Wraen had felt sick and weak for few weeks now and at a time, when the pack welcomed new life in the world, she did not wish anyone to see her body gradually failing and her strength waning. It had become increasingly difficult for her to breathe, even a short walk was too much and for some reason, while flesh wasted away from her bones, her belly was swelling, as fluid accumulated within. On the day, when she woke, having soiled herself without even noticing it and no longer feeeling hunger, she sensed sort of a finality to the road she had been threading for a little over five years. The finish line was within her sight and while it made her sad, like in all great journeys it also gave her a bittersweet elation for a job well done.
The same way all Terry Pratchett's Discworld witches know in advance, when their death is going to be and that they will be personally visited by Death, Wraen knew too. And rather than going around the pack for one final time to bid her goodbyes and then simply be roped into frantic attempts to save her life, she decided it was better for them to remember, what she had been like, while still in considerably good health. She gave herself the pleasure of seeing them all from afar one last time, before making her slow way to the place, where she was going to meet her Maker in person. And maybe it was just this sense of finality that made Brecheliant come alive before her eyes the way she had always imagined it to be. Fairies sprang up from glens and burrows to wave and call out to her, there were little moss-trolls running beside her, the younger challenging her to race them, the older bowing to her respectfully. She nodded at a pair of dwarves that looked down at her from the Arthur's seat and baby dragons from Maia's nursery flew to nibble her gently and then get into a fight with each other only to be reprimanded and corrected by an angry mother dragon.
There were many more there, ghosts of wolves of the past present, gliding soundlessly and watching her with their solemn ethereal eyes. Kelpies lifted their heads from the ponds they lived in and snarled at her, nymphs of trees, waters, meadows and mountains sang beautifully and reached out to touch her fur lightly. So much to take in and for a moment there Wraen stopped, wondering, if she should turn back and have anyone else here to see, what she was seeing. But rightfully so, it occurred to her that the supernatural does not appear to regular people. At least not as vividly. That it was a privilege of someone, who was already passing over, who had the ability to walk between worlds. As much as she enjoyed the colourful chaos around her, she also grew tired of it soon and sensed keenly that the place of the rendezvous had to be somewhere, where it was private and quiet. And just as she thought of it, it happened. Now it was only her, the forest path, covered in fragrant flowers, trees towering above her and birdsong in the background. She came to a small hillock that offered a view over a meadow, where elk were grazing in the distance. Feeling both tired and that "this was it!" she lied down, rested her head on her paws and waited.
***
It was a very nice and warm afternoon and, when I sat down next to Wraen in the grass, she cracked open one eye, wagged her tail a little and asked: "So - this is it?" I looked down at her, almost reached out to scratch her behind the ears like I do with my dogs, only to remember that she was a wolf and even in this reality they did not tolerate it. Therefore I wrapped my arms around the knees and nodded: "Yes. But you may choose your ending." Wraen seemed to ponder this for a moment and then grinned at me cheekily: "Do you pay such honour to all your creations or am I special?" I smiled and shrugged. Declaring favourites among all of the characters I have had in the past would cause an earthquake in that little character graveyard I have. But to myself I admitted - by far, you have been the best. Wraen guessed this and her grin grew wider: "I take your silence as a yes. What is on the table for me?" I noted not for the first time, how funny it was that a wolf was using expressions that involved words they may have no knowledge of. What use would a canine have for a table? But that's my bad - human's creativity can go just so far.
