Wherever you are, Be There

The ambush came at Wyrding Pass, of course. Why hadn’t she seen it coming? So obvious in retrospect. One moment, her honour guard was casually riding behind her, keeping their distance as Vanya liked them to, allowing her to converse privately with Aagon. She could take care of herself, after all! She and Aagon were the perfect team. The next moment, arrows were raining down and her honour guard were sounding the alarm. And everything turned to fire and shouting, falling rocks and clenched teeth, and then the blood.

It had been such a nice day. Wyrding Pass was near the south end of their lands of course, but still considered quite safe. Just a routine mission to the southern outpost, to shore up the morale. The silly southern J’eng Nation had been rattling their sabres again, making troop movements out on the southern Arnashi Plains. The perfect place to put on a show and raise some dust. Her own northern land of Shush Glorious Nation was far too strong to take such displays seriously, especially with deadly teams like her and Aagon fighting for Shush Glorious. But the common soldier at the southern outpost could use the morale boost, and those J’eng snakes could use the reminder. Which was why there were headed here. If J’eng wanted to march about and make noise, then she and Aagon would ride down with an elite fighting force of Shush Lions and roar at them. 

Aagon paced along, his soft speech rolling gently for her ears alone. When a pair such as they bonded, the conversations tended to stretch on for days. Aagon was telling her again of the way the rocks spoke to him, and she replied of the way fire called her name. A silly game maybe, comparing the solid dependable nature of stone and the surprising quickness of fire. Aagon’s crooked teeth made some of the consonants of his speech hard to decipher, but Vanya had been with him for more than a decade and a half now, and his voice was more familiar than her own. Every other pair in the Corp seemed younger these days, and she realized with a start that they must be the oldest now, after Shelia and Eeror had fallen last season. Another year, another bloody border fight between Shush and J’eng. Vanya thought uncomfortably of all the fire mages she had known, and how few were left alive. Were those J’eng snakes getting better at killing her kind off?  She shuddered, and lost herself in Aagon’s low rumbling voice. He soothed her like no one else. 

When she slept poorly, waking up from the inevitable combat soaked dreams, shaking and crying, she could feel the solid warmth of Aagon’s body beside her, hear his gentle words, his massive breaths. If she slipped up in the fog of sleep and her fire magic sparked out, his rough hide always deflected it. Aagon was her rock, and not just because of his own magic, charming the earth and tumbling boulders. He had been through it all with her, since her first blood, and since his hatching. Since the moment he rested his softly scaled head in her outstretched hands, and she met the dark depths of his softly shimmering eyes. In that moment, a bond had snapped into being, and their combined magics had joined them. Until death. 

Please. Let that not be today. 

Vanya and Aagon’s Honour Guard shouted as the first arrows rained down on the Shush Lion battle group. They kicked their specially trained horses up next to Aagon’s massive scaled body, one to each side. The red plumes on their helmets fluttered as they set their armoured bodies and shields between Vanya’s fragile human body where she sat astride Aagon and the incoming arrows. Exactly as they were trained. She heard one man grunt softly as an arrow slammed into a delicate elbow joint, but his shield barely wavered. They raised the oversized shields up, even as Vanya slapped her bare hand on the warm dragon’s shoulder just in front of where her legs gripped Aagon’s powerful torso. This is where the fire mage and earth dragon pair were vulnerable, when taken by surprise. Which was no doubt exactly why the J’eng swine had planned it this way. 

Vanya shut her eyes, falling back on her training. Her fire magic leapt to her hand, eager. She quested for the unmovable presence of Aagon’s magic. Gently, gently… there it was! Like two tails intertwining, their magic clasped. Strong, reassuring. The best thing in her life. The only thing in her life…. she lost the thought as she dropped into the bond.

Aagon threw his head up and roared, massive ribs swelling and flexing with the rush of power. Her mind and his mind, together. There was no spot she ended and he began. They were one. They were rocks and fire. They were power incarnate.

