Buck Moon

Christmas Eve found Renesmee and I sitting in the living room, watching a disgruntled Jacob tending a fire in the never once before used hearth. Most of the guests were out for a 'night on the town'. Locals might have been off limits, but Seattle was rearing with tourists, in-laws, and the like. Father was extremely bothered by it all, but the others needed to feed. Mother dragged him out, along with Rose, Emmet, and the remaining Denali members, for some hunting out in the mountains. Carlisle and Esme would hunt tomorrow, as for the last day Carlisle had been locked within his study.

Esme was in the kitchen, preparing a steak dinner for the three of us. 'A proper holiday meal', she said. She'd left to the kitchen before seeing Renesmee's sudden change in mood. Jacob dropped before her, hand outstretched. She took it, and realization filled his eyes.

Christmas, we'd learned, was a human holiday celebrated at the peak of winter. Renesmee was fascinated with it when we'd first learned about traditions and customs. Alice had gone on and on about the decorations, festivities, and parties she'd been preparing for us. It had Renesmee enchanted, and myself by mere exposer.

So, when the time of year came around for 'fairy lights the like you've never seen before', Renesmee had wilted at the first mention of the holiday. There were no lights to be hung. No tree to be found, nor presents to prepare. There was no time. And there was no Alice.

"Well, I might not be your crazy Aunt, but," he lifted Renesmee up in one arm and I in the other, "she's," he dropped us onto the couch, "not me. And I find you don't need decorations, trees, or guys in red suits to have Christmas." He turned away and started heading towards the door, "I'll be right back."

Moments later Jacob returned, five logs in his arms.

"A fire?" I asked, when he deposited them in the hearth.

"I would make you hot cocoa, but I'm not exactly the best chef," he said, grabbing a match from the ledge. Soon enough, there was a warm glow to the room, and sounds of crackling timber filled the air. When he turned, he held something in his hand.

"The Quileute don't celebrate Christmas, but that doesn't mean we Black's aren't fond of other traditions." Jacob crouched before the two of us, surrounded by a halo of warm light. "I was going to wait until tomorrow to give you guys these, but, well," he smiled warmly at Renesmee. From his large warm hand he placed something in our little cold ones.

"Píxt'adax," Renesmee brought the little carving to her face, rotating it before her inquisitive eyes, "the Eagle. They carry the power of intuition and creativeness, and have the powers of healing and spirit." It was made out of a stone of marbled pinks, browns, greys, and whites. The eye was turquoise. "Guardian of the sky."

"Báyaḳ," a little carving dropped in my palm, "the Raven. Clever, representing of magic and transformation." The stone was pitch black, so much so it was hard to see the lines and details in the carving. It also had a turquoise eye, but then had a red bead placed within the open beak, "The Raven helps guide us through the darkest of times."

"Thank you," I whispered, my fingers sliding over the smooth polished wings, feeling out the grooves I couldn't see.

. . .

Dinner was a strange event. Jacob and Renesmee's steaks couldn't have been more polar opposites of each other. The raw uncooked bloody piece of meat my twin requested next to the very very well done piece Jacob had demanded was comical. I sat at the far end of the dining table, enjoying my medium rare piece.

"For someone who doesn't like animal, you sure do enjoy it," Jacob commented as I devoured my portion.

"Cooked, Jake, cooked," I said, pointedly looking at my counter part, cheeks smeared with fat and blood. He glanced down at her himself, eyes turned wary. "So, Esme, what's grandpa vampire got going that's had him locked up for two days?" The sudden change of subject wasn't lost on me, as it was my sister who was happily licking her fingers clean. I grimaced, remembering a limp fawn and pink fluid spilling across the ground.

"Carlisle has been looking into old tomes he… collected, during his time at Voltaire," she said, slipping into the seat beside me. A hand found its way to my shoulder. A comforting touch. I looked up into kind knowing eyes.

"Collected?" Jacob asked. Esme gave him a pointed look. He put his hands up in serenader and continued eating.

"What kind of tomes?" I asked. Esme gave the back of my neck a few good rubs as she thought, eyes flicking over unseen things. Eventually her hand fell away, and her eyes returned to me.

"Documents, of past trials, discoveries, anything that could give us a clue as to how things might play out," she said, "There are times that the Volturi didn't answer to calls, ones involving immortal children. They let the others handle it. It was only in cases where the situations got out of hand that they sent members of the guard out."