"Where do you want to go?" I inquired her. She thought about this for a while and then replied with a question of her own: "What are the options?" "Well... Terry Pratchett - a great storyteller like you - says that after meeting Death you are taken to a lonely desert with starlit sky. You have to walk to the other end," and as I was explaining it to her, the fabric of reality twisted and shaked, a doorway appeared and beyond that one could catch a glimpse of the place I had described. Wraen peered curiously, tasting the air and listening carefully: "It is awfully quiet... what is on the other end?" I shrugged again: "I don't know. Never been there myself." Wraen furrowed her brow: "Shouldn't gods know everything?" I replied: "Even gods have limitations. When I die, I might find out." I observed that Wraen found this idea very amusing, a tilt of her head and a smile told that she was laughing quietly at her Maker that too had restrictions. "Aren't gods immortal?" she asked next and in the meanwhile the Discworld afterlife vanished in thin air. "No god is.They are as strong as the belief in them. Once it's gone, they no longer exist," I explained, realizing that I too - once Wraen passed over - would lose my god-like abilities here in her world.
"An adventure maybe?" I asked her, snapping my fingers and four different afterlives appeared. Through one doorway the loud noise of feasting and fighting Valhalla-style seeped through, drunken rough voices, interspersed with the sour scent of something alcoholic. Wraen scrunched her nose and looked at the second option. There on a raft stood Charon - the boatman of Ancient Greek, ready to take the soul to the Underworld. A similar afterlife - an Egyptian one - stood right next to it. Same river, older boat and peculiarly shaped guide. "Nope - that guy..." she beckoned to the one next to Charon,"... gives me creeps. That one... on the other hand... I might try to woo Hades himself?" she pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes thinking about it. "He is married," I pointed out dryly. "When has that stopped anyone?" she shot back and laughed, but turned away from the guy to peer over at the one, from where scent of burning flesh and sound of screams was coming. "What kind of afterlife is that?" she asked, tilting her head to the side. "A medieval one. Another story-teller by the name of Dante Alighieri told very detailed depictions of, what Hell, Purgatory and Heaven are like. And people believed in them at the time he lived and do so even now," I pointed out.
Wraen's face lit up at the recognition of her father's name - perhaps, for a moment there she thought that he had had a talent in story-telling that she hadnot been aware of. However, her expression changed to a very thoughtful one, when she mulled over about "people believing in stories to be true". "You promised that I could finish my own story, right?" she began carefully, an idea forming in her mind. It had not been exactly that, but I did not say "no". After all a Master Storyteller is a title earned by hard work. I nodded and listened to the rest of, what she had in mind. "What if... I create a place, where storytellers go?" she suggested. "That's not impossible, but we have not exhausted all afterlife options that already exist," I countered. "Say - there are people, who believe in reincarnation. You die and be born the same moment. Or... you can become a star in the sky and dancing light in the Northern lights, but, in fact, there is an idea that you get the Heaven you deserve." The boatman Charon gave us one last scowl, when he disappeared, because Wraen had dismissed the Ancient Greek rites in exchange for this new idea. "I would like that. Will everyone be there?" she asked. "I don't know - I can speak only for creations of mine," I replied. The air whizzed and whirled and Osprey and Sarah joined us, standing a little distance away, looking at Wraen expectantly. There was also an owner of a firey russet pelt and telltale dark stripe across his back. His teal eyes glinted in joy at the reunion. "That will do for the start," she said, smiled at me and then got to her feet. "And a quest to find the rest," she told and laughed at the accidental rhyme. "It will make a good story. Too bad you won't be around to see it. Maybe... if you are very lucky..." she teased me gently and with one last look at me, she got to her feet and joined her loved ones.
***
Wraen was born on 11th May 2016 during a famine and died in the early hours of 6th June 2021 from congestive heart failure.
The same way all Terry Pratchett's Discworld witches know in advance, when their death is going to be and that they will be personally visited by Death, Wraen knew too. And rather than going around the pack for one final time to bid her goodbyes and then simply be roped into frantic attempts to save her life, she decided it was better for them to remember, what she had been like, while still in considerably good health. She gave herself the pleasure of seeing them all from afar one last time, before making her slow way to the place, where she was going to meet her Maker in person. And maybe it was just this sense of finality that made Brecheliant come alive before her eyes the way she had always imagined it to be. Fairies sprang up from glens and burrows to wave and call out to her, there were little moss-trolls running beside her, the younger challenging her to race them, the older bowing to her respectfully. She nodded at a pair of dwarves that looked down at her from the Arthur's seat and baby dragons from Maia's nursery flew to nibble her gently and then get into a fight with each other only to be reprimanded and corrected by an angry mother dragon.
