Revaramek the Resplendent: Chapter One Hundred Twenty Five (Patreon)

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Chapter One Hundred Twenty Five

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Etchka dreamt of gods, and other lives, and pale-golden furred females. He dreamt of high priestesses and first chiefs, and of a little gray furred pup. The dreams were peaceful, if disorienting. At least this time when he awoke, he did not feel ill at ease. Instead, he felt strange at peace after his chat with Rain the night before. She was right. If he was glimpsing echoes from other lives, then perhaps that was the gods’ way of things. Death, and life anew. If it meant he would get to live another lifetime with Rain, then that was something worth celebrating.

For the following days, Etchka rarely left Rain’s side. Only when she needed time to herself and sent him away did he wander into the village on his own. Twice a day, he went to fetch food and water, or to check on his various apprentices. Even then it was difficult for him to resist the urge to send the tribe’s midwives to check on her.

By that time, the tribe had enough pups that several female members who had experience with birthing their own pups had taken on the role of helping other expectant mothers through the process. Each was trained in herbs and medicines as well as anatomy, and had paid Rain several visits in the past just to check on the progress of her child. They were also quick to reassure Etchka that it was only natural she wanted time alone, even now. Etchka completely understood, but that made it no less easy for him to tear himself away from Rain at such a time.

Etchka spent his time away from her wandering about the village, and the oasis along which their people dwelled. He had not gone back out into the desert since the time he returned, mumbling about some old high priestess. He knew Rain was probably right, and he had been pushing himself too hard. Just because the gods gave him these powers did not mean he should be pressing their limits every chance he got. Even if he wasn’t so sure they hadlimits, anymore. At least, not physically. It was increasingly clear they took a great mental toll upon him.

More importantly, he did not want to be far from Rain when her birthing pains began. If he was out in the desert, he could miss the whole process. He was not sure if she would wish him in there with her, or not. Some females wanted their mates at their sides, others did not wish their presence until after the pup was born. Etchka was fine with it either way, but he wanted to be near her just the same. Even if she didn’t wish him present at the time of birth, he would remain just outside their home, waiting.

One day, Etchka went into the village to get Rain some fresh hand fruit juice. The trees in and around the village were especially laden with ripe fruit this season. The urd’thin had taken to mashing it and straining out the juice to drink. The crushed pulp was sometimes eaten on its own, or cooked into other foods. Etchka waited while fresh fruit was crushed and strained for him. Rain had wanted a little more time to herself, and he knew she’d appreciate juice from fruits freshly crushed that afternoon.

While he waited, the urd’thin making the juice offered him a wooden cup of it, served thick, with the pulp. Etchka sipped it, straining the pulp with his teeth, then chewing it up. He glanced up with a crimson bird flew overhead, screeching. It was a rare sight, the birds usually stuck close to a singular oasis, and theirs did not have a resident population. Etchka hoped it might portend good things.

When the juice was ready, Etchka took a bit more for himself. He sipped it as he wandered back through the village, towards their home. Along the way, he paused to watch the rambunctious pups playfighting in the dusty tract of land between homes. Soon, he thought, they’d have a pup of their own. He watched them long enough to make sure they weren’t hurting each other. They laughed and giggled and wrestled across the ground, caking their fur and tails in sand. Etchka smiled, imagining Rain shaking her head as she had to tell their pup to go wash the sand from his fur for the third time in the same day.

He moved on, carrying the jug of juice under one arm. Its sweet scent tickled his nose long after his mug was empty. Tempted as he was to pour himself more, he was bringing it for Rain. Etchka smiled to himself, knowing she was going to love it.

“Rain!” Etchka called out as he approached the heavy hide curtains that served as their door. “I’m back! I brought you hand fruit juice!”

“Etchka!” Her pained, frightened voice put him on edge even before he saw the blood.

With a horrified gasp, Etchka dropped the jug on the floor. Fruit juice sloshed everywhere and the wooden vessel clattered over the packed sand. Rain’s water had broken, near their bed, its sticky wetness riddled with a startling amount of crimson. Rain lay on the bed, unclothed, with more blood on their sleeping hides, and matting the fur of her thighs. Pain twisted up her face. Her fangs were bared and her ears flattened.

“Rain!”

Etchka’s heart stopped. He ran to her and dropped to his knees alongside the bed. Unable even to breath, he grasped and squeezed her hand, brushing bloodied fur with the other. Though he had never witnessed a birth, he was certain there should not be this much blood, let alone so soon. Rain cried out, nearly crushing his hand in her gasp. There was more blood.