"But Alice," I hesitated when Esme cringed, "said that they are all coming. The kings with their entire guard. Why?"

"There is a reason behind everything the Volturi do, Elizabeth," said Carlisle, who was in the doorway. Esme stood up instantly, eyes questioning. He shook his head, and Esme sighed. Renesmee flew into his arms, hands upon his face sending comforting thoughts as she tends to do when anyone is discouraged. He smiled softly at my sister, but his eyes did not match the sentiment. That changed, though, when he took a hefty sniff.

"You, need a bath," Carlisle laughed, pulling her sticky hands away. Her chime like giggle tinkled in the air. A bloody stamp of Renesmee's hand was left behind as Esme took her upstairs. Once the pair was out, Carlisle's demeanor changed. If he seemed discouraged before, he was purely crestfallen now. Jacob, sensing this, pulled a chair out for him, which he gladly fell into.

"I've asked Eleazar to retrieve some of his journals. He was there first hand for many of these councils, and will be able to tell me more than any of my second hand accounts," Carlisle said, rubbing his temples with his forefingers.

"You're not confident," Jacob pointed out. Carlisle shook his head, and sagged his shoulders with a heavy sigh.

"Eleazar's journals?" I asked. Carlisle glanced up at me, brow drawn down.

"Eleazar had been part of the Volturi for many years before I joined the council in eighteen forty. It wasn't long after I left that Eleazar split ways with the kings himself. I think he saw through me a way of living he hadn't thought possible, but he's never told me as much. Like myself, Eleazar wrote down events and journaled his experiences to keep track of his life."

"So, Eleazar was on the council with you?" I asked.

"No, he was part of the guard." Carlisle said, "A tiered system. The council was used for advice, commune, but the guard are the Volturi's hands. They answer directly to the kings. Each level of the guard has different responsibilities, and different authorities over the others. A complicated system. Eleazar might tell you about it, one day, if you ask it of him." If there was even a 'one day' to speak of. As if sensing my thoughts, he gave me a look. I nodded in acceptance. No more questions tonight.

Jacob opened his mouth, to say or ask a question I don't know, when a howl broke through the quiet of the night. He cursed under his breath, tousled the hair atop my head, and ran out the door. The next moment, Carlisle picking up my empty plate. He flitted out of the room, the sound of the faucet turning on the only inclination of where he'd gone. I sighed.

Soon enough I made my way to the garden. Esme found me later. She showed me how to care for plants during the colder season. For the rest of the evening I was kept busy clearing debris, cutting back blackened stems and foliage, and clearing the annual areas that would be tilled at the end of the season, and replanted from the seeds I'd helped Esme gather when she'd first shown me the garden. That had been two months prior. My hands, which held a dozen broken and dead stems each, could barely hold a leaf then.

Of the plants not dead, or 'sleeping', I enjoyed the witch hazel the most. It's sunset colored sprouts had crinkled paper mache like petals hung in the air just out of my fingers reach.

"You are closer today than you were yesterday," Renesmee said from behind me. I slowly dropped my arm, and felt my hand taken in by another. Maybe tomorrow you will be able to pluck one, she thought. My brows scrunched together. I didn't like that idea.

"No," I said. Surprise and confusion tickled the back of my mind.

You do not like the flowers?

"No, I do."

But you won't take one when you can?

"I won't take one because I like them," I said. The confusion stayed, but curiosity came behind it. She didn't understand. If it was pretty, and I liked it, why not take it with me where I could keep looking at it? A sadness filled my mind.

The image of the bud closest to us came up behind the lids of my eyes. The bud fell, and as is drifted to the ground, began to shrivel and loose its color until it was an ugly brown. Renesmee pulled her hand from mine.

"What happened?" I asked. Renesmee shook her head, as if clearing it of something, and returned her hand to mine. I think, you don't need to pluck the flower to enjoy it, she thought. We stayed out to enjoy the witch hazel a bit longer. When Jacob returned, a few pack members behind him, Renesmee gave her goodbyes before running back to the house. Others were returning from their hunting as well, if the sudden collective of voices from within the house was anything to go by.

I turned back eventually, after enjoying the silence outside until so many returned that the noise was no longer ignorable. With a wistful glance I left my plants behind. Most of the house had gathered in the dining room, going over what Carlisle had discovered, as well as whatever it was the pack had come to say. I wondered onto the porch, where only two occupants resided.

