Warning:  Dark fic, contains death, angst, mildly citrus m/m.

Author's notes follow story.

Son of Bear, Shadow of Raven

    Falling to his knees, sinking slightly into the sponginess of the arctic tundra surface, the young man named Ryoga Hibiki clutched at the front of his shirt as he tried to catch his breath. Air was drawn into his lungs in great panting gulps, which at first seemed to have little effect, but gradually the heaving of his chest subsided, and he sank lower, relief flooding him in a shaky wave of after-the-fact adrenaline. His scratched and bloody hands also found rest in the growth of lichens and dwarf willow, and perspiration fell from his nose and heavy bangs to mix with the dewing moisture of the tundra mat.

    Existence could be so unexpectedly dangerous. Wandering around in the seeming endless taiga forests of Interior Alaska, Ryoga had inadvertently walked directly between a foraging sow bear and her two cubs. He hadn’t even realized his mistake until the huge and surprisingly agile animal sprang from behind a hillock to punish him, swiping at him with claws that seemed too large and sharp to be real.

    Ryoga was not a coward or a weakling by any means. In fact his strength and bull-headed tenacity was pretty much legendary in the Japanese prefecture he generally called home, but Ryoga was no fool either. When dealing with an enraged grizzly bear, all of the martial arts training in the world was rendered pretty much moot, and the old play-dead adage was also a fairly useless bit of advice. Unlike black bears, grizzlies didn’t mind eating dead things at all.

    Knowing damn well better than to try to pacify or further antagonize her, Ryoga had run. Moving quickly over the soft uneven humps of tussock tundra was a difficult exercise in the best of circumstances, and was only further compounded by the addition of an angry bear. It had taken just about every bit of the young man’s stamina to out-distance and evade his pursuer. Now, kneeling exhausted amidst the highland cranberries and willow, Ryoga fought to calm himself, catch his breath, and quell the shaking that extreme fear had brought on.

    A spectacular and nerve-wracking experience, to be sure, but it was just one more such event in the long lonely life that belonged to Ryoga Hibiki. He had learned to take things like this in relative stride, accepting them as his due for a existence of endless wandering. His reality was measured by sharp punctuations of excitement and adrenaline rushes, fights and battles, strange happenings and soaring moments of emotion. He essentially used these things as a way to count off the days, as mile-markers that reminded him that time was passing and he was still living. Calenders had very little meaning for Ryoga. Other young men might mark the passage of years by the cycle of holidays, or notable firsts such as that first kiss . . . first date . . . first real job. For Ryoga, life danced to the beat of a far different and more demanding drummer.

    After getting a hold of himself, the dark-eyed boy slipped out of his overly heavy pack and let it fall to one side so that he could lean back against it and assess the damage to himself. Scars were another way in which Ryoga marked the passage of time, and he quickly realized that he was going to have some very serious new ones.

    The sow’s initial strike had opened his chest up in four long parallel gashes, which looked deep and frightening, but strangely enough didn’t really hurt. There was a great deal of blood, and that was rather worrisome, but Ryoga didn’t feel the least bit dizzy or light-headed. The scrapes on his hands and arms, won through habitually trying to block against an attack, were also very bloody. They looked terrible, but didn’t really hurt. Nor did the bite on his thigh, the one wound he would have expected to be the most damaging. The bear had taken a sizable chunk out of his flesh, but for some reason it didn’t seem to be bothering him very much. Ryoga decided to count himself lucky, and patched up the wounds with bandages and supplies from his always well-stocked first aid kit.

    He was actually far more concerned over the state of his clothing than the wounds he’d received. For the nomadic young man, clothing was second only to food and water in importance, and he could carry only a limited amount at any one time. His green shirt and insulated fall jacket had both been shredded down the front, and the durable black Carhart’s pants he was wearing had been torn by the bear’s teeth and incredibly strong jaws. He had another shirt in fairly good condition, but the jacket and pants were the only things he owned that were suitable for autumn in the Alaskan Interior. He would have to repair them and clean away the blood as best as he could. Luckily, Ryoga was very handy with a needle and thread by necessity.

    However, his next order of business was to put as much distance between himself and the bear that attacked him as possible. Now that he had calmed himself and rested a bit, the young man felt that he could continue on until nightfall, when he would pitch camp and work on repairing the damage that had been inflicted. Though he might have expected to be dead tired, it seemed that a few minute’s rest had done wonders. He got to his feet with no effort at all, marveling to himself that the bite on his thigh was not hampering him in the least, and slung the pack onto his back once more. Hoping that he was picking a direction away from the sow’s territory, Ryoga Hibiki set out once again, carefully making his way over the difficult and watery tussock tundra.

    As he walked, he noticed that he was being followed by a large black raven. As the avian scavengers often kept tabs on hikers and campers, hoping for food or scraps to be left behind, this didn’t really seem very unusual, and Ryoga quickly forgot about his silent feathered shadow.

**************************

    Half a world away, in the Japanese town of Nerima, another young man sat on the roof of the house where he lived, gazing out over the multi-colored rooftops without really seeing any of them. With an unsettled sigh, he drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around them in an unconscious gesture of insecurity. It was a side of himself that Ranma Saotome did not like other people to see, but one he felt far too often. The events of the past year weighed heavily on his mind.

    His life had always been a chaotic mix of emotional upheaval and unlikely strange happenings, and from day to day, Ranma had very little time to catch his breath. Multiple iinazukes, all constantly trying to gain his favor or manipulate him into marriage . . . a violent relationship with a tomboyish girl he really didn’t care for . . . the pressures of family honor and responsibility . . . constant challenges from rivals he would have preferred to have been friends with . . . at one time, these things were the defining parameters of Ranma’s existence and they had all taken their toll on him. Though situations had changed in recent months, the underlying chaos was still present, still eating away at him bit by bit.

    Sometimes it was too much for the young man to handle, but Ranma was always careful that no one ever saw that. He was the one expected to maintain an even head, he was the one who was suppose to be in charge of his out-of-control destiny. Everyone in his life looked to him for protection, support and rescue if necessary. They all expected much of him, sometimes more than he could give. But none of them ever knew it. They never realized how thin he was often stretched.

    Only one person had ever seen Ranma when he was anything less than perfect. On a dark night, in the midst of a terrible duel which nearly resulted in both their deaths, Ryoga Hibiki alone bore witness to Ranma’s complete breakdown of confidence and strength.

    The nomadic martial artist had pushed him into a senseless fight which led them to a construction site and they narrowly averted falling from the skeletal frame of a future office building, saved only by Ranma’s quick reflexes and the incredible strength in Ryoga’s arms. Catching their breath and nerves on an i-beam far above the ground, Ryoga was shocked when all of Ranma defenses came down and the pig tailed boy cried from stress and the unfairness of his life. Mortified beyond belief that Ryoga, one of his most ardent rivals, had seen him in such a state, Ranma immediately slapped on another mask of indifference, stoicism, and denial.

    But the damage was done and Ryoga knew the truth. Although he was strong, cocky, arrogant and over-confident on the outside, on the inside Ranma just wanted to hide from everything and everyone.

    Ranma fully expected Ryoga to exploit this weakness, and for several weeks lived in fear of the moment when the bandanna clad young man would reveal his secret shame. After all, that was what any of his other rivals would have done. But the moment never came, and the next time he ran into the Lost Boy, Ryoga made no mention of the incident. Nor did he attempt to pick a fight.

    Confused and suspicious, Ranma cornered him and demanded to know why. All Ryoga would say was that he’d thought about it and had come to an understanding about himself, Ranma and their combative relationship. He said that he realized that he was only adding to and compounding Ranma’s host of other problems and would try to avoid doing it again in the future. This answer surprised the hell out of Ranma.

    And it changed their relationship.

    When he looked back, Ranma realized that he should have known Ryoga wouldn’t try to use his weakness against him. The wandering martial artist was too honorable to fight dirty like that, and Ranma remembered him saying as much and even protecting him during previous incidents, such as when he lost his strength to Happosai’s pressure point technique. Still, the change in Ryoga’s attitude was a little difficult to get used to. It was quite some time before Ranma was altogether comfortable in the Lost Boy’s presence, but eventually he was able to convince himself that Ryoga was not out to get him, as everyone else seemed to be.

    They became friends, companions. Rather than coming around to fight, Ryoga would now show up to spar or even just talk. He’d spend hours with Ranma on the roof of the Tendo dojo, describing the things he’d seen and done on his travels, and Ranma would simply sit and listen, delighted to find a past time that didn’t involve angst, abuse or responsibility. As the demands and pressures of his daily life increased with each passing day, Ranma began to look forward to the quiet moments he could spend with Ryoga, and very much missed the Lost Boy when he was gone. Their time together was an escape for him, for he didn’t have to put on masks or cover his pain in false confidence or boasting. Ryoga expected him to be nothing more than what he was, and Ranma was extremely grateful for that. Beyond grateful, though the pig tailed boy could not see it at the time.

    But it all changed. Changed horribly. And Ranma knew that the fault was his.

    Ryoga was gone for a long time, for several endless months during which Ranma’s despair grew and his life seemed dull and featureless. The pressure from his various iinazukes was demanding, his father was growing ever more insistent that Ranma settle with Akane, his school career was coming to a close and the noose of destiny was tightening. More than once Ranma considered taking the coward’s way out and cutting his own throat, but one thought kept him going, enabled him to deal with it all.

    Eventually Ryoga would be back. And Ryoga would be very disappointed in him if he tried to commit suicide.

    He had graduated by the time the Lost Boy showed up again. They celebrated together in the empty house owned by Ryoga’s wayward family, a private little party just for the two of them. The wandering young man seemed more soft-spoken and overly nervous than usual, but Ranma was too pleased to have him back to really take notice. Together they drank and talked, watched a few videos and talked some more. Ryoga had somehow ended up in India while he was away from Nerima and had a host of fantastic tales to tell of his time there. Ranma hung on his every word as if they were gold, simply delighted to feel Ryoga’s subdued presence in his life once again.

    But he wasn’t prepared for the shocking revelation that Ryoga hesitantly slipped into the middle of his story. He should have been, but he wasn’t.

