You dream of two foxes running along a riverbank, their tails entangled and merging. They snap and yip at each other, and their eyes never leave one another. They dance- their bodies meet and never leave, fur to fur, until their legs become one, their ears listen together, their eyes gleam in the same broad light. From the water emerges a rising sun. The river overflows and only one fox is left to run.
(You have never been good in goodbyes.)
Notes: some pretty depressing stuff (PC going through it). Character death, sickness… just overall lots of angst. Please keep that in mind.
You never expected it to end like this.
Gwylan lies in front of you, face clammy and pale, bound to bed by as many blankets as you could find. One of his hands is in yours, cold, fingers tangled together. You lift the wet sack from his forehead. Your other slips under. It’s no less warm.
Your lips purse into a tight line.
He had been improving. You thought so. You thought that this sickness was beginning to fade, slowly, but that it was fading. Even the shop had been brightening up, the past few days. You had hoped he’d have enough energy to walk out into the garden today, so you could sit with him and let him smell the roses- breathe actual fresh air. Tell him you weren’t going anywhere. “You know you can rely on me,” you’d say, as you’ve said so many times before, sometimes bemused, sometimes angry and sometimes afraid. “I’m not leaving you, Gwylan.”
You hope he cannot feel much anymore. You don’t want him to suffer any more of this. You don’t want him to feel the tremble in your hands, as you trace his features. You don’t want him to hear as you try to restrain your sobs.
He’s leaving. He said he would, didn’t he? A part of you had known this would happen. So why does it hurt so much? Your whole life has been a consistent cycle of preparing to lose those you love. It is not the first time you’ve seen someone on the brink of death. It will not the first time you mourn someone gone.
You should be used to this. You need to be. You don’t want him to go thinking he's leaving you behind.
You dip the sack back into the bucket, squeeze and return it over his head, before crawling in bed beside him. Your hand wraps around his shoulders and you push your face into the crook of his neck. You try to memorise his scent. You think you feel his hand brush over your hair, playing with loose strands. You doubt he realises. You doubt he can tell you apart from the beddings or the plush pillows. Your doubt tastes like ashes, smoke and burial rites.
“You promised me,” you whisper, as you look up at him. Anger bubbles over. You dig your nails into his shoulder blades. His eyes stare somewhere far ahead, near vacant. You choke back a sob. “Gwylan.”
They briefly scrunch up and focus on you. Still green. Still the same. A shadow of a smile nears the corners of his mouth, as recognition spark in his irises. He tries to open his mouth to speak, but only manages to cough. You lift yourself and help him onto his back, leaning over until it subsides.
He watches you. He must know what’s coming. There’s no fear in his eyes. Only- only sadness. He reaches and you return to his embrace. His warmth should be enough to suffocate. You don’t care. In the back of your head, a familiar voice whispers, I’m sorry.
Your hands hold him tightly. You can’t let go. Not yet. Not ever. You were supposed to have an eternity together. He is yours. His life is not anyone’s to own, but yours. You swore yourself to him. You both promised to stay. To stay, forever.
His breathing is shallow. You wish you could crawl between his ribs and help him breathe.
You try not to sleep. Try to savour every last moment you have with him. You commit every feature, every freckle to memory. Your eyes tire and you have no tears left to cry. You never feel his heart stop. You never know which breath is the last he takes.
You dream of two foxes running along a riverbank, their tails entangled and merging. They snap and yip at each other, and their eyes never leave one another. They dance- their bodies meet and never leave, fur to fur, until their legs become one, their ears listen together, their eyes gleam in the same broad light. From the water emerges a rising sun. The river overflows and only one fox is left to run.
When you wake, Gwylan is gone.
You don’t bury him in the garden. You can’t bring yourself to. He’s a seagull, after all. And the land has never been home.
In the end, all returns to the tide. It’s something he told you in a dream, long ago. The pirates are generous enough to bring you, far and further into the sea, until no land is in sight.
You manage to evade most of their groping and fondling for the part. The trip is not so long and you spend all your free time holding onto him in your little cabin.
Uncharacteristically, their captain stays quiet of quips throughout the journey- only watches blankly, as your little boat is lowered into the water, and you row. You catch his gaze again, leaning over the railing. He looks almost remorseful, or wistful. You shift your eyes ahead and don’t look back.
You row until you can barely make out the pirate ship. There’s nothing around you, but sea. You sit a long time there, holding onto his translucent corpse. His empty eyes stare into the depths of the sea. Fishes of all kind swim by, some more curious than others. The sea is cold and dark, but familiar. You know it is home you’re returning him to. It does nothing to ease your pain. For one last time, you sing Seabird's Lullaby to him, just as a storm approaches. Your voice caries along the waves- not half as beautifully as his,
It's pouring, by the time you're finished. You don't feel the chill, though. The world feels all too distant. And you’re not ready to say goodbye. You know you should be. All this journeying had been to prepare yourself for it. And still…
Your hands gently glide into his hair and you cut out a strand of his mousy hair. You tie it around your wrist in a braid, and instinctively touch the golden heart on your familiar collar. But nothing happens. Not even a the slightest tingling.
The boy you love is gone and you'll never have him again. Something cold has settles on the very front of your chest- like a child’s hand, trying to reassure that all will be alright, that no dangers lurk in the shadows. You lift his face and kiss his dead lips, one last time. Nobody hears your goodbye.
"I love you," you whisper and let go.
You don’t cry after he’s gone. The sea has made your tears the rain, salted with a never ending parting. You taste it on the storm, on your way back home, on every regret you will carry for the rest of your life.
You don't remember disembarking the ship, or crossing town, or making it through the forest. You remember only stepping inside the shop, shutting the door behind you and collapsing inside the garden. You lay flat on the tiles, staring straight ahead without any purpose. Grey clouds float high in the sky, just shy of another rain storm. They almost look like foxes, traipsing over hills. But not even you believe in such coincidences.
You know what is coming next, however. This forest is no less corrupted without Gwylan. And your promise of forever wasn’t tied selectively to him. Your fingers brush over your stomach.
The seal is still there, after all. You’re no less tied down than your fox ever was.
You fall asleep for a couple hours, curled up in a tight ball. Your sleep is dreamless and you wake up with the sun halfway down, along a group of tall naked mannequins surrounding you. They're all faceless, but you feel the pity emanating off of them all the same. They've bundled you up in a soft green cloak. It takes you a moment to recognise it- but Gwylan's smell is indistinguishable.
You bury your face in it, and sit there, until the moon rises. You don't have any desire to go back inside, but the night air grows stale and cold, and you're in no position to be sick. You'll be quite busy from now on. The shop still needs a shopkeeper.
You stand alone before the counter. The shop is silent. "I'm home," you say to nobody.
