Dragoncrest Cliffs the gold pearl

by request from @Val. read only or one-post replies welcome. set jan. 2

lafayette was many things: mild-mannered, sensitive, or any number of words could describe the boy. but "pushover" was not one of them.

only a tidal wave could have interrupted his desire to lay his dear papa to rest.

regardless of help or not, he made sure to drag the body toward the place where sapphique had buried so many other souls. trembling and panting from the effort, he sat hard upon his haunches once there and cried, looking back and forth from the corpse to the sea.

after some time to rest, he began to dig. he knew it needed to be deep enough that creatures wouldn't disturb his bones, but not so far that val's spirit could not be with the others.

i love you, papa, lafayette whispered, once the excavation was done. he lay down and pressed his nose to the man's cheek, his stomach churning with unease at the cold, slack feel of a face that once held so much life. still, it was the last time he'd caress the man, and he took a few moments to remember—

his voice, full of joy. the sparkle of his spring-green gaze. the words of wisdom and grace he imparted upon lafayette and so many others. the keeper of the gold pearl, or so they'd said—a promise of loyalty, love, and courage.

with reverence, the body was placed into the earth, leaving him to stare down at his father's splayed limbs and dark fur gone dull in death.

he suddenly remembered the song alaric had taught him at the great hunt, and with halting, trembling tones, sang it quietly—barely loud enough to be heard above the gulls and waves.

fly him to de moon,
let him play among de stars,
let 'im see what spring be like
on jupiter and mars;
in ot'her words—i love you.

it did not seem real.
in a daze mireille had followed lafayette, helping where she was able — or where he would allow. dimly she registered this as a ritual between father and son; even if she had never spoken of it, even if it had never been known — she had always accepted it.
she had always wanted it to be.
too large had their graveyard become. 
as her son sang, mireille found she was voiceless, a crimson statue standing ward over the grief of her son and the resting place of the only man she had loved.
the only one she had wanted to love.
in time she would turn away from this new-turned charnel, answering the low-burning instinctual call that followed tragedy.

.