They could see the Honour Guard falling back now, their most important duty complete. The arrows were still coming down, but could not hide the men pouring into the ravine from the low side and the near end. Before them, they saw a rock slide had conveniently blocked the ravine, dust still settling. Silly J’eng, did they not know who they had caught? Vanya/Aaron let their tongue loll out, neatly avoiding sharp fangs. This would be fun, it had been far too long. They dashed toward the rear group of ambushers, all four eyes looking together, and flashing in the daylight. The J’eng archers shot at them, but fire consumed their arrows, and stones rolled out of their way. Vanya/Aagon leapt into the air, and landed with the force of a hillside. The archers who weren’t crushed outright were thrown off their feet. The dragon’s head and the woman’s head swept around the fallen men, moving in synchronicity.   A quick grin flashed on the human lips, a tongue lolled out the dragon mouth. They closed their eyes even as fire lashed out from the woman’s form, burning out the eyes of all within their range. They opened their eyes and were pleased to see an officer clawing at his face. Silly sod must’ve thought he was out of range, but a fire mage bonded to an earth dragon had a surprising range, when folded into each other. 

Dragon and woman lifted heads and cried out. Then, they leapt up the hillside to engage the attackers from the low side. Their claws flashed out, their tail swept its spiny length. Fire flashed and rocks fell. Blood flowed. 

In short order, the enemy was in retreat. It appeared to be quite the hasty one, with stragglers fleeing over the hill. Vanya/Aagon caught sight of a captain, surrounded by his own honour gaurd disappearing over the top of the rock pile they had penned the Shush Lions in the pass with. Vanya/Aagon laughed, and leapt halfway up the rocky slope, the treacherous loose boulders suddenly becoming stable when the dragon’s claws touched it. They made two more hops to the top of the rock pile, and saw the captain nearly at the bottom. The J’eng snakes must’ve fallen in their haste to get away! Vanya/Aagon coughed a draconic laugh and leapt grandly out, towards the scrambling captain. 

Thwack!

They shuddered in the air, pain lancing their side. What was this? How did the fire not defend them? They staggered in midair, landing poorly and rolling. Vanya felt herself torn loose from Aagon’s back, and fetch up against a rock with a painful thump. She dazedly rolled to her side, and beheld a horrifying sight. There, Aagon was staggering to his feet, the massive shaft of a red arrow protruding from his side. Right in the soft spot behind his front leg, right in the vitals. Even as she watched, stunned and horrified, another arrow sped into his ribs, striking not as deeply. Aagon roared his pain, and swept his tail around. The sharp spines minced the J’eng honour guard, and swept the captain down. Vanya heard bones snap. She staggered to her feet. Her own Honour Guard was calling from the top of the rock fall, but she had eyes only for Aagon. The dragon was groaning in pain, and staggering towards her. They had to be together again. 

Just as Vanya made it to his side, she heard the Honour Guard call out in clear alarm. She looked, but Aagon was faster. He always had been. Aagon shouldered her aside, half rearing up. Thwack! Another thick shafted red arrow sprouted from his chest. Vanya cried out. Aagon groaned and slumped to his haunch, leaning into her. Vanya slapped her hand to his neck, and her eyes flashed up. Looking to where the arrow had come from. There, a woman stood, manning a huge cranking bow. They could see two more hidden in the trees next tot he rock pile. A trap within a trap! The woman was hurriedly ratcheting back the heavy string again. Fire licked her fingertips as she worked. Vanya felt her lip curl. A rogue! 

Vanya groped for Aagon. He was shaky, but she felt his mind rise up, folding with hers again. They looked towards the rogue fire mage, and Vanya screamed. How dare she shoot them down?!? They threw power at her, fire exploding behind rock, all their hurt and rage lashing out. Vanya distantly heard Aagon gasp. The rock he had summoned flung forward on her column of fire, and obliterated the woman’s sweaty face. Her body collapsed. Vanya felt a small thrill of satisfaction, and felt around to share it with Aagon. But the dragon had dropped out of the mind fold. He lay panting on the ground beside her. Vanya looked down at her friend. The arrow in his side was in deep. She dropped to her knees. Her hands patted at his ferocious spines, helpless to stop the pain. They were born for war, after all. Not healing.

“Shhh shhh my heart, lay still and all shall be well.” Vanya gasped out in a rough voice.

Aaron groaned, and replied “You… are here…. at the end…. with me….”

“Hush, shh. It will be well, you’ll see. The healers will get the arrows out.” She soothed.

“You know…. as well as I do… that arrow hit the vitals.” Aagon panted. “You know… what happens to dragons…. when the gut is pierced. It is a… bad end.” He rolled his eyes up to her, and she could not look away, could not lie. They both knew he was gut-hit. Dragons did not survive that sort of blow. There had been many attempts, but the fearsome stomach acid of the dragon’s digestive system would eat through any stitches, burn through any gauze. His body would literally consume itself from the inside, and it would take weeks. Dragons pled for death before the end. Even the young ones who thought they would recover. Vanya and Aagon were no longer young. Not by a long shot, by warrior standards.

