter has not returned home, has not come back, and has not shown his face after the ruins of Beqanna.
“Ruan.” He finds you easily enough at the meadow, the only place where most of Beqanna could be now.

∞

and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in

Oh to be at the mercy of the elements once more! In truth, Eight had never cared to manipulate the world around him in order to give himself comfort. In fact, he welcomed the biting cold – the beating sun – the shattering rain. True enough, he wielded the elements to his pleasure when necessary – for battle or protection or comfort of others. But the most strange sensation is knowing he could no longer do this. That the withering winter winds that ravaged the two men were just that – winter winds, no longer wieldable by the (once) magician (once) king.
You turn, and there is a flicker of inquisitiveness that blazes across your eyes – it is unmistakable in seeing your eyes flicker to Eight’s side. You act as if no time had passed – that Beqanna did not eat her young and recreate a new world. Eight exhales tightly, a form of a laugh if you will. “ I am no king, Ruan. I never truly was.” In fact, while Eight councils at Tephra, he would still no longer be your king (although it wasn’t quite a monarchy in the lands they had chosen). Strange, how freely you accept what Eight was, how you refer to respect for him although you were never truly close with him. Strange, just like Kilter.
Eight’s eyes flicker behind you – for small footprints in the snow (wolven or equine) – but he knows it’s fruitless as he sees the silken smooth snow behind you. There is no Kilter here.
“Have you seen-” and as Eight says this, he finds it almost laughable. He was a magician once, a king a half a dozen times over – he was feared and respected and perhaps even hated. And yet here he was, without any inkling of where his child may be (of even who his child may be. “Have you seen Kilter? His mother has not seen him and is worried.” He thinks of the raptor queen, muted without her telepathy, lost without her band of grullo children. “I have seen you watching him in the woods. You are the only one he has spoken with save for his family.”

∞

and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in