    "So . . . " Ryoga looked down at his fourth Long Island Iced Tea, around which his hand was wrapped tightly. They were sitting together on the floor of the dining room, both mildly drunk while the TV droned on in the background. "I have the Gandiva Bow in my hands and I’m standing at the edge of this pit with a mob of angry raksasas closing in on me and the only way out is down. I’m watching them come, ready to rip me apart, and the single thought running through my head is that now I’m going to die and . . . and . . . " He paused for a moment, seeming uncertain.

    "And what?" Ranma prompted, enthralled with the story and nursing his own strong drink.

    "And . . . and . . . " Ryoga hedged, looking extremely hot and uncomfortable all of the sudden. "And I found myself w - wishing that I c - c - could have just told you once . . . "

    Ranma blinked blankly. "Told me what?"

    The Lost Boy lifted his eyes and looked at Ranma, who was startled to see something within those dark brown depths that he had never seen before. Love. Honest and true love. Not the selfish manipulative feelings that he saw in Shampoo, Ukyo or Kodachi. Not the crazed lust he sensed from Kuno. Not the jealous possessiveness that Akane often exhibited. Within Ryoga, Ranma saw only pure love, built on friendship and companionship. The type of love that Love was suppose to be.

    And instinctively, Ranma recoiled from it.

    Staring in shock and fear, the pig tailed martial artist drew back as if Ryoga was a poison of some sort. "No . . . " he protested under his breath.

    Pain was immediate. The glass in Ryoga’s hand shattered as he curled his hand into a fist, and blood slowly began to seep between his tightly clenched fingers. He closed his eyes tight, dropping his face which was etched with self-recriminating anguish.

    "Damn it . . . " the Lost Boy’s voice was broken and filled with hurt. "I knew . . . I knew I sh - shouldn’t have said . . . "

    "No, Ryoga!" Ranma felt as if he’d been horribly betrayed. Ryoga was the one person he felt comfortable with, the one person he could be himself around, the one person who understood him! Now he was just like all of the others! All of those who had used him and pressured him and demanded him for their own. "Ryoga! Damn you!" Ranma got to his feet, throwing away his own drink. Anger overcame him and he put his fist firmly through the table they had been sitting beside, shattering it into dozens of sharp pieces. Ryoga flinched but didn’t move otherwise.

    "I thought we were friends!" Ranma shouted. How could Ryoga do this to him? Turn on him just like all the others did? The pig tailed boy wanted to hurt him, fight him, kill him for unleashing this kind of betrayal and disappointment. "How could you do this to me?!"

    Ryoga didn’t move, except to lower his head even more. "I’m sorry Ranma," he muttered lowly as blood dripped from his hand.

    "You’ve ruined everything! Damn you!" Ranma’s urge to fight turned into an urge to flee, as he watched his friend’s despair patterning itself so starkly in bright spots of red on the highly polished wood floor. Deep inside his head, something was yelling at Ranma, telling him that he was being unfair and was over-reacting, but in the heat of his anger and pain the young man simply could not listen to what his conscience was trying to tell him.

    With barely coherent words concerning never wanting to see Ryoga again, Ranma fled into the night, leaving the only true friend he’d ever had alone in the empty house.

    Ranma had not seen Ryoga since that day. After a week of near total despair dragged by, he’d gone back to the Hibiki home and was not surprised to find that the Lost Boy had left. And in the wake of that final hurt, Ranma slowly realized something very important and disturbing.

    Ryoga hadn’t meant to betray him. Ryoga had not been trying to trap him as the others did, or manipulate him. All he’d done was confess his honest feelings, and Ranma had rejected them, rejected him. It had been a gut reaction, forged from years of having to pick up the pieces of his shattered psyche when it was destroyed by those who claimed to love him. He was so used to being nothing more than an object, a prize to be won, that it never occurred to him that someone could love him for who he really was. Though Ranma had, for years, been taking the blame for all of the events that revolved around him, this time he knew it really was his fault. He had ruined their friendship. He had torn Ryoga apart. And what was most devastating was that Ranma knew . . .

    . . . he knew he felt the same way.

    It took him a long time to admit that to himself, but Ranma felt deep down in his most secret heart . . . he loved Ryoga too. The Lost Boy had been a great friend, so understanding and supportive. Ranma had never known such caring from anyone in his entire life, and he knew that Ryoga hadn’t either. Always on the move, constantly separated from family and friends, Ryoga had no model on which to base his relationship with Ranma, but had managed to make it work nonetheless. Once he shed his own masks of anger and bitterness, Ryoga had proven himself to be a very kind-hearted and compassionate person. Honorable. Strong. Surely better than Ranma deserved.

    Now he was gone. Life staggered on, and soon an entire year had passed. Things changed, escalating wildly from one problem and solution to the next, but Ranma had viewed the march of time through a dull haze of non-interest, letting the people around him continue to orchestrate his life as they saw fit. He no longer cared. As far as he was concerned, his mistake had been a fatal one, and he had died on the last night that he ever saw Ryoga.

    As Ranma sat on the roof of the dojo, feeling dull and hollow, he watched the early afternoon clouds move through the sky and wondered where Ryoga was at that very moment. Though nothing had seemed right since he’d last seen the Lost Boy, something felt especially wrong this evening. Wrong. Bad. Tragic. In the forgotten corner of his heart where he’d buried his love for Ryoga upon marrying Akane several months previously, there was a sense of emptiness and pain. He didn’t understand it, and was afraid of it. That fear was the first spark of anything he’d felt for a year.

    "Where are you, Ryoga?" Ranma whispered almost silently, pleadingly.

    He glanced up as the shadow of a large bird flying overhead fell briefly upon the roof, crossing over him. He didn’t see anything however, and decided it was nothing anyway.

    That wasn’t unusual. His entire life was filled with nothing.

**********************************

    After pitching camp, Ryoga sat beside a temperamental little fire that simply did not want to burn the wet sap-laden spruce wood that he’d gathered, and made an attempt to repair his ruined clothing. Though the fall evening air was thin and cool, he didn’t really notice the temperature against his bare skin as he sat on his folded sleeping bag in nothing more than boxers and bandages. All around, the sparse taiga forest was quiet and still, peace broken only by occasional sounds of the more nocturnal creatures going about their lives in the darkness. Once, Ryoga looked up as the low rumbling bray of a nearby moose whispered across the tundra, but it seemed far enough away not to pose a threat, and most animals were likely to avoid the light of his fire, as meager as it was.

    Curiously enough, however, the raven that had been following him since the bear attack did not seem disturbed by the fire. It perched at the top of one of the larger spruce, and watched Ryoga’s activities with sharp interest. Ryoga had to wonder about it now, for ravens usually disappeared at night to roost with their fellows. He’d never had one follow him for so long, nor had he ever encountered one which was so steadfastly quiet. Normally the black birds were quite noisy and talkative.

    The young man didn’t really mind the company, as odd as it was. It was a rare day when he wasn’t alone, so he welcomed another presence, even an avian one. As he tried to salvage the remains of his clothes, Ryoga talked quietly to the raven, for lack of anything else to talk to.

    "Gomen nasai, Karasu," he told the bird. "I would offer you some food but I’m not really hungry tonight, so I doubt I’ll fix anything to eat. If you’re still around in the morning, maybe I’ll be up for breakfast. Aw damn, look at this," he held up the tear in his pants for the raven to see. "I think she took a chunk of material away along with my leg. I guess I’ll have to sacrifice one of my shirts to make a patch for this. I’m not cold now, but if I’m here much longer its gonna get chilly, and I’m gonna need these pants as intact as possible."

    He sighed lowly. "I hope that’s the last time I ever tangle with a bear. I’m surprised that I got out of that alive, let alone hardly injured. And I’m really surprised this bite doesn’t hurt worse."

    Bored with the sewing project for the moment, Ryoga checked his wounds again, then lay back on his sleeping bag, with hands tucked behind his head. Above him, the night sky was breathtakingly beautiful, filled with countless stars that shimmered like far distant city lights. A huge looming series of clouds hung in the sky to his left, curiously dark grey with just a hint of pink to it as it continued to reflect the last light of the set sun. He knew that those clouds hid the closest mountainous members of the Alaska Range, including the spectacular Mt. McKinley, which he had caught a glimpse of several days previously. The astounding mountain, which Alaska’s indigenous people called ‘Denali,’ was so huge that it actually created its own weather and was usually obscured by clouds. Even before the sunset, at his campsite only about 60 miles as the raven flies from the peak, Ryoga had not been able to see the impressive giantess.

    The young man sighed again, this time with a hint of sad longing. As beautiful as Alaska was, he would have given anything at this point not to be there, as he had been wandering around the large state since his arrival many months ago. Upset and devastated by the results of his revelation to Ranma, Ryoga had hired onto a fishing boat out of Tokyo, determined to fulfill Ranma’s wish of never seeing him again and putting as much distance between them as he could, and had ended up in Valdez. He loved Ranma enough that he decided not to risk going back to Nerima if he could help it, so that he could avoid causing further pain to the young man, and thus had settled on the idea of exploring Alaska. Though it was a beautiful state, and under other circumstances Ryoga would have loved it there, his loneliness was drastic and stinging. Ryoga missed his home and his family. But more than anything, he missed . . .

    He missed Ranma. He missed their long talks, their sparring and their friendship. He missed the gentle ache that eventually developed in his soul when he gazed at the pig tailed boy and realized how much he loved him. He missed the soft haunted light that was always present in Ranma’s shadowed blue eyes as he tried not to think about the wreckage of his life. Ryoga missed every moment that they had ever spent together, whether it was spent fighting or as companions. And that endless longing hurt Ryoga more than a thousand bear attacks, more than anything had ever hurt him before.

    And it was all his fault. He knew that it was. Ryoga cursed himself daily for being so stupid that he wouldn’t realize how badly Ranma had been used in the past, for being idiot enough to reveal his feelings and betray the young martial artist once again. Truly, Ryoga knew that he was no better than those who had tried to win Ranma’s fragile heart through drugs, amulets and poisons. The Lost Boy would have gladly traded anything to erase that moment of foolishness, to go back and change things. As much as it pained, he wished he could have simply continued to love Ranma in silence rather than hurting him as he had.

