Broken Antler Fen may you find solace in the gentle arms of sleep, despite the wolves outside your door

The day after his fifth birthday, Tambourine stretched out in a puddle of early May sunshine, groaning in satisfaction as the warmth soaked into his back. It was hard to contemplate what had been on his mind lately, lazing so comfortably like this. But he couldn't stop thinking about it; actually, it was driving him to distraction.

He really ought to see if he could find Harps. He just didn't know where to start and the idea of resuming travel in any iteration made his whole body frown. But they were both free of Spur now, so wasn't the time ripe to find her and rebuild their relationship sans her mother's toxicity? Besides, Tambourine was genuinely curious where she was and what she was doing these days (unaware, of course, that she had died a year past...).

And what about Lele? Had she found a man, settled down and started a family, after finally forging her own path? Suppose she had. What if he reconnected and stayed with her, wherever she had wound up? Although he was quite fond of Brecheliant and most of its members, he didn't have any deep connections here. Now that he'd had a taste of "retirement," wouldn't it make sense to do it with his own flesh and blood, his kid and her kids?

As much as that thought tickled him, Tambourine felt his age even as he thought it. He wasn't really old, more like smack dab in the middle of middle age. But all those years of travel had been hard on him and he was feeling the wear and tear catching up to him now. Even as he shifted his weight onto his shoulder and hip, then gently toppled over to rest sideways on his left flank, he could feel his aging joints protesting.

Grass tickled his cheek as he closed his eyes and exhaled a happy sigh through his nose. He really did love it here, though he thought he might go, despite his grumbling bones. For the grandkids, was Tambourine's last conscious thought before he drifted to sleep, his soft snores growing quieter as an hour passed, then two. Soon he was totally quiet and still, deathly so. It was as inexplicable as it was sudden, but also cozy and quite untroubled as Tambourine unwittingly embraced resting in peace.

It was not the time to be roaming away from her newborns. She didn't want to be, but the urge to stretch her legs and take a break was overwhelming. Eljay kept watch over the children for the time being — after some convincing — and that gave Ibis a short window to move around, clean up, and maybe even get a bite to eat.

Her den wasn't far; it was well hidden among the trees of the fen, but not so difficult that she couldn't return to it if an alarm were raised. Every step she took she found herself slowing down, looking over her shoulder. She did a few circles in the grass before squatting to relieve herself and then got up again, following the trail of dry grass among patches of wetness — glancing every few steps.

So when she tripped, it was only natural. The object she smacked in to was almost taller than she was while standing. It took the wind right out of her. A spasm crept up her neck because she had been looking back when she'd walked in to the shape, and now that she could study it, she saw it for what it was: a curled up body. One she didn't recognize.

Ibis' eyes widened and she stumbled backwards, realizing what she had stumbled in to, and then as an afterthought cast her head up to alert her Ravens — her voice pitched with panic.

remembering the apologetic way the older man had shone during their last lesson, teya had meant to gather him for another hunt. yet the sprightliness of young life and its easy distractions delayed her.
she had been idly snapping at a pair of tenacious tadpoles when the call rose harshly. ibis.
upon her feet at once, the little violet sped to the side of the new-made mother, worry rising. considering only the protection of the auspex, teya stalked forward with gimlet hackles toward the tufted pelt nestled in the spring grass.
tambourine.
holding away the unexpected emotion that tightened her throat, teya searched the body for any sign of illness or injury that might have indicated how he had fallen. but she found none, only a sort of serenity in how he lay.
"tambourine wanted to be good fisher," teya mumbled of the man, who had now left this form and gone elsewhere. it was perhaps her first time confronted with such, and youth made her falter. it was a softwet gaze she turned back to ibis, wondering.

Maia was out of earshot but when a call like that went up, Bridget was absolutely going to come running.

She came into view slightly winded, just at the tail end of Teya's statement. She was not a Raven but she'd recognized the note of pained shock in Ibis' cry and expected the worst. She wasn't wrong, apparently.

Bridget approached silently, easier now. It was immediately apparent that there was nothing she could do here, outside of perhaps providing an answer to what had happened. It was a little outside of her expertise right now but she could, at the very least, eliminate what did not happen.

She spent a moment studying him, taking in the scents, the way he lay. No wounds, clearly. But of more interest to her... no obvious sickness. No contagion. There was a hint of relief behind the business in her tone. She really wasn't prepared or ready to deal with an illness like that in any pack.