Tears flowed from the dragon’s eye, looking up at her.

“Please…..” He panted. “You know…. what must be done. I would have…. no other…”

Vanya shook her head, but her tears would not flow. She knew. They had been together, then knew each other’s minds intimately. She knew he would count her freeing him from this pain as the greatest blessing. She feared more for herself…. In the afterwards. 

Aagon sighed a breath out, knowing her thoughts.  “I will always… be with you, my little… tiger lily.” He whispered to her, and she felt the warm burn of his all encompassing love. For the last time.

Vanya stood. She drew her sword, so clean and shiny. Vanya placed the tip at Aagon’s soft temple, just behind the sculpted eye ridge. Aagon looked up at her one last time, and sighed out, closing his eyes. Vanya pressed down on the hilt of her sword. The last touch of his mind flowed out from her, and he was gone. Utterly. Vanya stood, empty. 

They had both died in this place, she knew. Her Honour Guard stood back respectfully, but they now guarded an empty body. She had gone with Aagon, flown free to the stars. Perhaps to beyond. Her heart was gone. 

An online writing forum I like to visit offered this prompt to its aspiring writers:

Time freezes around you. Once a year has passed, it unfreezes. All around the world is gripped by mass hysteria of the messages you left.

Here is the story that inspired: It’s about a cat.

When I ran into a car, I knew something was wrong.

I pulled my nose out of my book, and looked around. The car was on the sidewalk right in front of me. I started to apologize to the guy driving it, but he ignored me. Not even a look. Ok, maybe he isn’t keen I hit his car, even so gently. I walked around it, got back on the sidewalk, and kept going. I glanced behind myself a couple times, but didn’t start reading again. The guy in the car just sat there, not moving. Weird. Oh well, I saw enough weirdness everyday in my dead-end job, I didn’t need to invite any more. You get the oddest people in a 24 hr grocery store. Don’t even get me started on the deli customers. The walk back to my modest apartment was my chance to read, to escape from the real world I found myself in, and to go and adventure with the kind and compassionate characters out of someone else’s imagination.

Other odd things began to catch my eye. The kids just leaning against the basketball court fence. The woman crouched down to pick up dog poop, bag wrapped hand extended and… not moving. The dog blankly stared down the street, not reacting as I got closer. Now that was odd. Dogs usually hated me, barking or running. Even dogs who the owners swore were quite well behaved. I edged past the frozen pair, and began to pick up my pace. A heavy feeling began settling on my shoulders. Dread.

Everywhere I went, no movement. I jogged along, my head turned side to side, scanning for movement. For anything. Nothing. It was all frozen in time. The dread got its claws into me, and was gnawing on my thoughts. This can’t be real life. I must’ve been dreaming. Surely.

By the time I got home, I was running. I dashed up the stairs to my apartment, edged past Mrs. Hicks, frozen on the stairs. I shoved and pushed open my apartment door, and ran into the main room. My eyes found Ashes on her cat perch in the sun, as usual. She was curled up asleep, soft grey fur lit by the golden rays. Her little whiskers stuck up in the air. I crept towards her, hands trembling. I reached out, and called her name, voice trembling. Nothing. My happy little rescue kitty who always came running when I called her name, came and tickled my face with her sweet little whiskers, my little reason for living…. Ashes didn’t move. My hand settled on her fur, and I felt the stiff resistance it had never before held. I pressed down, and her fur very slowly deformed to the pressure of my hand.

I collapsed to the floor, dread blossoming into the all too familiar despair. But this time, Ashes wasn’t about to come running to chase back the depression with her little mews and gentle persistent headbutts. It washed over me, and I drowned in blackness.

Time passed. I can’t tell you how much. I spend a few days in my apartment after I woke up again, staring at Ashes. Please, any moment now, please Ashes, just sigh and roll over in your sleep.

She didn’t.

After that, I wandered. I found the rest of the world frozen in time, nothing moving, no one breathing. Doors turned out to be a sudden inconvenience. I could open them, but it took at least two minutes, as I gently but constantly tried to turn the handle and  pushed against it. The few times I got frustrated or truly scared, I could shove the door open with a massive effort, but I was dizzy afterwards, and sometimes blacked out. When I woke up, nothing was different anyways. Who knew how long I was out for.

