Diction

Diction, Anaphora's older sister. Joined the Lillyfoot Band after being sent to look for her sister, stayed because there was an open Chaser spot on the hunting team. First Chaser. Mother of Book.

As the first Lillyfoot wolf to die of old age, Diction was given a special task: establish territory within the Lunar Realm. While every pack's First Dead is given the same mission, only few are strong enough to make their place. If they fail, the next dead will take their place, and the next, and the next until one manages to do it.

Diction awoke and found herself spry like a yearling, yet with the same amount of experience and finesse she'd aquired over her years as an expert huntress. Paws floating above a slowly swirling, endless void, the black wolf stared out into the expanse before her. Creatures big and small and made of stardust materialized. Rabbits, deer, feral horses, and moose stepped out of air and fled in the opposite direction once they laid their bright blue eyes on her. Expecting some charging predator to be behind her, Diction spun on her heel, snarling and ready to fight. Soon, more animals began to appear, all prey. She was dead. She was the charging predator. This was her final test.

She crouched low to the ground, olive eyes trained on a bison bull that had just materialized. This might be enough to show her worth and grant Lillyfoot a place in the Lunar Realm. There was no cover here. Her little sister, Anaphora, would know how to handle this. She caught the bull's eye and began the chase. Instinctively, she looked to her side, searching for her former fellow chasers. But neither the ghostly Phrase or the haughty Narrative ran beside her. Remembering that she was dead and they were, in fact, not, Diction pressed on.

The celestial bison suddenly turned and faced her, blowing stardust from its nostrils. This part wasn't her expertise. Diction darted around the horned beast, searching for a weak spot. She'd never appreciated the arrogant Myth more than she did now. She stayed low, the gray patch on her withers reflecting the bison's radiant glow like moonlight on a lake. Its horns seemed to hone themselves toward her most vulnerable parts, only barely outmaneuvered by Diction's lithe form. Finally, her prey turned its massive head the wrong way. The black wolf lept at its neck and latched on, fighting for her pack's place in the afterlife. Diction could feel the bison weakening beneath her, though no typical blood spilled between her teeth. The celestial detritus that did was mostly flavorless, maybe a little sweet.

As she struggled to suffocate the bull made of light, she could feel herself tiring rapidly, as if she was aging all over again. Her jaws and joints began to feel sore, just like they had in the weeks before her worldy death. She couldn't let down her pack. Pushing through the exhaustion, Diction bit harder and shook her head, holding back a whimper from the splitting pains running down her vertebrae.

Finally, the bison weakened and fell beneath her. She released, stardust spilling from her mouth. The pain melted away, as did the darkness around her. She felt lighter than when she arrived, even when the void below her feet became pale, ethereal grass and she was no longer floating. The Lunar Realm was nearly identical to the world she used to belong to, but full of stardust and the richest hues.

Except for the pure vibrance about it, the landscape around her was familiar and, if she focused, she could see her living packmates, still on the earth, all around her. Diction could see her old body, with its grayed muzzle and dull colors. It was surrounded in flowers and aromatic herbs, courtesy of the herbalist Antonym. Beside it, grieving, lay Anaphora, her sister. Sitting solemnly next to her was Diction's son, Book. She'll greet them when they eventually arrive here, and because she passed the trial, they wouldn't have to.