More and more and more.

Everyday more – not that Morpheus was privy to every new creature in these godly lands. He could not be, could only be Guide that tied themselves to him. But even he could feel it – the way the numbers grew, the way the land overflowed.

Why so many burgeoning gods, gathering in a single place?

And yet the question shook free a fragment of memory – of competition, of bloodshed, of sacrifice. He thought of the baser instincts mortals were held to: to fight, to love, to defend their home. And the way they could never share. There must always be a stronger creature to bully its lesser. There must always be the weak link, to be ferried out and made an example.

And though he had not known what Pepper spoke of before – of worthiness and those found lacking – he felt as if his memories held a sort of key. If he could only draw them forth, like fish slipped from a stream. And yet why did he think of water, why was it ever water.

And yet, he thought blithely, as he traveled to meet this newest charge – perhaps it was water he needed. Water, to put out the fire he feared was growing as more and more kindling was piled atop the ruined embers.

When he found her at last, it was with a startling light that momentarily blinded his eyes. He was a white wolf, yes, knew something of the ghostly rumors that could follow a light-coat. And yet she was even more pristine, virgin snow yet to be disturbed.

And yet he would disturb her sanctuary. Carefully, he padded from beneath the shelter of the bushes that had concealed him.

“Hello,” he called as he approached. His great horns dipped, a bow that by now was something of his calling card – a way he might be easily recognized.

“You are far from home.” In another’s mouth, it might have been a threat. And yet, his voice was so elegant, so mild-mannered, that it could only be taken as the simple statement it was, an unspoken question hidden in its depths. Of course, what question was up to her – he had simply provided the opening she needed.

He smiled, already glad for his luck. This one was not quick to startle, and what surprise she showed was tempered by a frank curiosity. Perhaps a bit guarded, yes, but that was the way of wolves strayed far from home.

And she was incomparably far.

“Yes,” he said, amusement coloring his voice. He would not go so far as to call her a spitfire – no, the moniker was too warm – but there was an almost playful edge to her words, a show that she was confident of her place in the world and even his great, twisting horns could not so easily undo that faith.

He was glad. He’d had more than enough dramatics in days past, for all that he cared for each and every one of his charges. Yes, he would never begrudge them their pain, their terror, their despair – but each negative emotion sapped and sipped at his mental strength, leaving him exhausted emotionally.

She was already something of a reprieve, that she did not react badly to his presence.

“Would you believe me if I said you stood upon the cusp of godhood?”

It was something of an answer to her question – after all, he could not give her a true answer to where she was, geographically speaking. He suspected, indeed, that it was not even a matter of geographies but of rifts and realms and how a world built upon the masses of collective thought knew instinctively that to throw a mortal head-first into divinity was to invite disaster.
Slowly. You had to submerge them slowly.

As expected, he thought. Not a hair turned, not an eyelash fallen, not a single mar to her singular perfection – she was snow at its most untouchable, unreachable by any beast foolish enough to attempt the journey. He drew a breath, almost despite himself, to see if she tasted of frozen water, sharp and crisp and biting.

But, no, hers was a more soothing scent, almost something comfortable – like a memory. He tried to grasp it, but it slipped from the clutches of his mind as easily as a trout like wiggle free of his jaws. It was a flashing, silver thing, this knowledge. It beckoned him to try again, to hold it tight and never let go. But he let the feeling lapse, more focused on the way she tasted his name.

It was – intimate. And yet there was something almost dangerous, in the way she so silkily caressed his name, tongue curling about the edges like he was something to savor. It was a familiar sort of speech – and he almost thought that at one time it had been him in her place, dragging his tongue across other’s names in a sensual stroke.

But before the thought had fully formed, some part of him was shying away from the idea. He dropped his gaze to the ground, momentarily flummoxed and caught outside of his element. Perhaps, had he been a different kind of god – what he had once been – but the thought died as soon as it was born, a small little carcass in the corner of his mind.

“Asta Ijuga,” he said, for lack of anything else to do – in his mouth, her name sounded almost like a spell. “I would say likewise, but it is also something of a duty for me.”

He found it difficult to string together the words. It was a strange feeling, because while he was not overly verbose, he had never before been at such a loss. Speech scattered about his brain, flighty as first-spooked mice, and it was all he could do to herd them together, that he might form some semblance of a conversation.

It was the way she looked at him, he thought. The way she took command of each and every piece of himself that was offered. He had the strangest thought: that she might seize his soul, if he continued this sharing of information.

Clearing his throat, trying to appear unrattled, he continued, “I fear I must leave you soon. A Guide’s work is seldom done, and I trust you are resourceful enough to find your own way.” The words were a clumsy attempt at escape, but he knew not what else to do, so caught unawares was he.

It was a position he was sorely unused to.