There were many more there, ghosts of wolves of the past present, gliding soundlessly and watching her with their solemn ethereal eyes. Kelpies lifted their heads from the ponds they lived in and snarled at her, nymphs of trees, waters, meadows and mountains sang beautifully and reached out to touch her fur lightly. So much to take in and for a moment there Wraen stopped, wondering, if she should turn back and have anyone else here to see, what she was seeing. But rightfully so, it occurred to her that the supernatural does not appear to regular people. At least not as vividly. That it was a privilege of someone, who was already passing over, who had the ability to walk between worlds. As much as she enjoyed the colourful chaos around her, she also grew tired of it soon and sensed keenly that the place of the rendezvous had to be somewhere, where it was private and quiet. And just as she thought of it, it happened. Now it was only her, the forest path, covered in fragrant flowers, trees towering above her and birdsong in the background. She came to a small hillock that offered a view over a meadow, where elk were grazing in the distance. Feeling both tired and that "this was it!" she lied down, rested her head on her paws and waited.
***
It was a very nice and warm afternoon and, when I sat down next to Wraen in the grass, she cracked open one eye, wagged her tail a little and asked: "So - this is it?" I looked down at her, almost reached out to scratch her behind the ears like I do with my dogs, only to remember that she was a wolf and even in this reality they did not tolerate it. Therefore I wrapped my arms around the knees and nodded: "Yes. But you may choose your ending." Wraen seemed to ponder this for a moment and then grinned at me cheekily: "Do you pay such honour to all your creations or am I special?" I smiled and shrugged. Declaring favourites among all of the characters I have had in the past would cause an earthquake in that little character graveyard I have. But to myself I admitted - by far, you have been the best. Wraen guessed this and her grin grew wider: "I take your silence as a yes. What is on the table for me?" I noted not for the first time, how funny it was that a wolf was using expressions that involved words they may have no knowledge of. What use would a canine have for a table? But that's my bad - human's creativity can go just so far.
"Where do you want to go?" I inquired her. She thought about this for a while and then replied with a question of her own: "What are the options?" "Well... Terry Pratchett - a great storyteller like you - says that after meeting Death you are taken to a lonely desert with starlit sky. You have to walk to the other end," and as I was explaining it to her, the fabric of reality twisted and shaked, a doorway appeared and beyond that one could catch a glimpse of the place I had described. Wraen peered curiously, tasting the air and listening carefully: "It is awfully quiet... what is on the other end?" I shrugged again: "I don't know. Never been there myself." Wraen furrowed her brow: "Shouldn't gods know everything?" I replied: "Even gods have limitations. When I die, I might find out." I observed that Wraen found this idea very amusing, a tilt of her head and a smile told that she was laughing quietly at her Maker that too had restrictions. "Aren't gods immortal?" she asked next and in the meanwhile the Discworld afterlife vanished in thin air. "No god is.They are as strong as the belief in them. Once it's gone, they no longer exist," I explained, realizing that I too - once Wraen passed over - would lose my god-like abilities here in her world.
"An adventure maybe?" I asked her, snapping my fingers and four different afterlives appeared. Through one doorway the loud noise of feasting and fighting Valhalla-style seeped through, drunken rough voices, interspersed with the sour scent of something alcoholic. Wraen scrunched her nose and looked at the second option. There on a raft stood Charon - the boatman of Ancient Greek, ready to take the soul to the Underworld. A similar afterlife - an Egyptian one - stood right next to it. Same river, older boat and peculiarly shaped guide. "Nope - that guy..." she beckoned to the one next to Charon,"... gives me creeps. That one... on the other hand... I might try to woo Hades himself?" she pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes thinking about it. "He is married," I pointed out dryly. "When has that stopped anyone?" she shot back and laughed, but turned away from the guy to peer over at the one, from where scent of burning flesh and sound of screams was coming. "What kind of afterlife is that?" she asked, tilting her head to the side. "A medieval one. Another story-teller by the name of Dante Alighieri told very detailed depictions of, what Hell, Purgatory and Heaven are like. And people believed in them at the time he lived and do so even now," I pointed out.
