Mimicry Vignette

The moon sang a soft lullaby to the world she could see, but not reach. Looking up to her, it wished to sing back to her, but it's eyes were too dim, the light fading and losing its tone, its harmony, becoming like a whisper on the night. It blinked its eyes, clearing the small tears forming in the winter wind. Looking around the rise upon which it had rested, waiting for a signal, another less native song to touch it and bring it into action. Sighing softly it liked the sharp canines of it's newest form, a small exhaustion laying over it. This one had been old, leaving her pack to die in he cold. But she still had life in her, and a wolf can run faster than a man, especially in the darkest months. It needed to arrive, needed the companionship of those who could speak it's native language, the Flame Tongue. The poetry of light had faded from it's memory.
Emerging from the roar of the wind, a faint wail of a different origin took form. Perking its ears, it looked around sniffing the air and glaring at the surounding woods. It called an acknowledgement in the wolf's dialect of the Predator tongue. This was not her territory and its welcome had run out. Rising on it's haunches, it began to move slowly, testing joints and pains. Sniffing the air once more it began to run.

    It was a silent meeting deep in a mountain cave. They waited, for their brethren, for signs of danger, for the time of coming home to begin. It arrived and walked slowly, limping into the cave. She had done well, carrying it for many miles and many days, but it was dying, faster and faster. It knew. After this circle, it would permit her this dignity, postponed, but not denied.
    Nearly all the company had arrived. Two human shapes on the far side of the cave huddled in their coats. A sparrow, stood bouncing from leg to leg. On the other side, a brown bear seeming half asleep lay waiting. It took its place and a brief glaowing of heat and light played over it, the eye's of its bretheren shinign brightly. "Night Fire" they said to it, in the Flame tongue. They acknowledged its presence and identiity and and returned to waiting.
    Another entered and was recieved. This one in the form of a deer, white-tailed and fleet. Moments passed and then the company accepted the evident. Monk's Candle would not be here this night, or likely any other. A breath of mourning as the cave became darker, quieter, and colder. Then the sparrow began to sing. The female human began as well, her eyes glowing blue and green, along the sparrow's deep reds and yellows. One by one, they all joined in the company sharing their birthright, from a form none still possessed.