Moonspear you were never made to fly

it’s all good!

They are with you.

Those four simple words, otherwise meaningless in any other context, echoed relentlessly through her head. Born from the mountain’s king and queen themselves, she carried within her the same life force that once coursed through their veins. Although this was true, and calmed her momentarily, it was not the same sense of togetherness that she truly sought. She wanted them to be there physically, for her to open her eyes and discover that they had never passed, that it had been some terrible nightmare all this time. She wanted to wake up each morning and seek them out—she wanted to discover hideouts with papa and learn about the stars from mama. All she wanted was for them to be there, to watch her grow up and offer her guidance when she felt blinded.

Why couldn’t they be there?

“I… am…” she choked out, further averting her gaze; her eyes began to sting with unshed tears, threatening to spill out all over again. “But… but I wish they were here physically.” There was a warmth within her chest trying so desperately to grow and spread at the thought of them watching over her, yet her sorrow was loath to allow it any purchase. “I want to t-talk to them, I… I want to s-see them and—and…” Her voice cracked and the former thumping in her chest became a quickened, harsh pounding; all she could hear anymore was the sound of her own heart, rhythmic in its beating. Then, with just four more words, she started to calm down.

Tell me about them.

There was so much to tell, where was she supposed to begin? Drawing in a long, shaky breath, Yama did her best to steady herself before she followed him, walking slowly wherever he thought to guide them. “I’m… I’m going to miss everything,” she decided. “Mama is—mama was so smart. No matter w-what, she could answer any question. Mama… she knew everything.” To this day, the girl was convinced that she held the answer to the universe itself. And although she had never remembered to ask her about it, Yama knew undoubtedly that her mama even knew about the fallen star—she knew where it came from and why it fell, and nothing would ever convince her otherwise.

“Papa was strong and brave,” she continued, a hint of a smile crossing her lips, which she didn’t notice. “Papa was never scared of anything. Even when we were searching for a secret hideout together, he didn’t even flinch when we found the home of something else. Papa taught me and made sure I was okay…” It hurt to talk about them—it likely always would—but it also felt… nice. The last thing the child wanted was for anyone to forget about them. Yama wanted them to be remembered forever, for everyone to know their names and remember them as fondly as she did. She didn’t want them to vanish from her life entirely.