First I tried cutting myself. Getting a razor blade off the store shelf was an arduous task, but once it was in my hand and no longer touching the shelf, I was able to slice the skin of my thigh fairly easily. The familiar sting was comforting, in its own way. I watched the blood drip, and fall into the air. Then, the blood drops slowed, falling slower and slower…. before hitting the floor in the slowest of splats. I was horrified by the reminder of my situation, and dropped the razor. It didn’t seem worth the effort of picking up again.

Next, my feet took me to a hardware store, and the paint section. Fortunately, someone had been in the middle of walking out of the automatic sliding doors, so they were open. I had discovered that I couldn’t open the sliding doors, no matter how long I pried against them. Whole stores were closed to me, with their slick doors holding their air conditioned interiors safe from my silent creeping. I was a wraith in this world. Trapped in a fog of my own thoughts. My meds had been good enough to keep the black thoughts at bay for so long, but now it was as if it had all come true; I was a ghost moving through the world, haunting the living. People looked right through me, eyes not registering my presence. Depression made manifest, after hunting me all these years. It was inevitable, I thought, the fog settling around my thoughts at long last. And this time, no therapist was there to throw me a lifeline of proper medication. And Ashes….. I sobbed, standing in front of the spray paint.

It started simply enough. A few charges on my record of trespassing and vandalism told the story of my younger years. Graffiti had been my escape, striking out at a cold world that didn’t care, and a system that seemed designed to crush my young spirit. But the minor penalties of juvenile crimes hadn’t prepared me for the slap of the law when I finally turned 18 and still hadn’t mended my spray painting ways. It had only been my court ordered therapist who had taken the time to actually care and listen to me, as I spilled out my pain. A few rounds of different medication, and I had finally settled into a reasonably responsible adulthood. I had finally found a job that would look past the criminal charges on my record and give me a chance. And I had finally found my reason, when I had stared into the eyes of that little ball of grey fluff, in the humane society adoption centre.

Ashes… my mind replayed her little pouncing games with string, as she grew into my loving kitty companion. My hand traced out her face, arm swinging in long arcs. Ears, whiskers…. her face on the side of the building. What building, I had no idea. I didn’t remember walking here. But that didn’t matter. I had my recently acquired backpack full of laboriously liberated spray paint cans. And here I had my canvas. Time passed, it didn’t matter how much. It was only passing for me, anyways.

Eventually, I stepped back, and admired my work. Words writ large, and Ashes looked back at me, eyes soft on the cold brick wall. I smiled at my artwork. Big grin… then my lip trembled. Stinging eyes, and a tear coursed down my cheek. I collapsed to the uncaring pavement and wept. Oh, my Ashes….

Life became a series of snapshots of memory. I found myself in front of another brick wall. There before me was scribbled words of loneliness, and the hint of a feline ear, the glint of a golden eye in the darkness. Next, the side of an overpass, and it was her graceful tail underlining another heart wrenching line of solitude. I didn’t remember writing that. It looked like poetry. Maybe I had read it somewhere? I fondly recalled sitting in my cozy apartment, in the sun. I loved to read, and Ashes loved to curl up beside me as I read. Sometimes, I would read her some poetry aloud. She would watch me intently, swivelling her perfectly sculpted ears to catch each word I said. Ashes saw me, and listened to me.

I wept.

Another vast glass wall. Some expensive financial building downtown. Who cares anymore? Money doesn’t mean anything when I can stroll into the grocery stores and slowly pull fruit off the shelves. It is always perfectly ripe, and delicious to eat once I can finally pick it up. No one is here to stop me. No one sees me. Eating is just so hard to care about however. It has been a little while since I ate, hasn’t it? Surely not a long while…. oh well, it doesn’t matter. I discarded the troublesome thought, and bend my focus back to the glass wall. There had been scaffolding here, something in the process of being taken down. I used it to scramble all over the glass surface, reaching new heights with my spray paint. The grey fur came out in wonderful detail, her lovely eyes glowing with a depth of feeling. I had spent so long staring into those eyes.

A memory, is it? I was on the phone, so it must be a memory. I was laying on the floor, peering into Ashes face. She was sick, I had been terrified. The vet assured me the pills would help, and just to keep her warm. I had lain on the floor with her all night. When the thoughts had gotten bad, I called my therapist. I knew how great a privilege it was to have her cell number, and used it very sparingly. She had talked me through a bad few moments. I was terrified, what if Ashes died? Then it struck me, what if I died? What if Ashes was left alone? I had been near inconsolable at the thought. My therapist had talked me down, and finally she had stepped beyond her professional duty, and promised me that if anything happened to me, she herself would step in and make sure Ashes was taken care of, give her a home. With this reassurance, I held my vigil over Ashes the rest of the night.  In the morning, the cat had finally gotten up and made her way to her water dish. She had weakly lapped some water, and then come back to lay beside me, curled up against my stomach. I had wept gently with relief. Ashes got better.

