Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Snuffed

She awoke with a stifled cry caught in her throat, vision blurred with moisture.

Trembling arms wound tightly around herself in a feverish hug as she tried to break away from the voice that cried out to her, that sung a lonesome melody of mourning.

Shyloris in turn closed her eyes, whispering words of bleak comfort.

Yet another was dying.

The voice of a species so far displaced cried out. The last surviving member struggling against all odds for naught but to draw out the bitter inevitable end that would come to pass.

Unable to bear the Heart's Song she threw off the bedding and pulled on a thick cloak, rushing out the doors.

One would think the lessons of Time would grant her more acknowledgement of preparation, and she gave it all due respect.

Yet it was the same lesson of Time that taught her just how precious each moment was, and she hadn't a moment to lose. Not since dawdling in uncertainty.

She ran out barefoot into the snow, shuddering as the icy gale and frost bit deep into her soles. Still she ran, puffing like a steam engine, frosting against rosy cheeks.

There was a high chittering and she turned to see her familiar flittering anxiously behind. The loyalty and concern brought a grateful and apologetic smile to her face, and she slowed her pace, beckoning.

The moth-like creature flew to her and curled around her neck like a scarf, shivering. Not for its own benefit for the Callunae was well protected under its fluff, but to warm his Master.

A gesture that did not escape her. She murmured grateful words and hurried forth once more, her companion churring.

The voice grew louder and when she cleared the brush, came upon a single bird. She lay in the snow a small mottled fluff of dusky brown and white, desperate to take wing at the sudden intrusion. But the cold had already overtaken its wings and they were but clumsy blocks flopping unevenly.

She knelt down in the snow, extending a hand, desperately calling to the songbird.

At that moment her body was lurched back, "Did I not tell you not to interfere?"

Neiro stood behind her, his countenance impassive.

"But--"

"No." But he softened his gaze, "This is the way of Nature. Life comes, and it goes. You cannot save every Life."

"She's suffering can't you hear her cry? How can you just stand by and ignore her?" Her tears were back again, streaming down her face in hot trails that contrasted sharply with the frigid air.

Neiro said nothing for what felt but too long as the bird flapped frantically in the snow.

At last he spoke, "Life and Death come in equal parts. To live is to die. There is naught at the end of Life but Death." He turned to her, "And likewise in Death, there is Life, they are but one and the same."

She couldn't understand then. The bird was alive, she could save it still even if it but prolonged its Life, and the inevitable end of its kind. She could ease the suffering--she could.

She turned staring at the the small bird that knew but fear, desperation, and a wistful plight.

And she stood.

Beside her Neiro sighed inaudibly, "Go to her then if it eases your Heart. The Heart's Song will be sung yet."

She nodded and trudged through, gently kneeling before the worn out bird and reaching for it with both hands.

Spent of strength there was little resistance, and she cradled the small cold weight to her breast shielding the small creature from the harsh cold with her cloak.

And then she sang.

A voiceless song that twirled with the wind and carried through the verdant green woods so banked in snow, that the icy crystal flakes resonated with her melody. It was what made the snow chilling, the wind flowing, and the rivers running.

The songbird nestled in the warmth. In the time-locked child she heard the same lonely song, the warmth, and the comfort.

And at length she felt the Heart's Song fall from its forlorn wail to a hushing lull.

At last it faded away and there but lay a warm soft weight of stiff feathers.

Silently she knelt and reluctantly placed the songbird, so still and serene as if sleeping, by the roots of the old growth trees.

Neiro held her hand on the walk back, and then Shyloris herself as she cried burdened tears, wrapped in the warm bedding and seclusion of the haven she called home.