"Here to enjoy the night, Suflețel?" Stephan asked. Neither of them turned, so I felt compelled to move forward. I joined the two at the railing, which was at least a foot taller than me.

"I believe, fratele meu, she enjoyed what she could," Vladimir said, eyes glancing down at me. His eyes were brighter than before, like mine after Carlisle slipped me a blood bag when the headaches became to much. I attempted a smile, looking out where only a tint of orange could be made out within the brush below. "No need for falsities, Suflețel. We know," he said while glancing back behind him. I tensed for a moment, and forced my face to relax into a true frown. Vladimir 'hmmd' in acceptance. Voices rose from within. Jacob was trying to convince Father to let all of the pack be involved. Again. My frown deepened.

"Why bring them at all?" A voice broke above the others. His accent, I couldn't recognize, but it was unmistakable. Amun, the leader of the olive skinned group who'd arrived along with Carlisle upon his return. He was one of the few who'd refused to see Renesmee's thoughts. "You know how Caius will respond to them-"

"And how will he respond? Let the rest of us know," someone else, female, cut in. Irish possibly?

"Badly," Amun said. A grown of aggravation followed. "They are similar to the Children of the Moon-"

"But we aren't!" Jacob cried.

"Do not interrupt me, boy." Amun's voice grew dark. Jacob's smell rushed through the air, potent. The air grew tense. I could hear Mother trying to hush him. The smell lessened. When all seemed 'calm', Amun continued, "Moon Children, or not, you are wolves. He will react the same."

"But Aro already knows about them, through Edward and A-," Mother's voice cut off awkwardly. "He knows." She stated.

"But most who came here did not, young Bella," A voice said, which piqued my interests. Eleazar was back, and I assumed, he came with his notes. "The Volturi have not made these shapeshifter kind known. Are you sure Aro spoke his knowledge to those around him? I'm sure he did not confront you or your family about them, when given the chance." Mummers followed this.

"You believe he will play ignorant," Carlisle said. His voice sounded coarse. Tired. "That's a hefty assumption, my friend."

"And what do we have, but assumptions, Carlisle?" Amun's voice grew angered, loud. "I know, from experience, that he can get away with it, and will continue to do so unless we assume such, and find a way to work with it," was all Amun said.

"Ah, Amun," breathed Vladimir softly, pulling my attention from the continued conversation in the house, "he has plans of his own."

"Vladimir?" I questioned, hoping he would elaborate. He did not. "Do you mean, like you?"

"Like me?" Vladimir volleyed, humor in his voice. My cheeks grew heated, unsure what was funny. "No, Suflețel, like many here." Movement behind him caught my eye.

Stefan lift's his finger, just reaching beyond the shadow of the roof. It's tip sparkled in the moonlight, exaggerating the gesture. I followed the line of the bright digit to a figure in the trees. Curled up on a branch, tucked against the trunk, Alistair was violently sketching into a leather bound book. After a few moments he brought the pencil between his fingers and whittled the end between his nails, sharpening it, and began to sketch anew.

From the distance I could still make out the graphite covering the pads of his fingers, and smeared on his palms. When his body jerked with a wide motion, his bangs would swing forward and reveal dark prints on his stubbly cheek.

"Such feeling," drawled Vladimir, turning his head to his brother.

"For one they think more stone than even us," Stefan finished, turning his head also. The two chuckled. I rolled my eyes at their antics, but didn't dismiss what they were saying. It was true that most gathered at the house weren't very fond of the estranged nomad. Carlisle's friend, Alistair, was an enigma.

From time to time Renesmee or I would notice him watching from the tree line as the others trained in the glade. By the time my sister or I would turn back after telling the other, he would disappear.

When Alistair first appeared he had refused to even step close to Renesmee. He'd glared at her little outreached hand as if it were poisonous, told Carlisle he would stay, and retreated to somewhere on the property.

His quick dismissal had wounded Renesmee. It was in that that he'd quickly earned our parents ire, though not ours. Renesmee was indifferent about the strange man, and I'd been mildly curious.

"And here I thought he sat in the attic mumbling to himself in a dark corner all day," I commented. Vladimir snorted.

"Te duce cu presul," he muttered. I glanced at Stefan.

"There is more to this one than eyes see, Suflețel," Stefan said, looking once again towards the tree line. I turned. The branch was empty.