Something was wrong.

His first, terrified instinct was to heal her, to fix whatever was wrong inside her. Etchka forced himself to breathe, and even that was a struggle. He felt as if he was choking on his heart own heart, so twisted up inside he was about to retch. He forced a deeper breath, focusing, and moved his hand to her very lower belly, calling his shaping.

Rain pushed his hand away, shaking her head. “No! The…the pup! You could…” She moaned, back arching in agony. “M-midwives! Get them!”

Torn as Etchka was, he knew he did not have time for indecision. He nodded once, kissed Rain’s muzzle, and jumped to his feet. Then Etchka ran back to the village, hurtling through it. Never in all his life had he run so fast. He skidded to a stop at the first midwife’s house, threw her entry curtain aside so hard he tore it from its moorings, and screamed his urgent plea.

“Rain’s bleeding! Help! Now!”

Etchka was already sprinting to the next midwife’s home before the first had time to fully process what he shouted. Etchka wasn’t even sure he was speaking in complete sentences. It didn’t matter. He sprinted throughout the village, gathering all the midwives who had tracked the progress of her pregnancy. By the time he was at the last midwife’s home, Etchka was completely out of breath. His heart thundered, his lungs burned and his legs gave out. He collapsed onto his hands and knees, wheezing that Rain needed help, right away.

As the female hurried around the home, gathering up her supplies, her mate helped Etchka onto a seating mat. The male brought him water to drink while he caught his breath, and as soon as Etchka took the cup, it shook so badly in his hands that the water sloshed over his fingers. The male steadied his hands and helped him drink it. Before the cup was even empty, the midwife was already gone, rushing back to Etchka’s house. Etchka rose up to follow her, but his legs refused to obey. He wobbled and flopped back onto the mat. He tried to rise again, only for the midwife’s mate to put a hand on his shoulder.

“Easy.” The male gave Etchka’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “You won’t do her any good if you pass out.”

“She needs me…” Etchka’s voice was little more than a broken murmur. “I have to go to her…”

“She’s in good hands.” The male tipped the cup to Etchka’s muzzle, and held it till Etchka drank. “They’ll do everything they can.”

Etchka gulped down the water, then gazed around their home, his eyes only half focused. The scent of herbs and flowers was almost overwhelming. They hung from the ceiling in half-dried bunches. Bitter, astringent smelling medicines made from more herbs and ground roots littered the place where the midwife had spilled them in her haste.

“I should get more help…”

“You should get the other midwives.” The male refilled Etchka’s cup with more water, and held it to his muzzle.

Etchka pushed it away. “Already did…”

“Drink.” The cup was pushed to his muzzle again, and held there until Etchka drank some of the water. “You’ve already got those who can help her most. Now you just…have to wait. It’s hard, I know, but you have to give them room to work.”

Etchka took the cup in his own hands again. He finished off the water, then handed it back to the other urd’thin. In so doing, he caught sight of his fingers. Bits of sticky red coated them, hints of Rain’s blood. His hands still shook, and Etchka stared at them in silence.

“Let me get you a wash basin.”

“No.” Etchka stood back up, still a little wobbly. “I have to help her.”

“She’s already got as much help as-”

“But…” Etchka stared at his hands. He could almost see the air bending around them, his shaping waiting to be unleashed, to be directed. “They can’t do what I can do.”

“I’m not sure that’s-”

Etchka was out the door before the other urd’thin even finished his sentence. He started off at a jog, his knees shaking, legs threatening to give out once more. But Etchka forced himself onward, forced his legs to obey. There was no way he would sit idly by while Rain and their pup were in danger. Only if he ran himself until he collapsed, unconscious, would he stay away now. Soon he hurtled through the village, barely avoid crashing into other urd’thin who came to see what the commotion was, or those going about their day, yet unaware of lives hanging in the balance. The desert was a golden blur all around him, voices by a clatter in the distance.

Just as Etchka reached their home, on the outskirts of the village, one of the midwives emerged. She held bloodied clothes in her hands, and more blood stained her light brown and beige-spotted fur. Etchka skidded to a stop, and put a hand on the midwife’s shoulder. Her muzzle was set, ears cocked half back, an expression of fear and grim determination just the same. It told him all he needed to know, but he had to ask anyway.

“Rain! How is she? What’s wrong? How is the pup?”

