Little Blue Strings

Alone Once Again

The tree in which Peace lives is empty. He steps warily inside, his eyes sweeping the area. Although she is not physically in front of him, he can still sense her presence. She has not left the land. Not yet, anyway. As he takes another step into the hollow, his foot strikes a slab of bark.

He bends down to pick it up. Peace had most likely left it there, knowing that whoever would come to find her would also find the bark. He turns it over in his hands. One side is rough and crumbly, but the other is smooth. Small marks have been carved into it. Words, he realizes. In a very, very ancient language. So ancient, in fact, he fears that he has forgotten their meaning.

With some difficulty, he manages to translate the message:

Life- I assume it is you who has come across my temporary home. I have left to find Fate. If we cannot help Death, then Fate is the only one who may be able to alter his path for the better. I am not sure when I will return.

He places the bark down. At least this explains her absence. With a last look around, he leaves the hollow of the tree. Loneliness settles deep down in the bottom of his heart, leaving him slightly numb and empty. Once again he finds himself surrounded by life, but utterly alone.

Life flickers and takes the form of the stag. Listlessly, he walks into the thick of the trees, his hooves lazily scraping the ground with every step. He isn't sure where he is heading. He is just...wandering. As he shuffles by, many of the animals stop to give the stag a questioning look. They wonder why Life- the embodiment of joy and hope- appears so forlorn.

Though his meandering course seems to be random, he soon recognizes the path he is on. The dried riverbed. The one that bore witness to that awful slaughter long ago. The one that leads to a certain cave, hidden away from prying eyes.

It is a familiar sound to him, now- the clatter of antlers on the rocky ceiling, and the echoing of hooves striking stones. He follows the path to its end, where it opens up. Life isn't sure what he had expected to find, because there is nothing. There is only dust and scattered arrowheads, and the ancient artwork of the native people. Despite the barrenness of the room, the presence of Death still seems to linger, like a phantom unable to leave its old haunts.

He moves to the spot in which Death usually sits and lays down, resting his head on the floor. His eyes close, but he is not at all weary. He is simply remembering. Without his sight, it is easier to bring back images of the past. The extraordinarily long ago past.

There is one memory in particular that comes to the front of his mind almost immediately. It is a memory from a beautiful garden, teeming with every plant and creature imaginable. In this dream-like world, a little white fawn awakens beneath the leaves of a weeping willow, soft and new. By his side, sleeping peacefully, is night-black wolf pup.

It is almost like this wolf is meant to be here. As if they were meant to be placed beneath the same tree, side by side, together. The fawn looks over the fuzzy body laying by his side, and then rests his head upon the wolf's shoulder. The pup gives off no heat. In fact, the black fur is cool to the touch. The fawn reasons that this should be unnatural, but for some reason, it feels right. It feels...comforting, almost.

He sighs, snuggling up against the wolf pup. His blue eyes close, and he is lost to sleep once more.