Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
- Dylan Thomas, "Do not go gentle into that good night", 1914 - 1953
+ mood music from Interstellar: "Stay" by Hans Zimmer
January 23rd; Morning; Freezing fog; -7 ° F, -22 ° C.
Stupid, stupid, STUPID! Niles paced in circles around the old willow tree, whining to himself, and stumbling over this one particular root that stuck up through the earth with every turn. Damnit! With a swirl of ground-bound fog, he rounded now to the pile of fur that was his father. Twice, now, he had set his nose to the old wolf. Twice, Angier had not responded. The yearling's nose was burning, his ears ringing, his head becoming foggier than the world around him.
Dad, he wordlessly whimpered, standing over the lifeless Lyall. A dark paw lifted to press into the ashen shoulder and applied pressure. Nothing. Niles' eyes glossed over, the fog rendering Angier into a smudge of tan and white. You were supposed to be back home with Mom, his thoughts turned wistful, knowing fully well that no matter what it looked like, Angier was not simply asleep. His muzzle began to wrinkle and a thunderous growl left his chest. WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT HERE?!
His dark crown lowered, his head sinking as he picked his way over the old willow's roots and rested his head on his father's side. The fur over Angier's cold body was wintry, made even more so by the fog. "Dad," his voice only able to manage a whisper due to his disregard for verbal interaction. Stay... "You weren't supposed to leave this way."
He grazed the underside of his jaw across the old patriarch's bony spine, shivering as he, too, closed his eyes. They might not have managed their little trip to Torbine, but that was not what Niles rued now. More than anything, he wished he had his father back... old and blind, perhaps, but still sharp in the mind... whose old age should have burned and raved, whose words should have kept him from leaving Willow Ridge.
we can say goodbye, just head home, but if we're going to be alone
Chimera is currently traveling with Niles and may hop into this IC thread!