“She’s bleeding.” The midwife bumped her muzzle against his, a gesture of comfort, when she did not wish to touch him with bloodied hands. “We are not sure why.” She crouched down, and rinsed the clothes out in a basin. The water was already stained a murky red. When the clothes were was clean as she could get them, she stood back, wringing them out. “Something’s torn, maybe. Or…something inside her. The pup is coming, but…”

“But…what?” Etchka panted, his whole body shaking. Even his heart trembled, refusing to beat properly.

The midwife worked her muzzle a few times, unable to find words. She took a deep breath, her ears drooping, eyes glinting with unshed tears. “Etchka, Rain…you should. Brace yourself. She may not…”

“No…”

“She may not survive the birth, Etchka.” The midwife bumped her muzzle against his again, whimpering. “I am sorry, we are doing all we can, but…things are not as they should be. She has lost…much of her blood, and…to save the pup, we…we may have to…”

“No!” Etchka worked his tongue inside his jaws, struggling for words even as the whole world fell away beneath him, and left him tumbling into formless panic. “I could heal her!”

“That would put the pup at risk. I am sorry, Ethcka.” The midwife sniffed, blinking away tears. “We will do all we can, I promise you. But…you should be prepared, if you can. I have to, I am needed.”

As the midwife hurried back into his house, Etchka stood just outside it, staring at the sand beneath his feet. No longer did he hear Rain crying out in pain, only muffled orders from the chief midwife to the others. Surely, Rain wasn’t already gone. Etchka took a shuddering breath, tears spilling down his muzzle. Maybe they could still save her.

“Please let her live…” Etchka whispered a tearful prayer, wiping his eyes. “Please let her live…” His head spun. This couldn’t be happening. Only that morning, she was fine, teasing him about spending too much time hovering over her shoulder. Now she was…bleeding…dying… “Please, please let her live!”

How could the gods be so cruel?

They had wanted this for years. When Rain finally took child, they had both been so happy, so excited to start a family together. So often they had spoken of names. So often he smiled and held her at night, told her what a wonderful mother he knew she would be. Now that the day had finally come, what should be a celebration of life had turned into little more than a desperate plea to deaf gods for his mate’s life.

“No.” Etchka balled up his bloodied fists, gritting his teeth. “No!”

The gods gave him a great gift, and he was going to use it.

Etchka pushed aside the entry curtains and stepped into his home. The scent of blood smothered everything. Pots and jars and bags filled with myriad medicines and herbs were scattered around the place, tinting the coppery stench with their bitter aroma. Blood-soaked clothes were strewn about their bed. A collection of edged tools and other implements for the worst kind of emergency sat nearby, along with clean clothes, and a small collection of the rarest of medicines.

The midwifes surrounded Rain, speaking to each other in hushed whispers, wiping away blood. Etchka swiveled his ears, listening in as they suggested new ways to try and quell the bleeding with endangering or impeding the pup. Another seemed worried that the pup was coming too fast, that something could be wrong with it, and that in turn, had somehow harmed Rain. All their experience, and yet never had they faced something like this. A great pall hung over the place, as even as the midwives worked so frantically, they had already resigned themselves to the worst.

“We should give her more Ember Bark.”

“No, we must give her Star’s Blessing.”

“She hasn’t been poisoned, and nothing has bitten her. It can ease maladies of body and mind, but it purifies, it is not used to quell bleeding.”

“And nothing that can quell bleeding has done so, even Ember Bark! Star’s Blessing may help sustain her long enough to birth the pup!”

Etchka withered inside, his heart cold and hollow. Had it already come to that? He stepped forward, reaching towards his mate. “I can heal her.”

Etchka’s voice was soft despite his growing determination. So soft that the midwives did not even hear him. They were completely focused on his work, and even the shift in lighting had not drawn their attention when he pushed aside the entryway curtains. They continued debating how best to treat her, and what use to make of the tribe’s rarest and most potent of medicines.

“And what if we give it to her, but lose her anyway? Suppose someone is bitten by a sand viper tomorrow? Or some pup starts eating mud-rot mushrooms? We’d have nothing left to with which to save them.”

“I understand the concern, but I’m trying to save two lives now, not tomorrow!”

“And if it would save them I would give it to her now! But Star’s Blessing is not for wounds, it is for poisons, venoms, illnesses, it-”

“I can heal her!” This time Etchka snarled the words, and his voice was rolling thunder, a portent of a distant and growing storm.