Wraen's face lit up at the recognition of her father's name - perhaps, for a moment there she thought that he had had a talent in story-telling that she hadnot been aware of. However, her expression changed to a very thoughtful one, when she mulled over about "people believing in stories to be true". "You promised that I could finish my own story, right?" she began carefully, an idea forming in her mind. It had not been exactly that, but I did not say "no". After all a Master Storyteller is a title earned by hard work. I nodded and listened to the rest of, what she had in mind. "What if... I create a place, where storytellers go?" she suggested. "That's not impossible, but we have not exhausted all afterlife options that already exist," I countered. "Say - there are people, who believe in reincarnation. You die and be born the same moment. Or... you can become a star in the sky and dancing light in the Northern lights, but, in fact, there is an idea that you get the Heaven you deserve." The boatman Charon gave us one last scowl, when he disappeared, because Wraen had dismissed the Ancient Greek rites in exchange for this new idea. "I would like that. Will everyone be there?" she asked. "I don't know - I can speak only for creations of mine," I replied. The air whizzed and whirled and Osprey and Sarah joined us, standing a little distance away, looking at Wraen expectantly. There was also an owner of a firey russet pelt and telltale dark stripe across his back. His teal eyes glinted in joy at the reunion. "That will do for the start," she said, smiled at me and then got to her feet. "And a quest to find the rest," she told and laughed at the accidental rhyme. "It will make a good story. Too bad you won't be around to see it. Maybe... if you are very lucky..." she teased me gently and with one last look at me, she got to her feet and joined her loved ones.
***
Wraen was born on 11th May 2016 during a famine and died in the early hours of 6th June 2021 from congestive heart failure.
June 05, 2021, 06:33 PM
thank you wraen, for challenging arthur and being such a wonderful thread partner these years. <3
the day wraen died, a little of arcturus went too.
he had seen with his own eyes wraen's gradual decline. when they had first embarked from the copse all these months ago, wraen had seemed slower. they rested more often. he remembered looking at her carefully under the eaves of a greyed tree at the sentinels, thinking when had she gotten so old?
and he had chased that ugly thought away with snarls and teeth -- no, he mustn't think it.
wraen had told him many times she was aging, slowing down -- but arcturus dismissed it. he couldn't let it be true; he couldn't lose the best thing he'd ever found.
but in the end, he lost wraen anyway. not to some other guy, not to some great catastrophe -- but to slow and gradual rot.
it felt unfair.
futile as his attempts had been to reconcile the ugly truth with his dwindling happiness, arcturus knew one day that day would come. death opened a door wraen stepped through lightly, while life and the living tied arcturus heavily to the other side.
he'd known in that intuitive way she was gone when he saw her by the hillock. her greying fur dappled by little motes of sunlight through tall trees which blissfully swayed in the breeze. his steps were slow and leaden as he came to her. she was resting her head on her paws. peaceful -- she was gone, and he was still here -- and the world was slipping further and further away...
it wasn't fair. how could his friend be stolen by the cruelest injustice of all -- the failure of her body while her mind was still sharp as ever? it wasn't right.
he made no effort to stop the tears which wet his muzzle and stung his eyes. "oh, wraen..." the lost boy scarcely whispered, looking down at the body that had once hosted a soul so special it had changed the trajectory of his life forever.
no happy ending here for arcturus; no new adventure to choose from with friends.
just him, alive, and wraen, dead -- while the world buzzed on as if she'd never been here at all.
when you come down to take me home
send my soul away
send my soul away
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