    But right now, at this moment as he stared up into the deep black veil of the Alaskan night sky, Ryoga wished that Ranma was there with him to share the glorious sight. So that he could apologize. So that he could try to make things right again. It was a guilt that weighed very heavily in Ryoga’s soul, kept him constantly unsettled and restless, and would not let him sleep at night.

    "I suppose I don’t even care that he doesn’t love me," Ryoga’s thoughts transferred themselves into spoken words, towards which the raven tipped its head in interest. "I just want him know that I’m sorry I hurt him. I just want . . . "

    A tear formed in Ryoga’s eye and broke from its hold, sliding slowly down his cheek and along his neck. He felt it make its way across his skin, tickling mockingly as it went.

    "I wish he was here, Karasu. I am so tired of being alone, of being lost all the time. Even if he hates me, I would rather be with him than anywhere else. I wish he was here, so that I could tell him how sorry I am. I didn’t mean to ruin everything. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I’d give anything to have him here so that I could tell him that."

    Ryoga’s words drifted away into silence and a soft chilling wind blew gently around the camp, ruffling his dark hair. He didn’t feel the cold, but his mind was on only Ranma and he didn’t think to question why.

    Then a soft low voice came from the darkness. It wasn’t exactly startling, as it seemed to belong to the night and the wilderness as much as the sound of the wind and animals.

    "You would give anything, Ryoga Hibiki?"

    Ryoga blinked rapidly and sat up, surprised. A bit of fear jumped into his throat.

    On the other side of the fire stood a tall young-looking man, his fine bishounen features highlighted by the flames which suddenly seemed to dance with enthusiasm at his arrival. His hair was long and jet black, disappearing seamlessly into the night, and he wore his forelocks in long braids, each held by a bead of silver. Almond-shaped eyes, which were disturbingly black and cool, picked up the warmth of the fire and made it their own. Though his handsome face was without expression, there was the feel of a slight fatherly smile around it, and in fact Ryoga almost thought that the young man looked a bit like his own father. Somewhat, but not really. There were hints of familiarity in his features, as if he was a mixture of every man, but his appearance was definitely reminiscent of the Alaskan native population. He wore a long full flowing cloak of iridescent black feathers which also melded into the night, and around his neck there rested a necklace of braided hide upon which hung a shining amulet in the shape of the sun. Though he didn’t seem to be a threat, Ryoga could perceive no normal aura around him, and that was disturbing.

    Though only vaguely. Somehow, Ryoga felt as if he already knew this man from someplace.

    The young martial artist slid onto his feet, but remained crouching, in case he had to move quickly. "Who are you?" he asked tightly, not as distrustful as he should have been, but suspicious nonetheless.

    "I am Tulugaak," the man replied simply. "This is my Land."

    Ryoga’s eyes went immediately to the spruce upon which his raven companion had been perched, but saw no sign of the animal. He looked back at the man standing in the firelight before him, and made the mental connection. Acceptance came remarkably easy, after all, Ryoga had been witness to some very strange things in his life. This was almost nothing in comparison.

    "Your Land?" he prompted, requiring more information.

    Tulugaak appeared willing enough to supply it. "I am the ancestral god of the Athabascans, those who were the first to settle this Great Land. It was I who put the Sun in the Sky and brought Fire to the People. I am their Trickster. I am the Consort of Denali, Her guardian and protector. I put things right when they have gone wrong. I also protect and guide those who come here. I have been watching over you since Mother Bear attacked you, and I’ve listened to not only your words, but I have also listened to your heart."

    Ryoga felt a certain sense of shame rise within him. He cast his eyes downward, for some reason feeling comfortable enough in the presence of this being to let his normally acute guard down. "The fault was mine," he said quietly.

    "By your perception, perhaps," Tulugaak said thoughtfully. "But the reality is far different, for it consists of the perceptions of more than one. I see the desire in your soul, Ryoga Hibiki, and I can grant you the wish you made, but I must ask again and you must answer truthfully - You would give anything?"

    The young man looked up again, at first not understanding. He had made a wish? When? And what had he asked? Then he remembered what and whom he’d been thinking about and understanding dawned on him, slowly kindling a small flame of hope within him. Might he actually have the chance to apologize? But how . . . ?

    "The ways behind it are my reality, Favored Son," Tulugaak told him simply when he asked.

    Ryoga blinked, then slowly stood, facing the man directly. "Of course I would give anything," he assured, meaning his words down to the very depths of his soul. "My life . . . "

    "That is not yours to negotiate with," Tulugaak interrupted cryptically. "Nor is that what I would ask."

    Ryoga frowned, not exactly understanding that. "Then . . . what?"

    "I will extract my price from you afterwards, if you agree now to pay it. The conditions will be as follows: I will bring Ranma Saotome to you for the course of this night. Once my Sun has fully risen over the Alaska Range, he will be returned to his origin point and you will pay my required fee for this service."

    Ryoga hesitated, feeling strange and unsettled. But . . . but if there was a chance . . .

    "This is not an offer made lightly, Son of Bear," Tulugaak told him in a low warm tone, his black eyes glinting as they attracted the fire light. "But Mother Denali has sensed that you are not willing to move on until your personal balance has been restored, so She sent me to present you with this honor."

    The young nomadic man was bewildered by these words, but gave them little thought. He was far more concerned over the chance he was being offered.. If there was a way that he could apologize for his mistake, then he had to take it. As he had said, he didn’t care if Ranma hated him, as long as he made an attempt to repair the damage. He loved Ranma too much not to try.

    With a nod and slight bow, Ryoga agreed to the terms. "I will pay whatever you wish, Karasu-sama."

    "So mote it be," Tulugaak returned the nod. The amulet around his neck flared to life, glowing with a soft golden light. He raised his arms, the feathers of his cloak rustling as they slid over one another, and his form shrank and twisted until he was a true raven once again, flapping in the darkness of the Denali night. He rose over Ryoga’s head to disappear into the close blackness.

*********************************

    "Ranma no baka!!!"

    Ranma ducked the swing of his wife’s mallet and scurried out of their bedroom, hastily sliding the door shut behind him. From within, he could still hear Akane yelling after him, accusing him of being attracted to Shampoo, even after months of marriage and despite the fact that the Amazon had long since left town.

    Deciding to avoid the hassle that would come from going downstairs to face his father and Soun Tendo, Ranma shuffled down the hallway to the window at the end. With a skill and effortlessness that came from repeated performances, the young man slung himself outside and up onto the roof of the house. He found a spot and lay down, gazing up at the soft blue sky with tears standing in his eyes.

    Every day it just got harder and harder to find reasons to go on living.

    Ranma closed his eyes slowly.

    He didn’t bother to keep track of the time he lay there, thinking of nothing beyond the memory of the pain he’d caused Ryoga a year previously, and wondering hopelessly where the Lost Boy could possibly be. The strange sense of loss and fear that had been tickling at the edge of his perception all day was still present, and it made him want to scream with frustration. Where was it coming from and what did it mean? And why did thoughts of Ryoga only intensify it?

    He fought back tears that wanted to come without him understanding why.

    Slowly, a soft fluttering breeze moved against his face. It felt warm and gentle, but caused a shiver of trepidation to move up his spine. Opening his eyes, Ranma was startled to find a large inky shape settling over him from out of nowhere, wings flapping slowly as it landed directly on his chest, shadow falling across him like a draped shroud.

    Confused and disturbed by this unexpected event, Ranma simply stared in surprise at the heavy black bird whose dark scaled feet were now gripping into the material of his red shirt. The raven stared back, tipping its head to peer at him first with the left eye, then with the right. Curiously, Ranma felt his anxiety melt as he got the sense that he was being analyzed, tested in some way. He remained still, wondering what in the world was going on.

    After a moment of contemplation, the raven seemed to find him worthy and made a low noise in its throat, then leaned forward. Ever so gently, it pressed the tip of its stark black beak against the middle of Ranma’s forehead. It was all the young man could do not to flinch away.

    At first, Ranma felt nothing, save a strange distant buzzing in his head.

    Then, everything seemed to explode.

************************************

    When Ranma opened his eyes, the first sight that greeted him was Ryoga.

    He was only peripherally aware of the close darkness around them, of the cold air and the nearby shortened trees. He took little note of the strange spongy feel of the ground beneath his feet, or the neat little campsite that lay just to his left. He did not notice or hear the sound of flapping wings.

    He saw only Ryoga, an impossibility given form, who stood in front of him with an expression on his face that was halfway between reverence and fear. Tears in his dark dark eyes caught the glow of the fire and shimmered in hot colors as they slid down his cheeks. He bit his lower lip with a fang, looking young and uncertain and more beautiful than Ranma’s most perfect memory of him. His sable hair was longer, still held back by a bandanna of gold and black, but also bound in a loose ponytail and tied off with a piece of crude string. Long months of isolation and living off the unforgiving land had hardened him somewhat, lending a gauntness to his face that hadn’t been present before. But he was unmistakably, undeniably the boy that Ranma remembered and loved so well.

    The young pig tailed man was astonished, shocked. It was all he could do to remain upright and not give into the weak feelings in his legs, not collapse right then and there. He wondered wildly if he was having some sort of terrible delusional dream, and feared that any moment Akane would find him on the roof and wake him to continue their senseless argument.

    "Ry - Ryoga?" he asked shakily, stretching a hand out to touch the Lost Boy’s bare arm, needing to assure himself that this vision was real. He was a little surprised, somewhere in the back of his mind, to find the young man not only solid, but radiating a gentle warmth that seemed a bit unusual and out of place. "Is it you? Is it really you?"

    Ryoga nodded, swallowing down the lump in his throat. Ranma looked so different! The last year had obviously been very hard on him, as he had lost weight, there were deep circles of weariness under his eyes, and lines of stress were beginning to snake their way onto the perfection of his young face. His ebony hair and pig tail were frayed and disheveled and there was a great sense of dull apathy in his deep disbelieving blue eyes. Ryoga wanted desperately to draw him into an embrace, something he had never before dared to try, but held himself back. The last time they had seen each other, Ranma had rejected his love. He certainly wouldn’t want Ryoga touching him now.

    But the young man surprised Ryoga down to the very core of his being by initiating the hug himself. Ranma fairly threw himself into the Lost Boy’s embrace, pleased when strong sure arms came up to clutch at him immediately. As they hugged, tightly and urgently, both young men began to babble apologies, words falling all over one another like dominos, breaking down the last barrier of misunderstanding that had been in place for an entire long miserable year.