I put all the love I had for that little grey form in my art. The paint spread over the glass, her fur whisper fine. I had actual paints now, and so I took my paintbrushes to add in those fine little whiskers. There was something the matter with my hand however. Usually I was able to trace the whiskers so well, but today my hand trembled, and the whisker smeared. I frowned to myself, and wiped away the paint. I was momentarily distracted by the sight of my skinny wrist. Were those my bones, pressed against the taunt skin? How odd. How irrelevant. I forced my weak legs to stand, and reached up to finish the final whisker.

This one was surely my best yet. There was Ashes, looking back at me in glorious detail. The scribbled message of compassion and loneliness below the portrait set her up perfectly. Her eyes, so warm. I grinned, and stepped back to view the masterpiece. Stepped back, and sagged down. Whew, I must have been standing for longer than I thought. My legs were just so weak. Maybe I had some fruit in my bag? No, I had eaten the last of my stash… oh, a while ago. It didn’t matter. Only the art mattered. Only the words of comparison for animals everywhere, and the message of loneliness slain by their soft unconditional love.

So tired. Maybe I would just have a little nap, and then go find some more paint, some food.

I sagged into the ground, my eyes filled with the beautiful sight of Ashes, compassion shining from her eyes. She would like the message, I thought. Kindness and compassion…. My thoughts slowed, muzzy and wandering. My head sprawled backwards, propped on my bag so I could rest and fill my eyes. My chest felt so heavy.

Maybe just a rest….

Maybe…. just let that last breath go, and why bother to take a new one?

As my starved heart fluttered and clattered to a halt, my fading eyes filled with the sight of Ashes.

I’ll wait for you, beside the rainbow bridge…. I thought.

Then….. I. Just. Stopped.

A writing forum I like to visit offered this image prompt to its aspiring writers:

You saw the dog lying outside of town, where the witches were buried.

– Image property of Jenna Barton

My story:

Everyone in the small sleepy town knew the legend. Witches! Fearful women twisted by power terrorizing the town, put to death by the brave Christians and buried in the cold ground near Breyer’s Bend. A lonely stretch of road, curving away out of town, past the tumbled remains of Breyer’s farmstead. Maybe once it was a tidy little farmhouse, but by then it was just a caved in timber roof, sagging over piled stone walls. Surely the witch must’ve lived there! Brave kids us, we used to dare each other to race across the overgrown pasture and touch the walls of the broken down farm. Thrilling as a child. Just imagine what could lurk in those shadowy walls! What’s that under that bush? Reaching out and brushing trembling fingers across the stone, fingertips gone rosy with cold and dread. Then we would run away again, shrieking in joy at our own daring. Our imaginations supplying the dangers we had just narrowly avoided. We would race away from the sinister shadows, down the lane. Calling out the life beating in our chests.

Brave children, tumbling down the road, laughing and pinching each other.

Brave children, long gone now.

Once, I had an imagination. Shadows could hold evil spirits. Those howls I heard in the night were dire wolves, circling our sleepy village. Intent on marauding. Trolls lived under the bridges, and if I crept through the forests quietly enough, I just might stumble on a unicorn, ready to be tamed and to carry me away from this small town.

I admit, I held on to that small comforting fantasy far longer than I should have, keeping myself “pure” so that one day I might be found worthy by a unicorn. When the other girls were sashaying about and batting their eyelids at boys, I just could never find one that would measure up to my imagined unicorn; never felt any attraction that justified the risk of being found lacking by a mythical beast. My mother would tease me, tell me I had one foot in faerieland, and my head in the clouds.

