Work Text:
Jem squinted. There was something bright shining through the boughs above him, its color sharp in contrast. The moon had turned blood red, and it stood stark against the night sky. He sighed.
He was several weeks journey into this forest—or had it been months? He was not sure. All he knew was that all was not well in Manumi, and that he had no right to interfere. That was why he was leaving. If his family ever were in danger, he would be unable to keep himself from protecting them. And then—then his brethren would discover him.
A long time ago, Jem had settled down in Branshire, made friends and watched them grow old. He moved around, always introducing himself as a distant relative or an old family acquaintance. It was easy to pull off. He remembered insignificant events which had mattered only to the old patriarchs of the people he considered his own. Of course he remembered—they had been dear to him, decades and centuries before.
That was why when Brackle had returned to the camp with a words he did not understand, when Jem had determined that the Crooked Father was working in Manumi again, he had settled in his heart to journey into the wilderness, to wait out the end of the world and see if anything remained. That was who he was—this was what fate had made him to be.
Still, he could not help but hold up his hand towards the strange moon, the signal of his brethren awakening, and imagine taking his old form again. Once before, long ago, he had stood orange and stark against the blue of the sky.