    "Ranma, I’m sorry! I never meant to hurt you, I shouldn’t have - - "

    "Ryoga! I didn’t mean to reject you like that! It was my fault, I should have realized - - "

    "No, it wasn’t your fault! I was out of line, it was my - - "

    "Ryoga! It was me! I overreacted, I didn’t understand - - "

    "I’m sorry . . . "

    "I’m sorry . . . "

    The two young men fell silent and simply stared at each other for a long moment, eyes and faces close. Ryoga’s arms tightened around Ranma’s slender body in a protective manner, and somehow he managed to pull his former rival closer, as if trying to push Ranma right through his flesh and into his soul. He buried his face in the crease of Ranma’s neck, and drank deeply of the soft scent of his skin and warmth of his hair. Ranma’s hands snaked around him, one finding and clenching around Ryoga’s bandanna, the other pressing firmly against his back.

    "I love you, Ryoga," Ranma whispered, hesitantly, hoping that Ryoga still felt the same way, that time and pain hadn’t dulled his emotions.

    "Oh Kami-sama! I love you, Ranma!" There was joy and surprise in the Lost Boy’s tone. He had not expected this, had not been prepared for Ranma to return his love. It was far more than he could have ever hoped.

    Then they were kissing, desperately and fiercely, need and desire battling relentlessly within them both. They dropped to their knees where they were, lips locked in firm embrace, both tongues twining together and jockeying for position in the opposite mouth. Ryoga gave up on that quickly and moved his kisses down the line of Ranma’s cheek and jaw, while his hands wandered directionlessly over the pig tailed martial artist’s body. Ranma moaned softly as the hot wet feel of Ryoga’s mouth essentially baptized him, drove away the years of abuse and insecurity. Suddenly, life seemed worthwhile once again. Ryoga was with him, Ryoga understood and forgave him. Ryoga loved him! It was all Ranma had been wishing for, all he desired. Hope and possibility were resurrected in his heart.

    "Ryoga, Ryoga . . . " Ranma breathed, trying to catch his breath as the bandanna clad man assaulted his senses with touch and scent. "Please tell me . . . this isn’t a dream, is it? Are you really here with me?"

    "This isn’t a dream . . . at least, I don’t think it is," Ryoga muttered around his feverish kisses. "But you’re here with me, Ranma. You came here."

    "What?" Ranma lifted his head and shivered as Ryoga’s lips found a particularly sensitive spot beneath his ear. "H - how . . . ?"

    "Doesn’t matter," Ryoga told him firmly, gripping him tightly, insistently. "Doesn’t matter . . . "

    No, Ranma decided, it didn’t. As Ryoga continued to kiss, concentrating heavily on the spot which made Ranma squirm, the pig tailed young man ran his own hands over Ryoga’s strong well-defined arms and down his chest. Distantly, Ranma registered the sharp coolness of the air and wondered why Ryoga wasn’t wearing a shirt, but it didn’t seem to be enough of a concern to merit interrupting the Lost Boy’s wonderful attention to his neck and ear. And he liked the soft yet firm feel of Ryoga’s flesh and muscles under his fingers. He liked the slightly out-of-place glow of warmth that seemed to radiate from the nomadic martial artist’s body. Ranma tipped his head to one side, simply drinking in how wonderful it felt, when his roaming hands encountered something that -did- seem rather important.

    Blinking, Ranma opened his eyes and looked down at the swath of gauze and bandages wrapped around Ryoga’s chest, noticing the stain of blood that was seeping through the clean whiteness. Ranma’s heart froze suddenly as fear and concern welled up within him. Ryoga was hurt! Was this the origin of his earlier feelings of fear and loss? He pulled away from Ryoga’s kissing, drawing back and seeing for the first time that dressings were also in place around the Lost Boy’s lower arms, as well as covering a large patch on his left thigh.

    "Wha - ?" Ryoga muttered, confused as Ranma pulled away and gasped.

    "Ryoga! Chikushou! What happened to you?!" Ranma exclaimed with worry.

    The nomadic young man opened his eyes to see what Ranma was upset about. "Oh. The bandages. I was attacked by a bear."

    "A bear?! You’ve got to be kidding! How can you be so calm about something like that?" Ranma got to his feet and strode directly over to Ryoga’s camp, making a bee-line for a familiar backpack with red umbrella attached to it. He opened the top flap and dug around inside. "Where the heck is your first aid kit? Get over here by the fire so that I can see you better."

    Ryoga watched fondly as Ranma took charge. Whether he liked the role or not, it was within the pig tailed martial artist’s nature to be on top of things. Moving closer to the light, Ryoga cast a warm-eyed expression at the man he loved. "Ranma," he said quietly, in a soothing tone. "It’s all right. I already patched myself up and the wounds aren’t that serious anyway. They don’t even hurt."

    "I’ll decide if they’re serious or not. Sit." Ranma ordered and pointed to the sleeping bag. As Ryoga did as he was told, Ranma continued to grumble. "I can’t believe this. Only -you- would get attacked by a bear and think it was no big deal. And it’s cold out here! Why aren’t you wearing something warm? And where is ‘here’ anyway?"

    "I’m pretty sure we’re somewhere in Denali National Park . . . uhm . . . a region called Interior Alaska," Ryoga informed him as Ranma unwrapped the stained dressing on his thigh first.

    "Alaska? How the heck did you end up in - - Ryoga!!"

    Ryoga glanced up at the stricken tone of Ranma’s voice. "What?"

    "Damn it! Look at your leg!" Ranma simply could not believe what he was seeing. The bear had obviously taken a bite out of Ryoga’s thigh, and it was a sizable bite. Flesh had been torn away, muscle had been shredded, and Ranma could see splinters of bone within the gaping ripped wound. And Ryoga said -this- didn’t hurt?! It was one of the most horrific bloody wounds that Ranma had ever seen, and his stomach churned just lightly in reflexive response. How Ryoga could think that this wasn’t serious, how he was able to stand on it, why he wasn’t unconscious from loss of blood, Ranma could not fathom.

    "Yeah, I know. But it looks worse than it is, Ranma, trust me." Ryoga didn’t seem too concerned. "I walked on it all afternoon with no problem at all."

    Ranma wasn’t about to buy it. He busily set himself to properly cleaning and dressing the terrible wound, as it was obvious Ryoga hadn’t given it the attention it deserved. What was the Lost Boy thinking? Alone in the wilderness with a wound like this was seriously dangerous! "We have to get you to a doctor or something. Any towns nearby that you know of?" he asked, picking the bone splinters out and using the alcohol from the first aid kit to cleanse. He hoped it wouldn’t sting too badly, and winced in anticipation as he worked.

    Ryoga didn’t even appear to notice. "No," he shook his head and then grabbed Ranma’s hands tightly in his own. When the young man looked up and seemed about to protest, the bandanna’d nomad continued in a quiet tone. "Stop it, Ranma. I don’t need you to take care of me, and you’re not here to rescue me."

    "But . . . "

    "No," Ryoga insisted, drawing Ranma closer again, capturing blue eyes with his own brown ones. "We don’t have the luxury of time, Ranma, and I don’t give a damn about my leg. Right now all I want is you."

    Ranma was startled, his eyes widening as these rather uncharacteristic words came from the young man he loved and thought he knew so well. Under normal circumstances, Ryoga would have been far too nervous and shy to suggest something like that. What on earth was going on? And what was this about time?

    Ryoga cut off Ranma’s request for clarification with a firm kiss, pointedly yanking him off balance so that the pig tailed martial artist landed hard against his chest. The Lost Boy went with the momentum, laying back and bringing the other young man with him, keeping a tight hold on him so that he couldn’t pull back. Not that Ranma seemed particularly inclined to. The forceful kiss effectively drowning any protests and questions he might have had, he gladly gave into the spiraling sense of passion and urgency that Ryoga birthed within him. The brown-eyed man rolled them, so that Ranma lay beneath him, and proceeded to fairly suffocate him with kisses and desire.

    The night moved on around them, but neither took note. As Ryoga peeled Ranma out of his clothing, the pig tailed boy forgot to notice the cold, as he was curiously warmed by the odd gentle heat that Ryoga was shedding. But it would have made no difference had he been freezing. Ranma wanted Ryoga’s touch. He wanted Ryoga’s passion. The Lost Boy’s intense love was so different from Akane’s impersonal mannerisms in bed, and Ranma was sure that he had never felt anything quite so wonderful, as Ryoga’s fingers and hands brought the surface of his skin to life, making him tingle with desire and anticipation. Their bodies slid over one another, and Ranma worried briefly about Ryoga’s wounds, but the thought was lost in the friction they created together, and by Ryoga’s exploring tongue and mouth, which seemed intent on discovering Ranma’s most secret spots of stimulation and pleasure.

    Ranma actually did very little in return, he was capable only of holding on tightly as Ryoga took him to a dizzying height and plummeted with him again. As befitted their wild surroundings, the two young men participated in the most primal of acts, each knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were holding in their embrace the one person who meant more to them than any one else in all of creation. As Ranma was brought to new life by his partner’s touch, Ryoga lost himself gladly within the pig tailed boy, savoring and drinking deeply of the moment that he knew would be all too fleeting.

    Almost better than their physical union, however, was the after-glow as they held each other, curled together in the sleeping bag beside the small sure fire, exchanging loving kisses and whispered nonsense words. The night had taken on dream-like qualities for Ranma, for he was certain that the harsh reality of his life could not have actually been replaced by this over-powering and all-consuming love. He wanted nothing more than to be encased in Ryoga’s arms forever, to never have to think about that other existence, the one filled with Akane and pain, the dojo and demanding expectations. He didn’t care where they were, or where they might go. All he desired was Ryoga.

    The Lost Boy longed for the same, but knew otherwise. As he cuddled with Ranma, feeling the satiny quality of his lover’s skin against his own, Ryoga found himself praying. He was extremely grateful for this night, for this chance to apologize and make things right again, but he hadn’t expected to be gifted with Ranma’s love in return. The deal he’d made with Tulugaak was a heavy weight in his mind, one who’s very presence tainted the happiness he should have been feeling. What would the Athabascan god demand from him as payment? And, after paying the price, would Ryoga still be capable of somehow finding his way back to Nerima and into Ranma’s arms again?