She hesitated to say it was his time because he didn't look that old, even now. But few went this peacefully before. Maybe his time had just been shorter than most. Do you have rites, here? The faeries had held their own death customs, and she looked to Ibis, ready to help however was needed.

Time seemed to crawl. The body she had found lay still while Ibis felt her pulse quickening, adrenaline spiking throughout her hormonal body. Was this a murder? Was this like the woman they had found drowned in the marsh months ago? There were stories of brigands and assaults from time to time, and now Ibis found herself thinking back; had she heard anything as she'd gone about her business in the fen? No; nothing was springing to mind except sorrow and guilt.

Then there was Teya. Ibis hadn't heard her approach. The girl's voice was sharp to Ibis' ears and she found herself flinching away from the sight of the body, the sound of the words, not really listening. Bridget came next, sweeping towards the dead fisher-wolf to inspect the remains; she looked hurried, out of breath.

She looks like how I feel, Ibis thought.

Do you have rites here? Bridget asked. Ibis greedily drank down some oxygen and twitched her head in a no.

I... I don't know. We should do something. I need to see my babies. Was all she surmised in the moment, turning hastily to leave things up to the two women. Teya was a raven, albeit too young maybe to have any idea what to do, and it felt unfair to leave things to Bridget alone. Ibis had a one-track mind now, moving in a trajectory that would take her to the hidden den and her children.

Wraen had heard Ibis's summoning call, but had been too far away to arrive immediately. When you have began you sixth year on this Earth, getting up quickly and being on the go right away is not a possible task, unless you want to trip over your feet right after getting up and spend time scrambling for any ground surface like an up side down turtle. She stretched and with a slight initial limp (that disappeared, once she began to move more freely) padded over to, where the urgent event was taking place.

Some had already gathered there - she caught sight of Ibis's distraught face, then there was Teya and Bridget asking about burial rites. They had gathered around a grey furred lump of a wolf, who she recognized to be Tambourine, once she got up close. "Oh dear..." she sighed, but there was little emotion in her voice, when she realized without asking that the old gentleman was dead. It occurred to her that the same thing might happen to her one day briefly, before the business-like attitude took over. 

"We will deal with this, Ibis - return to your children," she told her in an encouraging tone. Then she turned to Teya and Bridget: "Do you know, where we can bury him? Probably somewhere, where other scavangers won't get to him."

ibis was gone before teya could react. she stood watching as the little woman sped away, bound to those babes as she ever was. poor ibis. she had experienced far too much in these last months.
"yes," she said softly, thinking of her favoured places in beautiful brecheliant. "a field. tall flowers. let him sleep with those." 
despite her removed demeanour, something she did not understand was beginning to choke the little raven, a mixture suddenly of grief and trepidation, and perhaps fear, to suddenly see death so close.
she looked to wraen for reassurance, desperately, dizzyingly thankful for both she and bridget.

Ibis barely answered coherently before she was off and gone. Bridget stared after her, flummoxed, before turning to Wraen. She didn't need to understand what was going on in the Raven's mind right now, though she had a bit of sympathy. Not everyone could look at death.

She didn't enjoy it, but she'd never feared it either. Thankfully Bridget had a few here willing to help her. She'd worried both Teya and Ibis would take off and leave her the duty of burying alone. She'd have done it but it would have been a hell of a job.

We can carry him or you can help me get him on my back. That might be easier. She looked at Teya mainly when she said that because she knew without saying it the younger wolf would be her main help with this. No healer would advise a wolf of Wraen's stature and age to haul a full grown wolf any considerable distance. That sounds perfect. If it was open, it would be well away from any water sources or anywhere disease might spread.

She stepped over and prepared to drop down, unless Teya argued, to help her get the body across her back and shoulders. She'd carried larger wolves than him.

Though Bridget did not ask Wraen specifically to join in moving Tambourine's dead body to the designated grave to be, she did help as much as she could - a grown wolf was not an easy feat even for two strong youngsters. For a moment there she considered calling any of the smaller male population of the Enchanted forest to lend a paw, but eventually decided against it. 

The place Teya had chosen was a beautiful one and, if by any chance Tam's spirit was still hanging around here somewhere, Wraen had a feeling that he would have liked his final resting place. Together they dug out a grave for him and laid him to rest as gracefully as a wolf could. 

"Any final words for the man?" she looked from Teya to Bridget, not expecting them really to step up, because Tambourine had not been with them for too long.