Then the real world happened, and my imagined mythical companions and hopes all drained away. I traded my unicorn away, bit by bit, bargained that dream away for security and happiness and the idea of being a good productive city dweller. A nice car and a mostly reasonable mortgage, and a respectable seat on the volunteer board. Well, these things must happen, after all. One must grow up, move out, and settle down with a nice respectable life. Oh, there were good tradeoffs however. Meeting the right someone, settling down, building a small urban life together. Someone with smooth hands who had never known a tumbled down farmhouse, never fallen out of a tree and broken her collarbone, never run with the neighbour’s half-wild dog that everyone else was afraid of, yet was gentle as a lamb to you. I had been a rough and unpolished rural woman, trying to make her way in the Big City. She was the sophisticated urbanite, with the perfect nails and the sleek hair. Our friends joked that we had to be together, to balance each other out. She loved me for the dash of irreverent joy I wore like a fine perfume. I loved her for her social graces and easy conversation. She grew me tigerlilies on our balcony flower boxes, to remind me of my childhood woods. I had kneaded her sore feet, tight from being crammed into the work heels she wore, the ones that were just a little saucy for the boardroom, but her subordinates never cared. She had that effect on people. You couldn’t help but admire her smooth determination to succeed, and love her a little bit for the compassion and charm she exuded while doing it.

I had been so happy. We had been so happy.

I had the gift of those years, and even better, I knew they were the good times, while they were happening. I had traded in my uncouth edges and daydreams, and supported my love in her career. Every day I had thought how good I had it, and how glad I was to have found the one I resonate with. Sure, I had walked away from the forest and only sometimes thought of it, but that’s just because life was so good. Somehow, I couldn’t imagine telling my younger self what I had become. Gone was the unicorn rider, she who dares to touch witches houses. Gone was the wild girl, creeping thru the forest looking for dire wolf puppies to raise.

And yet….

Here I was.

Walking the quiet lanes around my childhood village in the pre-dawn light. I didn’t sleep very well any more. She was gone now. No more lazy Sunday mornings, waking up in each other’s arms. No more cozy dinners in our condo. My condo only, now. Really, the mornings had been my favourite. Slowly stirring, the golden sunlight streaming into our condo, through the big windows that led to the balcony. I would cherish the gentle times, the faint scent of lilies….

But that is all gone, now. Snatched away in a squeal of brakes and the crumple of metal. The place is empty without her, the joy in the sunlight gone. I had tried to stay strong, to grieve and move on. But the once delicious food was as ash in my mouth now, and my eyes only saw shades of grey. I had been struggling on, outwardly doing alright. There had been a few concerned friends, but I had pushed them away. I was ok, dammit, I would be fine. I would eat, though it was tasteless, and sleep, though it was restless. A shambling semblance of the life I used to have.

Then one day, the lilies died too. My fault, overwatered them.

And that was it. And then it seemed life could not go on for me, either. And a quiet death by pills seemed the least burdensome way to escape it all. But my friends had known me better than I knew myself, it seemed. It had been one of her best friends whose turn it had been to check in on me that night. When I didn’t answer the texts, and my last social media post had been a picture of the wilting flowers two days ago, they knew something was wrong. She got in with a spare key my love had given her, and found me on the bathroom floor. I remember a slap. Someone yelling that I would not dare leave them as well, dammit, not me too! A flurry of phone calls and a trip to the ER later, I was chastened. I couldn’t even escape this pain by following my heart into darkness and death. I saw the pain I caused all around me.

So here I was. Back in my childhood home, searching for unicorns again. But that was an innocence ago, before I knew what loss and regret were. Unicorns don’t feel regret, after all. And neither do unicorn riders. So there was just me, walking in the damp morning, dragging my feet in the yellow brittle grass. All the loss in my heart, all the grief for one who is gone.

The grass whispers. The wind is slight, barely moving the vegetation. The fog swirls. I drag my eyes upwards, and find myself back at Breyer’s Bend. The farmhouse is even more dilapidated than I recall. Just like me, a broken down thing left behind. My thoughts stain the world around me. I struggle to hold back the grief, deny it, and move forward. Darkness on the edge of my vision. I stand in the lane, near where the witches lie. Small dark motes drift up beside me, swirling around in the slight breeze. They dance on my skin. What’s this? I stare at my arm, dully amazed. The dark motes drift upwards, brushing against my temple, wreathing my head. Pressure! Sound! A sudden pounding comes to my head, like great wings are all around me, beating about my ears. Then, with a snap, the drowning weight of grief falls on me, and tears stream down my face. The feeling of loss curls outward from my body, and I see the small black motes twinkle darkly, spinning away and down. I follow the trail of darkness with my eyes, and am somehow not startled by the lean dog shape laying sphinx-like on the shoulder of the road. A dog? No. Perhaps a lean wolf, shorthaired like it comes from a warm place. The dark motes swirl out from her head and shoulders. Her? Yes. Brilliantly glowing eyes pierce into me. Her head tilts to the side, ever so slightly.