    He hoped that this night would not be an ending when he so desperately needed a long-overdue beginning. Ryoga had been alone his entire life, had always been set apart from those around him. He had wistfully watched as people he cared about drifted away from him or turned to others, and he had transferred his lonely pain into anger and bitterness. Only Ranma had ever been able to alleviate that. Only Ranma had ever been able to understand and empathize. Numbly, the Lost Boy realized that, if Tulugaak’s price brought an end to his relationship with Ranma, Ryoga’s will to live would surely go with it.

    "Look," Ranma whispered drowsily, gesturing upwards even as he continued to gently stroke his fingers along Ryoga’s collarbone. "Look at the sky. Its beautiful . . . "

    Ryoga opened his eyes slowly and gazed up. Above them, the deep black of the sky was being interrupted by a shimmering dance of the aurora borealis. A curtain of undulating greenish white energy, the breathtaking phenomenon was moving across the sky like the sail of a ship fluttering in the wind. Along it’s wavering edges, streaks of red and blue shot repeatedly into the mix, highlighting and punctuating the dance with an unheard beat. The stars could still be seen beyond the glowing ruffles, twinkling like crystals that had been carelessly scattered across the heavens.

    "It -is- beautiful," Ryoga breathed. He had been witness to lovely performances of the northern lights in the past, but never had he seen a display like this one. It was impossible to fully describe, as words could not give proper justice to this most wondrous and mysterious of natural events. The two young men simply lay twined together, watching the display with silent amazement. It almost felt like a gift, like some kind of sign from a higher power that perhaps everything would be all right from that moment on.

    Ranma’s questing mouth found Ryoga’s. "Thank you, Ryoga. Thank you." Somehow, in his warm dream-like state, Ranma was certain that the Lost Boy was solely responsible for all of the beauty and joy that he was witness to tonight.

    Ryoga shut his eyes, trying to force down the feeling of uneasiness that was creeping in on him. "I love you, Ranma. Please don’t forget that, okay? No matter what happens, never ever forget that."

    The pig tailed martial artist frowned, not liking the words, nor the tone behind them. "Don’t talk like that," he pleaded softly, pressing himself even closer to his lover. "Make love to me again, Ryoga. Make love to me again."

    It was a request that could not be ignored. Whispering a near silent apology, which Ranma chose not to hear, Ryoga once again cocooned the young man with his passion, trying desperately with each touch, with each kiss, to convey the intense depths of devotion that he felt. Two halves of the same soul, they moved together in the night, matching each other, and the shimmering dance of the aurora, perfectly.

**************************************

    The pain in Ryoga Hibiki’s heart was almost too much to suffer as he sat silently beside his sleeping lover, watching the gentle rise and fall of the young man’s chest. Tears stood in his brown eyes as he reached out and carefully brushed the back of his hand down Ranma’s smooth cheek, remembering with a sense of sweet bitterness the keening passion they had shared throughout the all-too-short night. But it was this perfect picture of peace, the soft smile on Ranma’s face, that Ryoga wanted to burn into his heart and carry with him forever. He prayed once more. Prayed to any deity that might listen. Now that they had fully expressed their love, he could not stand to be without Ranma again.

    Against Ryoga’s back, the warmth of the sun cresting over the Alaska Range was unwelcome and loathed. .

    "I love you, Ranma," Ryoga whispered haltingly, his voice catching tightly in his throat. He was acutely aware of how the shadows in the taiga forest around them shrank away from the growing light, how the frosty gold colors of the few small birch and willow bushes shimmered as they were touched by the first rays of the sun. It was a beautiful morning, the kind which should have been the bearer of new hope and possibility. But to Ryoga, it was nothing more than a cruel termination.

    At his touch, Ranma’s eyes fluttered open and he gazed up at Ryoga with a bleary and languid expression. The Lost Boy was sitting in front of the rising sun, as if trying to shield Ranma from its light, so the pig tailed man saw him only in silhouette, which lent a further dream-like quality to his perception. Squinting against the glare, Ranma raised a hand to shade his eyes and smiled up at Ryoga. "Awake already?" he asked lightly.

    "Ranma," Ryoga leaned forward, urgency in the tone of his voice. "I love you. Remember, I love you."

    Ranma sat up, frowning as he sensed something wrong. Something very wrong. "I know, Ryoga. I could never forget something like that. I love you too."

    Both young men looked up at the sound of flapping wings. A large raven, splashed with the molten colors of morning, perched on the top of a nearby spruce and silently gazed at them, a deep shimmer of stern understanding in its black eyes.

    Ranma gaped at it. "That bird . . . "

    "Listen to me!" Ryoga took Ranma’s hands tightly in his own, squeezing hard with a sudden nervous whirl of energy that hit Ranma like a storm-front. The bandanna clad man glanced momentarily over his shoulder straight into the face of the rising sun. It was difficult to see, but the fiery orb was nearly clearing the top of the Alaska Range, and Ryoga could plainly sense that time was at a premium. He swung his eyes back towards Ranma, blinking away further tears caused by the brightness.

    "Listen to me. I will do everything in my power to make it back to you, okay? I swear it, I promise it, everything in my power."

    Dread began to beat in Ranma’s chest and he clutched at Ryoga’s hands firmly. "What? What are you talking about? You’re not leaving me, are you? No, Ryoga! You can’t leave me!" Damn it, no! To have finally felt how wonderful love could be, to have finally united fully and completely with Ryoga, only to have it stripped away? The mere thought was beyond torture, beyond pain. "Ryoga! Don’t leave me!"

    "I’m not! I won’t! I promise you, Ranma! I -will- come back to you. I will!"

    The glare of the sun intensified as it continued its steady climb into the sky, and it was so bright behind Ryoga that Ranma couldn’t stand to look at him. He shut his eyes, fighting back hot tears of disappointment and unfairness. There was a sharp sound, which seemed to come from the direction of the watching raven, and then suddenly a strange sense of disconnectedness caused Ranma’s head to reel as if he were about to pass out.

    "Ryoga?!" he choked. He felt as if he were spinning, being pulled away. Ranma fought it, clutched harder at the feel of his lover’s hands, but experienced a moment of strange terror when he sensed his fingers pass through Ryoga’s.

    "No!" He heard Ryoga’s pleading sobbing voice, somehow felt his hands grasping within his dis-incorporating form. "Please! Don’t take him away! Please, Karasu-sama! I’ll give anything!"

    "You have nothing left, Son of Bear, save for that which is already marked."

    The new voice, low and soft, startled Ranma, disorientated and confused him. He wanted to open his eyes and see who was speaking, he wanted to throw himself into Ryoga’s arms and cling to his lover, but found that he couldn’t move. His body was no longer there. Panic soared up within him, and he could only scream and struggle within his mind. What the hell was going on?! No! He couldn’t leave Ryoga! He couldn’t!! Ryoga . . . . .

    The feel of Ryoga’s hands faded and his heartsick voice sounded as if it were coming from very far away. "Ranma . . . Ranma! Remember! I love you! I promise . . . I will return to you! Raannmaaaa . . . "

    Oh Kami-sama, no! No! No! Feeling detached and as if he were floating through a distant fog, Ranma somehow managed to force his eyes open, and desperately hoped to find Ryoga, but saw only light. Hard, hurtful golden light. It slammed into him, exploding. All at once, Ryoga’s despairing presence was gone, but the lingering echo of his voice remained with Ranma for a long long time, whispering through his head.

************************************

    Once again on his knees in the tundra mat, Ryoga Hibiki pressed his hands to his face and cried, sobbing with despair and loss. It was a terrible thing to watch one’s lover dissolve out of existence, to feel his flesh and form melt into nothingness, to know that he was now so far away that the chances of seeing him again any time soon were slim and insubstantial. The pain was sharp within Ryoga, like a blade that was being pushed into him deeper and deeper, slow inch by agonizing inch. His entire body trembled, wracked with grief, as he sank lower, until he was buried deeply within the dwarf willow, fireweed and glacier avens.

    Ranma . . . the loneliness was keen and biting. It hurt beyond measure.

    A strong gentle hand came to rest on Ryoga’s shoulder, and a subdued sense of warmth and companionship radiated from the touch. It should have comforted, but it did not. It was not the touch that Ryoga wanted. But he slowly lifted his head from the arctic growth and gazed up at Tulugaak’s compassionate understanding face through a bitter blur of tears.

    "It is time, Ryoga Hibiki," Tulugaak told him, his tone one of fatherly kindness.

    The Lost Boy was a man of honor. Though he had not expected this to turn out to be as torturous as it had, he had made an agreement and would carry through. Nodding slowly, he straightened onto his knees before the patriarchal god of the Athabascans and met the man’s steady gaze with one of his own. Though tears continued to slide down his cheeks unchecked, he was otherwise the picture of bravery and determination. He would not dishonor his love for Ranma by behaving any other way.

    "I am ready, Karasu-sama," he said lowly. "What is your price?"

    A mild chill morning breeze played through the iridescent feathers of Tulugaak’s cloak. He gazed down at the young man for a long silent moment, as if gauging Ryoga’s temperament and state of mind. Seeming to come to some satisfactory conclusion, he nodded to himself.

    "What you must give, Son of Bear," he began quietly, "is your love for Ranma Saotome."

    Empty lamenting distress welled up within Ryoga’s throat, and his heart beat suddenly seemed hard and demanding as his liquid brown eyes widened and he looked up at Tulugaak with something close to horror on his face. It was as if his entire world suddenly turned to ice, freezing him as solid as the glaciers which hugged close around the base of Denali.

    His love for Ranma? Oh no, oh no, oh no! Ranma was the only thing that still existed within his soul, the only thing that had ever existed. Ranma was his very reason for taking each breath. Yes, he had made an agreement, but how could he willingly give up the one person he loved more than anything or anyone else in the world? How could he?

    "But . . . " he choked, hoping that this was a folly of some sort, that perhaps none of it was actually happening. "But . . . you can’t take that away . . . th - that’s all I am! That’s all I have left!"

    Tulugaak nodded slowly, a small sad smile on his face. "And it is all that has kept you here, Little Brother; your love for him, and your consuming desire to apologize and put things right. Now you have, and it is time for you to release it."

