Blackfeather Woods and took my eyesight quite away

It was always different when it was somehow that you knew. The pale youth looked upon the caretaker, the one who had brought her up and who had showed her the world of the spirits. Every word she spoke and did not speak was always understood correctly and completely, for the caretaker had the same connections that the spirit had to the world of spirits and gods, even if she did not walk one paw in it. The spirit's real world leg was still injured from the run in with the youth her age who had been enraged like a bull upon seeing her. Afraid of ghosts, perhaps. But her spirit self was strong as ever, stronger perhaps at knowing that her mortal coil was fragile but her spirit would never wane, no matter what.

The caretaker had introduced her to the unknown one whose spirit she sometimes saw, and now she would join him and watch over the spirit and the dark one by his side, giving the pale youth the same, if not more, advice as she had in life. The spirit did not mourn for the caretaker's soul, for it would live on within and between them, but she would mourn the mortal coil that had provided sustenance and warmth and all things mortal to the mortal part of herself, she realised as the caretaker shuddered out her last breaths.

The pale youth stared at her counterpart in silence after it was done. No birds twittered and no squirrels skittered. It was silent but for the beating of their hearts and their breaths upon the winter air.