I moved things along and assumed some stuff. If not okay, please, PM me and let me know! :)

the scent of rich earth was in her nostrils.
she stared down at her dirtied paws, not daring to glance to wraen or to bridget. this would be her first funeral, one of many to come if she lived a long life. and while the girl did not think now in terms of a life's length, she was reminded, horribly, of her own mortality, and how swiftly the essence of living could leave a body.
"he was like otter," she said finally. "curious. ready to give help. i glad he chose brecheliant for his last home."
throat tightening, she said no more, only silently waited for another to speak, or to be guided toward final rites.

It was hard and mildly uncomfortable, but they managed it. Teya had chosen an absolutely beautiful spot, prettier than Bridget remembered. Her friend had an eye for it, she thought appreciatively, looking around. She'd probably walked past this place a dozen or more times without actually seeing it for that.

The healer didn't have much to say, having never met the man, but there were a few things you didn't have to know a wolf to feel. If he couldn't have family here someone had to represent that for him. Walk softly, she added. Hopefully his spirit would find another form to inhabit - or the otherworld, if what he wanted was peace. When they buried him, she did so facing west. If they had no customs here, she'd gladly use a few of her own to help him find the way.

this can be last from me <3

"Rest well, friend," Wraen said, deciding that the best eulogy was the simplest one. She realized that apart from their two or three brief encounters over the years she had not known the man too well at all and now that he was dead, there would never be a chance to remedy that. She idly wondered, could things have been different, if she had not turned down his romantic advances and actually spent more time in his company, while there still had been time to do so. But then... death comes unexpectedly to us all. You do not know, how much time you have, and - maybe even at the very moment of dying - you may not be aware that your life-clock has been about to stop. 

***

Wraen remained by Tambourine's grave long after the two girls had left, feeling in her heart an idea forming into a story. One that could have been, but never was. We can compare life with a glass of water, where people are particles in Brownian movement, constantly in random motion, colliding with each other momentarily only to relocate somewhere else soon after. The elder did not have much belief in fate, even less in "things happening for a reason" and she rolled her eyes at the notion of "universe having a plan". No... with all she had seen in her life, she was convinced that chaos, circumstances and a game of hit or miss was in play. Brownian movement. People having numerous opportunities for a new story every day. 

And the same way we sometimes reminisce about an old crush (or a first crush, for that matter) and, what could have beeen (maybe), Wraen thought about Tambourine, a story that had had a potential, but had never been played out. Because after that first collision, they had wandered away from each other in the chaos of other particles. She had learned not to dwell much on old mistakes and regrets, but when it came to him, she could not shake off a sense of unfairness and a bit of a disappointment. A Master Storyteller and yet having no power over her story or anyone else's. 

There lied a friend, a maybe-lover, a could-have-been life-long trustworthy partner and all the Wraenburines and Tambouwraens that never were. 

There, buried under the fresh earth, was a story that could have been written together, a remarkable one, perhaps, vastly different from, what the paths their lives had taken them in this realm. 

There left to decay was all the would-be-love, trust-earned, anger and disappointments, hurts and joyful moments, heartbreaks and sorrow, arguments and laughs. Every single emotion - good and bad - that comes with choosing to entrust your heart to someone and devote yourself to them.

There disappeared all the moments of comfortable silences in each other's company, when no words need to be spoken to know that the bond is there. Iron-clad, unbreakable. All the little gestures, looks and tiny things that spoke of great mutual affection.

Wraen had had a lifetime of watching people finding each other, falling in love, creating families and, if at first she had found solace in the idea that it was not too late for her. Then later she had simply accepted the truth that far more people in this world remain single, they never meet that significant other, they never have a family or children and that they have to find different ways of fulfilling their life. It was not an easy truth to live with, nor was it possible to always silence that voice in her head that time from time asked "why me?" But she had ignored it and done the only thing she could do - live that one life she had as good as she could.

But, while listing all of the "could have been"s in her mind, she felt angry and hurt by the very notion that just maybe the life-story she had wanted and craved for had bypassed her altogether. That this man, who she had hardly known, but who she had liked and enjoyed to have around for however brief that time had been, had been the key and that it had been yanked out of her hands before she had had even a chance to see, what doors it may have opened. Instead her story had written itself differently and eventually brought Arthur in her life, who loved her with all his heart, and she could not return even a fraction of it.

Life in Brownian movement was needlessly cruel.

Of course, this line of thought, this story unfolding inside her mind was just a speculation, a fantasy - one she should have not beaten herself over with. And when the new day would break, Wraen would lay it to rest with Tambourine and never return to it. For now she mourned not only a friend taken away far too early, but a story with a "happily ever after" that may have been meant for her, but she had never realized it up until this very moment.