    Bewildered, Ryoga drew in a breath, noticed distantly that it did not enter his lungs with the fullness that it should have. All that has kept him here? What on earth did that mean?

    A sudden shiver, that had little to do with cold, ran up his back, settling itself firmly at the base of his head. Something was not right here . . . something that he was missing . . . something that he should have realized. There was an odd buzzing noise as flashes of the bear attack flickered rapidly through his internal vision. Those huge claws swiping at him, opening his chest up as he fell backwards and raised his arms in a futile attempt to protect himself . . . the sound of cracking pain that ruptured through him as the bear pressed her heavy foot down on his relatively frail body . . . the shearing agony as she took her bite from his leg . . . Fear and pain blended together, and a sense of panic was being birthed in his throat and chest. Oh Ranma! Ryoga realized suddenly that he -hadn’t- run . . . he -hadn’t- escaped! What? What? Ranma . . . what had happened? What had he done?

    Tulugaak stepped forward and ran his hand gently through the petrified young man’s hair, then cupped his face and gently forced him to look up. "Son, you still don’t understand?"

    Ryoga -did- understand. With white stark realization, he understood completely. Heated denials and protests rushed through his head, but he could give voice to none of them. The truth was obvious. Tears began anew and he leaned forward to wrap his arms around Tulugaak’s legs, to bury his face in the softness of the god’s feathers and long hair. "I can’t . . . " he wept. "I can’t let go . . . I promised him . . . I can’t . . . "

    Tulugaak continued to lovingly stroke the lost soul’s hair, the touch of his slender fingers soft and reassuring. "Ryoga, Favorite Son of Bear," he whispered warmly, his black eyes filled with empathy. "This is no longer your realm, and you cannot stay here. I do not take your love for Ranma Saotome to be cruel, it is time for you to release it. But do not despair, Little Brother, for your love will not be lost or wasted."

    Shivering violently, Ryoga looked up at him with a question in his eyes.

    Tulugaak smiled kindly. "It will be given to Ranma, as it truly belongs only to him. The form in which he receives it is up to you."

    Ryoga looked away, casting his sight on their natural surroundings. He saw with perfect clarity every drop of dew on every needle on every spruce tree. He saw the water-colored tussock tundra, littered with spots of red and rust that trembled as a cool breeze danced through, carrying a hint of the perpetual snow that lay draped over the contours of the immense mountain. She was visible and beautiful this morning, glinting with a soft pink glow from the continuing sunrise, a fluffy band of clouds crowning Her very highest peak. Nearby, a high-pitched series of whistles from a sandpiper broke the far-reaching silence of the wilderness.

    Ryoga used the moment to calm himself, to think clearly. He shut his deep sad eyes and pulled away from Tulugaak, sinking into the tundra once more, feeling the prickliness of the willow and herbaceous Labrador Tea pluck and pull at the material of his clothing.

    His love was to be given to Ranma . . . this was his final chance to show the depths of his devotion for the young man, to keep the promise that he had made about doing all in his power to return to the pig tailed boy’s side. He considered his options for several heart beats, wondering what form he could give his love so that Ranma would understand . . . so that Ranma would understand . . .

Swallowing down the pain, Ryoga Hibiki curled his hands into tight fists and got to his feet. The wind ruffling his long black hair, he faced Tulugaak with conviction and renewed understanding in his eyes.

    He would release. But he would not let go.

    "I am ready, Karasu-sama," Ryoga said, his tone firm and sure.

    Tulugaak stepped forward, lifting his arms. He swept one behind Ryoga and raised the other to press his fingers against the young man’s forehead. Dizziness whispered into Ryoga, but he did not fight it. Rather, he let it take him, the last of his strength draining away with finality, causing him to slowly fall backwards against the support of Tulugaak’s arm. A white hot glow burst into life within the center of his chest, radiating outwards with a melodious hum that sang of peace and acceptance, and its ignition caused Ryoga’s body to shutter one last time. Distantly, he was still aware of the breeze, of Tulugaak’s arms around him, of the sound of the sandpiper, but none of these things really mattered any longer.

    His thoughts were on Ranma. Only Ranma mattered. The storm blue of his eyes. The sure fluid manner in which he moved while fighting or sparring. The cocky smile he used when others were around, and the hesitant gentle smile he saved for when he and Ryoga were alone. The feel of his flesh and muscles as they moved together in the night beneath the gossamer blanket of the aurora. And as his thoughts were occupied with these beautiful things, Ryoga only vaguely sensed Tulugaak reaching into the glow from his chest. Reaching in to remove the love he felt, taking the last of what had made up the man named Ryoga Hibiki, grasping it by the handle and drawing it out.

    Even through the lids of his closed eyes, through the non-reality of wherever he now was, Ryoga saw the flash as the silver blade caught the stark light of the shattering sun.

***************************

    "Good morning, Ranma," Kasumi greeted warmly as she set a full plate of steaming breakfast rolls on the dining room table. "How was your early class?"

    "Fine," the gi-clad martial artist replied dully as he took his customary spot at the table. His sister-in-law simply smiled vacantly and continued what she was doing, rustling into the kitchen to retrieve more food for her extended family. She was as oblivious as any of them to Ranma’s lack of interest in anything. Over the past year, ever since his graduation, lifelessness had become the norm for the young man, so no one thought to question it any longer. Had they been more observant, they might have noticed that his apathy had been especially acute for the last two weeks. As it was, everyone was too concerned with their own interests and agendas to really care.

    Soun Tendo snapped the morning paper as he turned the page.

    "Students give you any trouble, Son?" Genma asked habitually, not even listening consciously for an answer. He was reaching for the food already on the table. Nodoka lightly slapped his hand in admonishment and proceeded to serve him properly.

    Ranma rested his chin in his hand and stared sullenly at the plate in front of him. With his other hand, he idly toyed with his chopsticks for a moment, but quickly lost interest in that particular pointless activity. No one noticed that he never replied to his father.

    Two weeks. Two weeks had passed since he’d woken up to find himself still on the roof of the dojo, in tears and near hysterics over the . . . experience? . . . vision? . . . dream? . . . he’d had. The pain of loss and emptiness had been so great and consuming that he briefly considered throwing himself off the roof and into the rocks beside the koi pond right then and there. And in the interminable days that followed, he found himself fancying similar options in other locations. The bridge over the river. The roof of the highest building in Nerima. He caught himself contemplating the knives in the Tendo kitchen, or entertaining the thought of stepping out in front of a car. His grief was so overwhelming that it over-ruled everything else.

    But always, in the last moment before actually going through with any of his suicidal options, Ranma would remember what Ryoga promised. He would come back. Somehow, the Lost Boy would find his way from Alaska to Nerima, would arrive to claim what was his. Ranma only had to wait for that day, and he existed from moment to moment anticipating the joy that would break through his mental wall of depression when Ryoga stepped through the door and announced his return.

    Two weeks. It had seemed like a lifetime already. But he would endure and continue. Ryoga had promised that he would come back, and Ranma knew that the Lost Boy would never break a promise.

    "Plans for the day, Akane?" Nabiki asked her younger sister as the dark-haired woman came in from the kitchen with a pot of tea that she set carefully on the table. Everyone, save Ranma, eyed the hot beverage with trepidation, and no one was eager to be the first to brave a cup.

    "After the morning intermediate class, I’m going shopping with some friends," she replied as she took her place beside her lack-luster husband. "Do you need anything? We’re going to stop at that new store in the mall."

    "No thanks. I already checked it out and didn’t see anything that I wanted."

    Ranma blinked, letting the conversation filter into his head and back out again without being processed. It didn’t matter in the least bit. The only thing of any importance was waiting for Ryoga. Waiting. Ryoga would come. He’d promised.

    Kasumi re-entered with two more serving plates of food, which she slid onto the table as she sat. "I have some errands to run, Akane. Would you mind if I went with you?"

    "Not at all. Maybe you can help me pick out a dress for Azusa’s wedding?"

    "Certainly," Kasumi smiled, sipping at a cup of tea she had wisely brought with her from the kitchen. "I think its just so sweet that she’s getting married."

    "Mikado’s not very happy about it, though," Akane chatted, scooping some food onto Ranma’s plate and taking no notice of the fact that he remained ignorant of her actions. "She’s not planning on continuing to skate."

    "I’m sure young Sanzenin will do fine on his own," Nodoka commented lightly.

    Soun made a startled noise, staring intently on something in the paper. "Oh," he muttered with a mildly disturbed tone, attracting the attention of his daughters and the elder Saotomes immediately.

    "What is it, Father?" Kasumi blinked, setting down her cup.

    He glanced over the edge of the paper at them, his dark eyes quickly settling on Ranma. "Son," he began, carefully and pointedly separating out a section of the paper and folding it in half. "Isn’t this the young man you used to spar with?" He offered the section to Ranma.

    The pig tailed martial artist stared at it for a long moment, as his mind registered the fact that something of importance seemed to be happening. He reached up slowly, all eyes on him, and wrapped his fingers around the rough-feeling newsprint. Blinking his eyes into focus, he looked down and found a small picture of Ryoga staring back at him.

    The photo was obviously several years old and out of date, but a mild surge of life flickered through Ranma nonetheless at the sight of his lover’s hard eyes and tight features. He looked young, vaguely uncertain, and undeniably angry, as if the picture had been snapped without his permission. Ranma let his eyes brush over the image, simply drinking it in. Ryoga was so beautiful. Why hadn’t he ever really noticed that when they were teenagers? A silent longing keen began in the depths of Ranma’s heart. It was so hard waiting . . . so hard . . .

    "Son?" Soun frowned.

    "What’s going on?" Akane questioned.

    It wasn’t until they spoke that it occurred to Ranma to wonder why Ryoga’s picture was in the paper. Reluctantly tearing his gaze from his lover’s dark eyes, he glanced at the headline of the article which accompanied the photo.

    \\ Local Man Found Dead in Alaskan Park \\

    The world came to an abrupt jarring stop, and Ranma felt as though he had been flung off violently. Spinning, drowning, sinking . . . Ice formed in his heart sharply and suddenly, freezing him in place and sending chills out to all of his extremities. The paper fell from his hands as he began to shiver, staring straight ahead as if someone had come along and simply switched him off. A single "No . . . " of denial formed in his mouth and fell unheard from his lips.

