Faith

Who: Doc
Where: Wyoming
When: Late afternoon

Impossible as it was, Doc was feeling both younger and older at the same time. Walking in solitude in the sparse, patchy surroundings, he was transported back in time on some level. Days spent like this had definitely been simpler ones; he'd found a hunt and chased it down, tipped the scales for no other reason than that he needed to. Really, Doc had been running from thinking too hard about everything he'd left behind. In stark contrast, he was immersed in what was waiting for him back home now.

He'd returned to the open countryside of Wyoming the night before, following the bits of oral history Redfoot had imparted to him once their business was at an end. What waited for the Goshute who would be a leader, Doc didn't know. He wasn't meant to. He did know that he'd been meant to find the man if only to end up here, back where he'd started. Of course, Redfoot had only known stories passed from father to son, stories that might die with him, but it was more of a lead than Doc had on his own.

He'd touched down near Mt. Mickenly under the cover of dark, studying the stars for what felt like hours as he tried to match the constellations that had been described for him, and when Doc had only managed to find two before the sun threatened to rise? He started walking. The cold was no matter, he had water, and his legs were strong enough to see this out. Or so he'd thought.

Doc had been walking for hours, selecting landmarks in passing and relaying for half a mile between each to try and create some kind of mental map. Periodically, he would stop to sit, to stretch out his senses in search of the latent power he'd sought. But even with his innate powers, he only ever felt a low thrum, something close to the invisible heartbeat Doc always felt to some degree in the world. There was some amusement inside over the revelation that eventually came, and the insight that his power got him nowhere. His eyes were what did it.

Far from where he walked along dirt and scrub brush, up at the peak of an outcrop of rock, there was a flicker of blue. It was faint, but it was there. The hue stood out against the lighter color of the sky, the form was too defined to be a trick of the mind, and after watching it for a while? Doc was sure that it had moved. He didn't rush towards it, though his pace was quickened as he walked, studying the outcrop of rock to find the angle of ascent. Sure, he could've flown, but for some reason it felt important that Doc do this as close to how Gericault had a century-plus earlier. Until the actual ritual, if there was one.

That meant controlling the temptation for the quickest way, the easiest path, or the shortcuts he knew he was afforded. Really, it meant facing his own ego in some sense. He was powerful, yes, but he'd let it get to his head. He assumed too much, carried himself above the world, and it needed to stop. So when he finally reached the sprout of rock at the base and looked up? When Doc saw that he couldn't see the hazy blue form from down here? He reminded himself of old words from his mentor, decades earlier, and began to climb.

Faith, he told himself, Humility. We do not master this world. We do not seize its' reins. We are a part of it, and for all that we may shape, we must understand the changes caused in ourselves when we do so. His teeth gritted as Doc gripped small handholds shakily, hauling himself up the face of the rocks slowly. Take pride in your actions, but do not let pride create them. Watch always, see the others around you, their paths will show you the mysteries of your own.

He nearly lost himself there, one arm straining for a lip of rock above him and making his feet shift suddenly, forcing Doc to scramble to steady himself. None of us will save this world, all of us will over reach as we try, he remembered with a smile, But we must. We must try for more than we may have, Eric. We must fall, to truly appreciate the heights we can reach. They'd been hard lessons to learn, lessons that had ended with his teacher's death, but Doc understood them more every time he came back to them. What was more, they drove him.

They certainly did in the moment, at least, as he flattened against the rocks and shimmied to a new set of footholds, gradually finishing his ascent. In all, it hadn't been much of a climb, maybe only forty feet, but the view was stunning. The path of rock angled and stacked on itself to trail out into a breathtaking expanse of the countryside Doc had been walking through for most of the day, and at the tip of that expanse? The figure was male, Doc could tell from the shoulders and the build of muscle in the arms, and it was clad in what looked like home-sewn leathers, but it was motionless. Still. And transparent like every other spirit Doc had encountered.

"Somehow I doubt this view ever gets old," he said to the spirit's back, waiting hopefully as the spirit turned to look his way over one shoulder, then back out to the landscape without a word. Did the spirit even speak English? The clothing was ancient, and the fact that the ghost lingered here suggested that maybe he'd died here. It wasn't common for the restless dead to relocate, but it was possible. Still...

"Gericault," Doc said plainly, satisfied when that tactic seemed to work. The spirit turned again, this time fully, giving Doc a look at weathered features and eyes that still looked proud as they studied him. "A strange man's name," the ghost said, and Doc could feel the switch in his mind flip as he suddenly understood the foreign language without trying, "And spoken by another strange man." Nodding, Doc took a few steps towards the ghost. "I follow his footsteps," he explained, looking out to the countryside, "I seek what he sought."

The frown that formed on the dead Goshute's face was deep and unpleasant as he regarded Doc, arms folding over his chest. "You are not the first," he was told, "But you may be the first in many seasons to find it again." That was news to Doc, and he wished he could have more details about these others, but he didn't think he'd find much. "What is your name?" Doc asked thoughtfully, wishing he could retain this language when the moment was over. It was tonal like Thai, but different in ways he couldn't explain, only react to. "One that does not matter," was the answer, "One that is forgotten. This one watches, this one waits. On the next moon's rise, the wait may end. The land stirs beneath us..."

That was troublingly vague, but Doc didn't think he'd be able to press for many answers. he had no power over spirits, and even if he did, he'd be loathe to force this one to comply. And even without detailed answers, he had something. The next moon's rise? That meant tomorrow, most likely. As much as that idea had Doc wanting to prepare in more practical senses, he wasn't going to. This was an opportunity to learn, to ask questions, to listen. And that was an opportunity he never passed up. Tomorrow... Even if he could predict the future? He wouldn't. This was the kind of surprise Doc lived for.