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As the young man passed through Atlas, his handsome face fell.
Past waved her hand, and the room transformed again. An older woman with beautiful silver hair down to her waist and eyes that matched her son’s stood in a bedroom, cleaning the window. Her features lit with joy as young-Atlas walked in.
“I’ve done it, Mother.”
“Have you now?” she asked, tucking a cloth into her apron as she looked up at her son. “What are we celebrating?”
“I found the perfect Solstice gift for Father. I did all the hunting and pelt work myself.”
“Atlas—”
“He’s been extra hard on me lately, and I know it’s because he thinks I can’t do these things. But I can prove it to him now. He’ll be proud. I promise.”
Grown-Atlas moved toward me. I snatched his hand that shook with fear as his potent emotions overwhelmed me. Something haunting crossed his mother’s face like a shadow, and that was enough for me to hold on tight when the door slammed open again, and Atlas flinched.
“Can I give it to him now?”
“It’s a few days early. You should wait, Atty.”
“What’s this?” A booming voice asked from the front of the house.
My heart raced as Past squealed. Though my magic didn’t work on her, the excitement was disgustingly palpable. I’d never known how cruel the Spirits could be until this moment. Perhaps Future was right, and I should have had more trepidation.
Deep, measured breaths caused Atlas’ shoulders to rise and fall from beside me as he prepared himself for what he knew was coming. Each blink was deliberate, each swallow, the same as tension grew static in the humble home.
Young-Atlas snapped his fingers. “I accidentally left it by the door.”
“Well, then. Let’s go see what he has to say,” his mother answered, failing to hide the worry in her tone.
We followed the memories back to the front of the house where a man with a striking resemblance to his son, though he had green eyes and a crooked nose, stood holding the bear pelt.
“Happy Solstice, Father,” young-Atlas said, his voice deeper than it had been, holding out a hand to shake his father’s. “I did it myself. Every part.”
The man looked down to his son’s outstretched hand, ignoring it as he held the lush brown fur up to examine the work. He studied the edges of the pelt. Atlas, still clutching my palm, had looked away, focusing on his mother’s face. He gulped as his father shoved the gift at young-Atlas.
“He’s only twelve, Bjorn.”
The man closed the distance between himself and his son, clasping his shoulder as he pushed him toward the door. “Get out.”
“What?” young-Atlas protested, trying to tug himself from his father’s firm grasp. “It’s just a gift, Father. I don’t understand.”
“You can hunt. You can feed yourself. You can provide your own clothing and shelter. Leave now. And if you ever return, I’ll kill you.”
My gasp was smothered by his mother’s heart wrenching scream.
“Bjorn!”
When his father returned to the cabin moments after expelling his son, shoulder’s heaving as he slammed the door shut, Atlas’ mother launched herself at him, fighting and pushing and screaming to get to the door.
“Make him come back, Bjorn. You make him come back.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” he shouted, grabbing the woman by her arms and holding her away. “Stop this nonsense. He is a wolf. A good wolf. He’s started his training. He will be fine.”
She broke, crumbling to the ground. “I need him. I just need him a little longer.”
“One day, when he is a man and has a pack of his own, we will find him again. And we will see what kind of man he’s grown to be.”
“He will be nothing but hateful and broken, Bjorn. I do not choose this. I do not want this for our son.”