    "Oh dear," Kasumi exclaimed with soft concern.

    "Ranma? Ranma, what is it?" Akane touched his arm, shaking him slightly. When he continued to stare straight at nothing and didn’t respond, Nabiki reached over and snatched the paper from the table where it had fallen. She quickly spotted the article and even her normally cool eyes softened a bit as she absorbed the news.

    She read the headline out loud. It was greeted by gasps from the other three women, and a sad shake of the head from Soun. Nabiki paused for a moment, then recited the article.

    "The remains of local Nerima resident, Ryoga Hibiki, returned home yesterday after the young man was discovered in the McKinley River area of Denali National Park, Alaska, last week. The victim of an apparent bear attack, Hibiki’s body was located by a small group of late-season hikers, and was identified by park officials based on documentation in a traveling pack also found nearby."

    Akane covered her mouth with her hands, covering a distressed gasp of surprise. "Oh! Ryoga!" she moaned softly, soft tears filling her eyes.

    "How terrible," Nodoka agreed sympathetically.

    Nabiki continued. "Park Superintendent Donald Madison admits to some confusion regarding why Hibiki was present in the Park in the first place. ‘We require that all back-country hikers be registered at park headquarters, but this young man was not, so no one knew that he was there,’ Madison said. ‘In a wilderness area of this size, it was sheer luck that he was found at all.’

    "Medical examiners concluded that the nineteen year old man died almost immediately, and Madison says that it was very likely that the bear attacked without warning. ‘There are a number of sows with cubs in that particular area. When a mother perceives a threat to her young, she does not hesitate to deal with that threat. This young man had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

    "Ryoga Hibiki’s remains were shipped to Japan at the expense of the United States, and will be interred in the family plot during a private ceremony. A small gathering will be held in the Hibiki home on Saturday. The young man is survived by his parents Ryuzen and Ainami Hibiki. They describe Hibiki as an accomplished martial artist and avid traveler, who often sent home letters describing his journeys in exacting detail.

    "‘It’s a great shame to have the Denali tourist season end on such a sad note,’ Donald Madison told the Daily News-Miner, a local newspaper out of Fairbanks, Alaska. ‘Our thoughts and prayers are with this young man’s family.’"

    Nabiki lowered the paper, signaling that she had read the entire article.

    "Oh my, oh poor dear Ryoga," Kasumi had crystalline tears in her large dark eyes. "How terrible for the Hibikis. They must be devastated," she glanced at Soun. "We should pay our respects, Father."

    He nodded in sad agreement. "Yes. It’s only right. Such a shame. That boy had a great deal of potential as a martial artist. I daresay he could have been a Master someday."

    "Yes, he could have been," Genma concurred. "What a waste."

    Akane was staring at Ranma in concern, for he hadn’t moved during the entire reading of the article. She leaned on his arm, brushing moisture from her cheeks. "Ranma? Are you all right?"

    He heard her voice only distantly, and didn’t care about it in the least. There was nothing within him save overwhelming pain and maddening confusion . . . pain pain hurt loss oh kami Ryoga I don’t understand how could this have happened pain pain . . . A huge gaping hole opened in his heart, black, empty and yawning wide. All of the love he’d felt for Ryoga was quickly sucked into this abyss, leaving nothing behind save an hollow shell and echoing echoing pain. Pain pain pain oh Ryoga Ryoga Ryoga . . .

    "Ranma?" this voice of concern was his mother’s.

    He didn’t care about her either. Pain pain Ryoga Ryoga Ryoga oh what happened what happened I don’t understand don’t understant don’t understand . . .

    "He said . . . " Ranma whispered starkly, continuing to stare straight ahead at nothing. "He said the wounds weren’t that bad . . . he said they didn’t hurt . . . "

    "What is he talking about?" Nabiki asked languidly.

    "Ranma-kun, are you okay?" Akane shook him slightly, disturbed by the absolute nothingness that was in his eyes. She had never seen such a look and quite frankly it frightened her.

    "He said they weren’t that bad . . . he said he’d come back . . . he promised . . . no . . . he’s not gone, because he promised . . . " Ranma recited in monotone, his mind beginning to rapidly shut down around him, causing him to waver dizzily. Ryoga Ryoga Ryoga! You promised! Damn you, you promised me!! You promised me!! Pain pain pain . . . oh kami no . . . no no no no no . . .

    You promised me . . .

    Everyone gathered around the table gasped as Ranma’s eyes rolled into his head, he swayed for a moment, and then passed out, drifting slowly into Akane’s ready embrace.

********************************

    The first snow of the season fell on Saturday. It came from a flat grey sky in overly-large fluffy flakes that slowly spread over the ground in a gathering blanket. It was easily crushed and melted under the normal foot traffic around the dojo, insignificant and unnoticed by nearly everyone. There were more important concerns at the moment.

    Kasumi and Nodoka busied themselves in the kitchen the entire morning, making food that they could take over to the Hibiki’s. The Saotome matriarch wasn’t terribly familiar with Ryoga’s memory, so Kasumi shared some fond recollections of the boy with her, and put extra effort into a dish that she knew had been a favorite of the wandering martial artist. Nabiki checked in on them from time to time, looking sharp in a dark black skirt suit that she had been saving for just such an occasion, but wouldn’t let herself be persuaded to join them for any length of time. She was as cool as ever, and it seemed that the news of Ryoga’s death hadn’t particularly phased her.

        Genma, Soun and Happosai sat together on the back porch, the only ones who took note of the falling snow, dressed in formal attire and waiting for the women to finish so that the family could leave together. The eldest of the trio simply smoked his pipe, apparently as unconcerned as Nabiki, as it was no secret that he had never really cared for the Hibiki boy. But even he recognized the occasional need for courtesy, however, and made no complaints about attending the gathering. His two students exchanged a few words about Ryoga as they sat, comments on how unfortunate the young man’s death was and how he’d been in the prime of his life - things that they felt should be said by someone at such a time. None of the words really meant anything in particular.

    Ranma wasn’t aware of the falling snow. And if he had been, he wouldn’t have cared. As far as he was concerned, the snow didn’t exist, because nothing existed. Nothing. Dressed in his white gi, as he had been for close to four days, he knelt in the dojo, staring silently at the altar without seeing it, as still as stone.

As still as death.

    "Damn it," Akane glared at him from the doorway of the dojo, wearing a simple black dress that managed to make her look slender and graceful. She wanted to storm in and mallet some sense into her husband, but on some level she knew it would do no good. She’d been arguing with him to no avail for days, growing ever more frustrated over his short clipped answers. She didn’t understand why he was reacting the way he was, no one did.

    Biting back her own grief over the loss of a young man she’d always considered a dear friend, she replaced it with anger and somehow managed to shift the blame over to Ranma. His un-responsiveness over the course of the last few days had turned him into a perfect target for her hostility, and his steadfast refusal to pay respects to the Hibiki clan had his own family feeling rather disgusted with him.

    "I thought that they were more than just rivals, that Ryoga was his friend at least."

    "He was," the long-haired woman beside her replied quietly. Ukyo also wore a black dress, and filled it out much nicer than Akane did her’s. She gazed in at Ranma, her large eyes rimmed with red from crying. The strength with which Ryoga’s death had hit her was surprising, even to herself. It had been so many months since she had even thought about him, and now a part of her was feeling very guilty over that neglect.

    "Then why won’t he go to the Hibiki’s?" Akane argued, feeling that anger bubble up within her once again. "Why does it seem like he doesn’t even care? All he does is sit in this damn dojo! Damn baka . . . "

    Ukyo put a hand on Akane’s shoulder, in an attempt to calm her. Ukyo knew that Ranma -did- care, as she had always sensed that on some level he and Ryoga were friends. But even she was mystified over Ranma’s complete lack of interest in anything, let alone attending the gathering at the Hibiki’s. It didn’t make sense, really, unless she allowed herself to consider theories that went far beyond the realm of comfort. Ukyo wasn’t ready to tackle thoughts like that, and she knew instinctively that Akane would refuse to even try.

    "He does care. Let him grieve in his own way, Akane-chan," Ukyo said carefully.

    Akane blinked, considering. As she stared at Ranma, she slowly allowed the possibility that he -was- grieving take up residence in her mind. It really didn’t look like that to her, in fact it seemed that he was just pulling the same old indifferent act as always, but perhaps there was some truth in Ukyo’s words. Perhaps this was the one way that Ranma could deal with the loss.

    It was a remarkably insightful conclusion for the normally one-dimensional young woman to come to, and she wasn’t completely comfortable with it. Before she could express that discomfort, however, Kasumi came to fetch them from the dojo.

    "We’re ready to leave, girls," the oldest of the Tendo daughters smiled sadly, in a way that managed to convey more depth of feeling than any other member of the family had thus far expressed. She glanced into the dojo, took note of Ranma’s still form, and a small sigh escaped her. She decided not to comment, as there was no point in re-hashing the obvious. Instead, she gently herded the two young women back to the house, where they joined the rest of the extended family in preparations to leave.

    Ranma didn’t notice them go. In truth, he hadn’t even noticed that they’d been there in the first place. Like everything else in his word, they no longer existed and probably never had.

    There were no true thoughts in his mind, just endless feelings of pain. At first, after the inital shock of Ryoga’s reported death had worn off, he had entertained a few abstract notions of confusion and betrayal. Confusion over what had happened to him - how had it been possible for him to spend a night half a world away with a young man who was already dead? It made no sense and Ranma had to vaguely wonder if it had actually happened at all, or if the entire episode had been some bizarre twist of his own delusions, the desire to see Ryoga again given its own form and substance. How then could he explain knowledge of the wounds from the bear attack, the setting in Alaska? He couldn’t. He didn’t. He refused to even try. The notions were swept away as soon as they were conceived, sent packing out of his mind. He had no desire to think about such things.

    The betrayal was slightly stronger and harder to ignore. It was the result of the promise made and presumably broken. The only promise that Ryoga had ever broken . . . why did it have to be the one that mattered the most? Logically, Ranma knew that death didn’t give one any choices in the matter, that the Lost Boy could not be held to blame for not keeping his word . . . but logic was one of the things that Ranma had abandoned first after hearing of Ryoga’s death.

