The moon hung low, bleeding silver over the canyon, painting the cliffs in pale light. The red stone, so violent by day, now looked like something ancient and sacred.
Not threatening—just lonely.
I watched it a moment longer before speaking.
"Why is the moon so lonely?"
My voice cut the silence like it didn't belong, but she didn't flinch.
She gave me a look. Not quite suspicion. Not quite curiosity.
A look that said she understood loneliness too well to joke about it.
"Why?" she asked, quiet.
I poured her twenty-seventh drink—slow, deliberate. The glass caught the moonlight.
"Because the moon once had a lover."
I met her eyes.
"His name was Kuekuatsu. And they lived together in the spirit realm—wandering the stars, side by side. Every night was theirs."
I passed her the glass.
"But there was a spirit. A trickster. Jealous. Cruel in the quiet way. He wanted the moon for himself."
I stirred another drink—this one darker, inky black. I held it up, blocking the moon with the silhouette of the glass.
"The trickster told Kuekuatsu the moon wanted something. Flowers. From our world."
A beat.
"So, Kuekuatsu came to Earth. Just for her."
I downed the drink. The bitterness burned, and I let it.
"But once you leave the spirit realm, you can't go back."
She looked at me then—not blinking. Just listening.
"And so every night." I said, softer now. "Kuekuatsu looks up to the moon from the mortal relam. A realm he could never escape from. So, he howls her name. Hoping she still looks his way."
A long pause.
The wind sighed across the canyon.
Then she spoke.
"And the moon?"
"She watches. But she never answers."
Natasha looked down at her drink. The light hit her just right—red hair catching silver. Her expression unreadable. But the kind that holds too many thoughts for one face.
"Tricksters always win in stories like that."
"Only in stories that aren't finished." I leaned back in my chair. "Sometimes the ones who vanish don't stay gone forever. They just wait until they're remembered."
She didn't smile. But her eyes softened. Just slightly.
"You always tell myths when the silence gets too honest?"
"Only when I can't tell the truth outright."
She swirled her drink, slow and absent, the ice clinking like distant bells. The moon sat heavy above the canyon now—wide, full, silent. Unmoving. Unreachable.
"What of the trickster?" she asked, not looking at me. "Does he get the moon in the end?"
I stared at the reflection in her glass—slightly warped, but still whole.
"Maybe he does." I said. "Maybe he doesn't. Maybe the trick was thinking he ever could."
She tilted her head, not quite smiling.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only kind I give."
I leaned back, eyes drifting toward the night sky.
"But let's imagine." I said. "Let's say the moon sits on her throne, watching the mortal realm spin like a dying top. She sees her lover howl every night. Sees the trickster lie, again and again. Sees everything."
I looked at her now, not blinking.
"What if she isn't the one being watched?"
"What if she's the trickster?"
Natasha turned her head, just slightly. The light caught her hair, made it burn.
"You think the moon sent him away?"
"Maybe." I poured another drink. Slower this time. "Maybe she wanted to be worshiped, not loved. Maybe she needed to be mourned to be remembered."
I let the words settle between us like dust.
"Or maybe." I added. "She wanted to see what he would do when left alone. Would he forget her? Find another moon? Or keep howling until his voice became a myth of its own?"
"A myth to remember her by."
"That's cruel." she said, but not with judgment. Just observation.
"It is."
A pause.
"So is love."
She was quiet for a while. Then:
"Would you have tried to go back? If it was you?"
I considered the question, turning it in my mind like a coin.
"Maybe." I said. "If I believed she'd still be there. But once you leave a realm like that… you don't come back the same. And love doesn't wait. It watches. It changes. Sometimes it turns into legend. Sometimes into a lie."
Natasha looked down at her drink. Her voice was softer now, but it cut sharper.
"Maybe the trickster never lied. Maybe he was just honest in a way no one wanted."
I met her gaze.
"Or maybe the moon tricked herself."
A silence settled. Not empty. Heavy.
She raised her glass slowly. Her voice barely above a whisper now.
"To the ones who watched. And the ones who wandered. And the ones who stayed where no one could see them."
We drank.
And in the moon's pale light, neither of us blinked.
And she didn't walk away.
---------------
"You talk like someone who's been there." she said, her voice low as she downed her thirty-fifth drink.
"Like a man who's seen too much… and still wants to see more."
I didn't flinch.
"I've seen plenty." I said, pouring one more. "But yes—I still want to see more. Just not alone."
I stirred the drink. Watched it settle.
"The Kuekuatsu had his moon. I have just… me."
She looked at me then. Really looked.
A long pause.
"Maybe the moon wasn't the only one who tricked herself." she said, voice calm, unblinking.
She took the drink from my hand.
"Maybe you did too."
I let the words linger before answering.
"Maybe." I said. The word sat heavy in my mouth.
"Maybe I was the trickster all along. Because I knew I could never be the Kuekuatsu to my moon."
She stepped a little closer, still holding the glass.
"And maybe." I said, just above a whisper, "You were never meant to be the moon to your Kuekuatsu."
I exhaled slowly. The canyon felt colder now.
"We're all just tricksters." I murmured. "Pretending to be what we ache to become. Wearing the shape of what we lost. Hoping no one notices the seams."
I looked at her.
"Aren't we, Natasha?"
She didn't answer.
Just stared out at the moon.
She raised her glass one last time—then downed her thirty-sixth drink. The motion was slow. Final.
Then she turned and walked toward the stairs, her steps quiet, deliberate.
I watched her ascend.
"Natasha." I called softly.
She stopped. Didn't turn.
"I don't talk like someone who's been there." I said.
"I talk like someone who never left."
She stood still for a beat. Then looked back—over her shoulder, into me.
"I see you, Ranger."
Then she was gone.
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Wanted to write something different but the Trickster, moon and Kuekuatsu just fit perfectly.
And yes the story told to Wolverine.