*You come seeking death?* Her voice purrs into my mind, all low sibilant sounds and crushed velvet warmth.

Dumbly, I shake my head. One of her finely sculpted ears flicks backwards, then pivots to face me again.

*Ahh, you know death. You loved, and dared, and gave your heart to the safekeeping of another. You have felt and lived. And you have lost.*

I nodded, the tears slowly tracking down my cheeks.

She stood up, lifting one elegant paw and placing it closer to me. I see her soot black claws dig slightly into the sandy lane. She takes another graceful step towards me. The nose flares once, twice, scenting me.

*You are angry that she has left you.*

I stumble back a step, shaking my head in mute denial. The dark canine paces towards me, delicate, implacable. Her glowing eyes catch me in their intensity, and I feel my feeble protestations burned away. My hands lift trembling to my mouth of their own will. I tumble to my knees on the rocky damp ground, and the sobs tear free, wracking my body. Yes! Why had she left me?? She was my entire world, the shining star in my life. She burned brightly and dared greatly, and she achieved what she set out to do. I was the supporter, the nurturer. I made the meals, and made sure the bills got paid on time. She was the brilliantly burning one, why did she have to be gone!? The hurt poured out of my mouth, wordless wails of a festering pain cut free at last. I sobbed for the light of my love, snuffed out and gone. Leaving me, oh so alone.

Eventually, my sobs trail off to infrequent hiccups. I scrub my face with my hands, heedless of the grit embedded in my knuckles. When had I fallen to kneel over on the road? With the tears pushed out of my eyes, I could once again make out the inky black shape of the wolf. She sits at my back, staring out over me, looking down the road. So intent was her gaze, I glance that way as well. The mist swirled, and perhaps a ray of sunshine flickered, nearer to the sky. But we were still mired in deep mist down here.

The dark head swivels towards me. Lambent glowing eyes meet mine.

*You are ready to get back up and walk forward.*

Dumbly, I nod. Using her back, I stand shakily. My hand, fingertips red with the cold, rested perfectly on her back, like I had grown all my life to just the right height for this one action. She flicks an ear at me, then took one mincing step forward, dancer perfect. I sway forward, stumbling a little. Her back was warm and firm beneath my hand, and I steadied myself. Then I took another step forward.

*We will walk together, you and I. You shall know grief for its full measure, and this too is right and just. Love is divine. You mourn, and that is proper. This too shall pass, in the fullness of time. The sharp edges of grief become the spark of cherished memories.*

I stumble forward, the canine carrying my weight at times. She remains by my side, steadfast. We paced together side by side, as the mist swirled lower, and the first faint few rays of sunlight glitters on the tears in my eyelashes.

Maybe I could learn to grow lilies too.

An online writing forum I like to visit offered this prompt to its aspiring writers:

Explain why your dinner guest may not see the Aurora Borealis that may be manifesting in your kitchen.

My story:

Sure, everyone around here has seen the Aurora Borealis before. Ethereal lights dancing in the sky, whispering of uncomprehending cold beauty. You always seem to know when they are out. Watching them twist and dance is hypnotic. They always seem to be just heading over the horizon to the north. They seem to whisper of mysteries barely on the edge of understanding. You like to watch them. Your husband teases you sometimes, calling you fae for standing outside in the bitter cold, staring up and to the north. Always to the north.

“My winter elf.” He would say, coming up behind you with a blanket, and wrapping both blanket and his warm arms around you. You would snuggle into the embrace, feeling warm, feeling safe. His slightly greater height made this easy, and you would rest your head on his shoulder. The lights above you dancing, whispering…. and finally withdrawing. There was a feeling of profound loss when they finally quit the sky. You would sigh, and droop in his embrace. Then turn in his arms, looking up into his face. His smile, his warm earthy brown eyes… seemed to take the chill out of the air, no matter how cold outside it was. You would smile, a warm feeling kindling in your heart, curling in your chest. Snuggled in his arms, you burrow into his chest and shoulder. Your favourite place to be, right here.

