Traveling from mortal lands into the realm of gods was not a strenuous task for Morpheus – but his body had fully accepted its divinity and knew how to harness the energies of the world and bend them to his will. For Pepper, he knew, it was harder – made all the worse that this was the first time she would have felt this almost insurmountable pressure, this living, breathing world that threatened to totally engulf her.

So, though his passage was swift and safe, and barely the length of an eye’s blink, he stood watch, head swiveling about, ears fluted as he listened for her cries. He knew she would pass into the realm – of that there was no doubt. But if she lost her concentration, if her mind wandered, then she might well end up in one of the more inhospitable lands.
And he had to be prepared to leap into action, if such an event occurred.

So, when she appeared beside – only the sudden appearance of a breeze combing through his fur to mark her arrival – he could not help but smile, a look of relief and joy apparent on his face.

As she took in the majesty of the land, he finally relaxed his posture, settling down upon a particularly thick patch of grass, lying down in such a way that he could keep a close eye on her while warming his back with the sun that blazed above.

To watch her frisk about was a pleasure, a balm upon his weary soul. There was something magical in a wolf’s first journey to the god realm – to a land untouched by mortals, where everything was provided and nothing was needed. Of course, being so resonant with energy, it was easy to sculp parts of the realm into different domains, and many of the more elementally-inclined gods had done so. But Morpheus appreciated the simple grandeur of the floating islands. As far as the god realm went, they were perhaps the least spectacular – and yet that made them all the more comforting to Morpheus.

As she finally took note of him, changing her course to approach his resting place, he dipped his head in an elegant bow, reminiscent of when they had first met – though now a smile lit up his handsome features, his expression soft as he met her gaze.

“You did,” he agreed. “Welcome to the land of the Gods.” And he looked with her – to the islands that lazily floated by, to the scraps of cloud that ran level to the ground they stood upon, to the sun that managed to be even higher, brilliantly yellow. A soft breeze tugged at his fur, ruffling the silky locks into disarray.

“This is our home,” he murmured at last. Then, more firmly, his eyes refocusing on Pepper, he said, “This is your home. Do not believe those who would call you unworthy."

He smiled gently at her words. He did not think himself the cause of her change – she bloomed much as a flower did, naturally and without assistance from onlookers. But he kept such thoughts to himself, only dipped his head and said softly, “You give me more credit than I deserve,” the gentle protestation used by those who were willing to accept gratitude but could not possibly handle the bulk of such thanks.

In truth, he thought her growth a wonderful, but expected, part of her journey. Certainly, in the beginning he had not thought much for her – but with the boar, and then with the bear – children grow up so fast, he could not help but think, and the thought was both wistful and regretful.

For to see her own rapid development forced him to face himself – and what he was not: growing. He had been forced to built anew, lay out his path to the starting line with delicate precision. As his mortals charged forward, flying away in pursuit of themselves, of where they belonged, he found himself still working toward a complete persona, a sense of self that he might nurture until it kindled into a raging bonfire.

But he did not feel ill toward Pepper, for what he lacked. No, if anything, his dissatisfaction lay entirely with himself – a gnawing irritability that grew with each step his charges took. But he had no one he could rely upon, truly. And to admit his own weakness to Pepper – for she was the closest he could call a friend – would invite her to see him for what he was: flawed and cracked, and not perfect. Not someone she could rely on. Not someone she could confide in.

So, when she spoke of home, he wiped away the gloom that hung over him as an ever-persistent cloud, and answered, “You’ve proven yourself to me. But I understand.”

Oh, if she only knew how brightly she shined – again and again he was forced to confront her rapid ascent, the knowledge that divinity practically streamed from her every pore. She would make a grand God, but he suspected her persistence would not pass once she’d claimed the title. She would continue to strive, continue to gain, until she was an extraordinary being even amongst the gods. His eyes ached, to think of how she might soon blind him, burn him, with her brilliance.

But she was his charge still, and at last he murmured, “Eventually you will have to return to the mortal realm. It is an easier journey – you need only think of the cavern we entered and walk. And you will blink and the mortal lands will be before you again.” Smiling wryly, he added, “You might find the land somewhat stiff, stagnant, compared to the life that hums here.”