    As he sat, staring and seeing nothing based in the real world, he tried to call to mind the night they had spent together. Whether real or not, it was the only memory he had of the depths of the love he and Ryoga had felt for each other. Maddeningly, the only image that surfaced on the blank slate in his head was that of Ryoga’s picture from the newspaper. That bothered him a great deal, made him angry and frustrated. He did not want his only memory of Ryoga to be that damned article which had announced his death, but the image wouldn’t go away. It pasted itself firmly over the night under the aurora, challenging Ranma to accept reality.

    He refused. Rather than accept, Ranma simply shut it all away.

    And sat. And stared. Now there was nothing.

    His mother came in, to make one last attempt at getting her son to join the rest of the family in attending the gathering in honor of his friend. Ranma didn’t even notice her arrival, and took no note of her departure several minutes later. Far distantly, he heard the outer gate of the Tendo property shut as everyone left, each pressed to carry one of the dishes Kasumi had made. A soft whisper moved through the empty yard and into the dojo, carrying the crisp scent of the snow.

    Silence. It was so welcome.

    Time passed, minutes ticking slowly away into oblivion, but the young man had no concept of their passage. The quality of the grey autumn light flickering through the windows changed as an unseen sun continued its movements across the sky. The afternoon was dark, and heaviness filled the corners of the dojo. In the house, the telephone rang five times and then fell silent again.

    A shadow fell over Ranma, moving through the room slowly, casting its avian-shape over the highly polished floor boards of the dojo. It landed on the altar, scaled feet gripping tightly. Two unlit candles spontaneously burst to life, dancing flames emphasizing the darkness that had found home in the energy traps of the room. The silhouette of the large black bird dropped from its perch, stretching across the floor in a rippling wave to fall across Ranma’s lowered head like a shroud. The bird turned a bright eye on the young man, ruffling the feathers along its back as if commanding attention.

    Obligingly, Ranma looked up. He saw the animal, registered its presence, and knew that there was something familiar about it. Knew that he had seen it before. Something flickered in his cold heart, something that felt like ghostly hope. He slowly reached in and clung to it, and the promise that it seemed to bring.

    "Karasu-sama?" Ranma whispered, voice tired and hoarse from disuse and the strangling sorrow he had been trying to swallow down for days.

    The raven made a muttering noise in its throat and lowered its head, as if pointing with the tip of its beak. The colors of the twin candle flames skimmed over the iridescent feathers of its back like liquid light.

    Blinking slowly, Ranma followed the raven’s gesture down along the outstretched shadow it cast, into the inky depths before his own knees. Something glimmered there in the darkness, beckoning. Moving with all the animation of stone giving life, Ranma carefully reached down. His fingers found the handle of the knife automatically, and wrapped around its strange warmth. As he lifted the weapon, a tingle shivered up his arm, static traces whispered into his nerves. Dull blue chips of ice stared at the knife for a long silent moment, wondering faintly where it could have come from and why it was here.

But he knew why it was here.

It was silver and gold, plainly wrought with just a simple flare wrapped around the hilt and the base of the blade to give it interest. That seemed so right, so appropriate. There was no flash to this weapon, as there had been little in the way of flash to the man that Ranma loved. A very slight smile touched his lips as he wrapped his fingers just a bit tighter around the warmth. It fit snugly into his hand, as if made specifically to match it. The needle sharp point caught the candle light and a small star was birthed into momentary being as the shine jumped from the metal.

A whisper wrapped around Ranma’s body, as the tingle originating from the knife reached his heart. It was gentle nonsense words spoken under the glimmer of the aurora. It was a fulfillment of a promise made a wandering young man to whom honor was all important, and whose love for Ranma was everything. Who made up everything Ranma was in return. It was a request, a summons.

"Ryoga . . . " Unashamed tears formed in Ranma’s eyes as the chill around his soul melted and the grief was washed away. He did not think to question or to hesitate. He simply turned the knife, wrapping both hands around it firmly, and brought it to his stomach. Closing his eyes firmly, he at last brought a welcome image of his lover to his mind, an image of Ryoga standing before him, holding out his hand.

Wanting Ranma to join him.

"Thank you, Ryoga," Ranma whispered. He didn’t feel the metal of the blade violate his body, did not feel the cutting sensation as the integrity of his internal workings were violated by the introduction of a foreign object.

He was gone before he ever plunged the knife.

As Ranma Saotome’s lifeless body slumped, as a slow thickening pool of blood spread out from beneath him to make its way across the floor of the dojo, seeking cracks and imperfections in the wood to seep into, the raven perched on the altar rose into the air. Its heavy shadow fell across the young man a final time as it flew the length of the room, to disappear before it actually reached the door.

******************************

"Shadow of Raven . . . Little Brother, open your eyes and see the gift that you have been given . . . "

Ranma thought he recognized the voice, but couldn’t quite place it. Just the same, he obeyed its gentle order and opened his eyes to be greeted with the final fall of a bright evening. Gasping softly, he stared at the spectacle of wonder and beauty before him, astounded and wordless. Never had he seen such a thing. Never had he even imagined . . .

A glacial valley lay before him, carved out thousands of years previously by the movements of towering mountains of ice and cutting knives of water. Though green and lush-looking, spots of rust dotted the endless landscape warmly, like little organic fires set to the waxing and waning of the season. Trees were scattered across the scene, as if carelessly tossed by some unseen hand - mostly spruce, but also willow and birch, each also showing its colors proudly. Lakes were also thrown down here and there, each a perfect shimmering reflection of the indigo sky above. A pair of kestrels swooped low, passing him close enough that he could hear the whistle of air through their feathers.

In the close distance, a low cloud hung over what appeared to the remnants of the very glacier that might have carved this valley. And rising from that purpling mist, the unfathomably large looming form of the Mother of all Mountains filled most of the horizon. Her snow-covered slopes were glowing pink and crimson from the setting of the sun, making Her seem unreal, as if painted against the sky by the brush of a master artist. It was almost the most beautiful thing that Ranma would ever see.

Almost. Because truly the most beautiful sight was what greeted him when he turned, prompted by the sound of a hesitant voice that he knew and loved so well.

"Ranma?"

The Lost Boy stood behind him, ready to greet and welcome his lover to this new existence. He looked much as Ranma remembered him from life with a few notable differences. The weariness that had been Ryoga’s constant companion was now gone, replaced by something that was unexplainably new and fresh. He seemed younger and older at the same time, as if reborn into a new life at a higher level of experience. He no longer wore the familiar drab and functional clothes, but rather an attractive outfit of dark hide fringed with stone beads of greens and browns. His hair was longer than Ranma recalled, loose and being played with by a gentle evening wind at his back. The habitual yellow and black bandanna remained around his brow, however, and around his neck hung an amulet - a stylized silhouette of a bear against a peridot background.

It took Ranma quite some time to realize that he was wearing a similar outfit, save his amulet showed a raven in flight, with a dark drop-shadow of obsidian. He didn’t take the time necessary to notice. He simply launched himself into his lover’s arms and held on for all he was worth, thrilled when Ryoga’s strong arms wrapped around him once again. His joy was absolute, complete. It sang in his every nerve, pulsed with his every heartbeat.

"I’m sorry," Ryoga told him lovingly, a hint of a smile he’d never worn in life drifting over his lips as he stroked Ranma’s long hair. He shared Ranma’s rejoicing fully, feeling it all through him, mixing wonderfully with the love he felt for this young man in his arms. Still, he felt the need to apologize, the need to explain. "I didn’t mean to leave you. I didn’t realize . . . "

"It’s all right," Ranma looked up, sank his gaze hard and deeply into Ryoga’s. He didn’t really need an explanation, because he understood. Everything felt so completely right, as it had never felt when he’d been alive. He needed only one reassurance to make it all perfect. "It’s all right, as long as I’m here now, for good. Please Ryoga. Promise me that I’m here for good," he pleaded, searching his lover’s face for the truth.

Ryoga nodded, fangs peeping out as he smiled a little more. "Yes. I promise you."

___________________________________________________________________________________

End

Some Author’s Notes (or - things you really don’t care about reading *chuckle*):

Taiga forest: This is a transitional environment between a proper spruce forest and tundra, and in Denali Park is the boundary of the tree line. It consists mostly of a ground cover of low shrubs, dwarf varieties of willow and birch, lichens and sedges. Trees in these areas are of modest size and include aspen, poplar and various evergreens - usually black and white spruce. Because of the short length of the growing season in Interior Alaska, the trees in a taiga environment put forth very little energy towards actually growing, preferring to use it for keeping alive in the winter months. As a result, the trees don’t get very tall, and are usually quite old, upwards of 100+ years. The tree that Raven perched on in Ryoga’s camp was probably only about four to five feet tall, tops.

Denali: An Athabascan word meaning "Great One". (Variations - Doleyka or Traleyka). Denali was thought to be the Mother of the World in very old legends. And the Home of the Sun in later ones. The modern name of the mountain, McKinley came from a 1897 article in the ‘New York Sun’ written by William A. Dickey, in which he named the mountain after recently nominated presidential candidate William McKinley, whose gold-standard he supported. If you ever get the opportunity to see this mountain in person, you will understand why the name Denali suits Her better.

Raven: Like Coyote in the Southwest, Raven was the Athabascan’s Trickster. But He was also far more than that, especially in earlier tales. He brought the Sun to the People by placing it in the Sky. He brought Fire to the People by stealing it from Owl. He caused the Tides to begin by irritating the Man Who Sits on the Tide. He was also a father-image, a consort of the Great Mother, who was both her Son and her Husband, and helped in the creation of everything. Thus the reason why he alternately calls Ryoga "Son" and "Little Brother".

Karasu: Japanese for raven

Tulugaak: One of the many Inupiaq names for Raven. I chose this one because Inupiaq is the primary dialect of the native people in this region, and because this name seems to refer to Raven in his more fatherly role.

Son of Bear/Shadow of Raven: It’s a belief my own ancestors that the circumstances of one’s death will play a large part in what happens to you and who you become in your next life. Hence Ryoga and Ranma’s new titles, as given to them by Tulugaak, and their new existence together in the Alaskan wilderness of the next world. Okay, maybe it’s a little corny, but what can I say?

-------------------------------

1999 raptor@lavadomefive.com

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