Sometimes you fear life is speeding by. You would excel if you could just apply yourself! Words from a half dozen school teachers throughout your youth, echoing above your head. Your father nodding solemnly. Their scolding tempered by knowledge. Just a single dad, doing the best he could with an odd child, a child often lost in a world of daydreams. The past seeped away, the memories of your father bittersweet. Dead some ten years, found outside in the winter, frozen in the bitter cold. Dead. And smiling. You knew he had long mourned the wife who had… just slipped away one day. The town gossips held that a flighty woman from the cities would of course be bored with small town life, and it was no surprise she had slipped out one winter night and left your strong and proud father saddled with small young you. The haughty women of the small town potlucks would always stop their whispering when you came around, but it was easy to see the dismissal in their eyes. Outsider, born of a city woman, who had swooped in and bewitched their salt-of-the-earth classmate, your father. Everyone knew everyone here, and your father was supposed to fall in love and wed the most popular girl in his highschool. Of course he would.

But he hadn’t. And now here you are all grown up, slight of limb, pale of hair and eyes in a small town filled with brown haired brown eyed hale folk. Good dependable folk, just like the man you now call your husband.

A small house, a modest affair on a small parcel of land. A small party, a dinner you invited a few of your friends to, and the more numerous friends of your husband. Your house filled with laughter from the living room, your husband surrounded by smiles. He always seemed to put people at ease, and it seemed to offset your own introverted and preoccupied manner, so you had plenty of friends as a couple. Plenty of people had come to your wedding, and sighed over such a handsome couple. Your husband couldn’t help but be himself, and people loved him for it. His habit of listening intently to what was being said to him, of offering compassion and strength, of lending a hand without being asked, of always being there when needed. All the qualities that had slowly captured your complete attention. And he had become the centre of your world, your eyes always seeking his in a crowd, finding reassurance. You tended to turn towards him like a new plant seeks the spring sunshine.

Except when the lights danced in the sky. Then your feet would take you outside, and your eyes would stare upwards. And to the north. You would listen, almost making out words… almost…. until your love would notice your absence, come out with his warm affection and cozy blanket. Your rock in the cold night.

You are in the kitchen, humming softly and cleaning up the dinner leftovers. A very nice party, now winding down with only the few close friends left. You can still hear them in the living room. And all seems well, but why is the hair on the back of your neck standing up? Why is a soft sussurus of sound just beyond hearing lapping at your awareness? You grip the plate in your hand, spine going rigid. Almost without willing, almost without wanting, you slowly turn.

Here it is. As you knew it would be. Here are the lights. Just a hint of their full beauty. In your own kitchen. The dancing glimmering lights. Your hand goes limp. The plate drops, crashing to the ground. You sway forward. Towards the back door. Towards the lights. Towards the North.

Voices cease, drawn by the noise and cold draft. The back door is open, the lights dancing there, shimmering outside. The eye watering beauty of it, colours swaying and scintillating. You are out the door, halfway across the back step, mesmerized. Yes, you can hear them! Soft voices urging you outside, of course! Now is the time, you must go and take up your destiny. A great leader, needed in the world of dancing lights. They are calling to you. Yes, there you can see a faint outline of a reaching hand. Your mother’s hand of course. You lift your own hand, taking another step. She needs you, she never meant to leave you, but you had to be raised in this world of man. Now you are ready, come take your place at her side in the light!

His voice reaches you through the voices of the light. His earthy voice, softly. “Honey, please come back from the lights.” Your husband, reaching out. The others, fearful and drawn back from the awesome sight. Your stoic husband alone daring to step forward, into the brilliantly lit backyard. You tear your eyes away from the promised land, frozen in mid stride, glancing back over your shoulder. Just one last look, you tell yourself. And see his eyes. His brown dependable eyes meeting your own brilliantly light ones. Your body turns towards him. The eyes searching your own, as they have so many times before when he has drawn you back from the lights in the sky. You can see the start of a tear gathered in the corner of his eye, waiting to plunge down his cheek. Waiting to follow the one that has fallen before. The sum of his love for you, laid bare before the light, stepping forward into the unknown and reaching out for you.

The lights whisper at your back, drawing you one more step towards the door. Your eyes lock with his, even as your feet shuffle backwards, northwards. One more step, and you are in the snowy backyard, out from under man-built roof, where the lights are almost solid, a staircase of possibility. A small smile curves one corner of your mouth. He called it your fae smile, a little sad, a little wild.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper. One tear falls from your own eyes, dropping slowly, shining all the way, and shattering in ice fragments when it hits the ground. “It’s okay, they need me to come to their world. They need me there.” You implore, trying to make him see, to make them all understand it will be okay.

“I need you here with me, my Heart. My winter fae.” His voice quavers. Your knees go weak.

With the last of your will, you tear your eyes away and hurl yourself out into the darkness. To the north.

The voices of light urge you onwards, but his earthy voice cries in anguish behind you.