The midwives all fell silent, turning to stare at him. When none raised protest, Etchka approached the bed. Rain lay atop it, blood-soaked and barely breathing. With every step towards her, the world changed. The air was as a physical thing, parting before him. The ceiling of his home dissolved away. Though he knew it was daylight, when he peered up he saw not the blue sky nor the sun, but an ocean of stars on display, crystalline spheres and red-gold clouds. All the great cosmos on display. A strange, unsteady, whooshing thump drowned out all sound. As he knelt alongside the bed, he understood the sound was Rain’s fading heartbeat.

Etchka took her hand in his, squeezing it. Beneath the cosmos, there was no other sound but her heartbeat, no understanding but that of her life. All the midwives were frozen around him, as if time had stopped for everyone but Etchka and Rain. A strange sense of grand balance and finality settled over him, as if he had to provide an answer without ever truly understanding the question.

All stories must end.

Something stirred, deep inside head, awaiting his decision. Without ever sensing motion, all the midwives were staring at him once again, their eyes nothing but a reflection of stars, watching and waiting.

“I want her to live.”

Thus, did she live.

Thus, was the decision made, and the balance struck.

Time wound forward again, and the midwives resumed their frantic efforts. One of them stared at Etchka, her jaw agape and ears splayed in confusion, as if she hadn’t even seen him approach until he was kneeling alongside her. An ocean of shaping poured forth from him, from inside his heart and from the crack in his head. It wreathed Rain in his healing power, found her wounds, deep inside, and knit them together. It quelled her bleeding, and forged blood anew deep in the marrow of her bones.

For the first time, Etchka felt his healing, the way others claimed to feel it. It made him ache, deep inside, as if to save her he was giving her a part of himself, his blood for hers, his heartbeat faded to strengthen her own. And his shaping went further, much further than healing her. It stretched everywhere around him, to the midwives, to the village, to the desert and beyond. Like lifeblood spilled across the sand, it soaked into the essence of existence itself, and forever altered it.

What was meant to be, would not be.

Etchka collapsed against the bed, struggling for breath. Consciousness faded in and out. One of the midwives helped him to a mat. Hours passed in moments, or moments lingered for hours. Time had no meaning, and memories from other lives tangled themselves inside his head. Etchka wandered dreams and visions, pasts and futures, impossible things, a mortal body overwhelmed by powers it was not meant to wield, a mortal mind overcome by knowledge it should not know, and could not process.

“Push! Rain, can you push?”

“She’s still not conscious…”

“Her body knows what to do…”

Etchka sat up, forcing himself to focus. All that mattered now was this life, this moment. He had saved her, hadn’t he? He stood, stumbled, and braced himself against a wall. The midwives did not notice. They were clustered around Rain. Her pup was being delivered. Etchka went to his mate, dropping to his knees alongside her. He took her hand again, leaning in to kiss her head. Though she was not conscious, her breathing was deeper now, her heartbeat steadier.

“It’s coming, love.” Etchka whispered into her ear, stroking her fur. “Just push! I know you can hear me. I know how strong you are…we’ll get through this, and soon, you’ll hold our child…”

“It’s crowning!”

“She isn’t pushing enough! We have to-”

“Gently, gently!”

Etchka managed feeble smile, kissing his mate’s ear. “That’s it, almost there, almost there…”

“I have it, quickly now, tie and cut the cord.”

Etchka looked up in time to see one of the midwives cradling the newborn, sticky and wet and caked in blood, like it’s mother. It sat limp in her arms, no movement, no cries. As soon as the cord was severed, she turned away and rushed to her supplies. Most of the other midwives went with her, with one staying behind to attend Rain through her afterbirth and beyond.

The midwife holding the pup dropped onto her knees, her back to Etchka. She gave the pup a little swat, but it did not cry. In an instant, the others were grabbing at cloths and strange little tools, tiny pinches of herbs and salves, things he did not know the uses for. They murmured amongst themselves, their motions increasingly frantic, their whispered voices growing into agitated hisses. All of them leaned forward, together, examining the pup.

“Is…is it male, or female?”

“Male.”

The head midwife answered without looking back at him, her verse clipped and terse. She spoke to one of the others, who swatted the pup again. When that did not work, they laid him on a mat amidst them, turning him, opening his mouth to peer inside. They looked at the inside of his ears, looked into his eyes.

“Why…why isn’t…” Etchka squeezed Rain’s hand. “Why isn’t it crying?”

The midwives gave him no answer. Somehow, that was worse than an explanation.

It meant he already know why.

“Please…” Tears built anew in Etchka’s eyes, and spilled across his fur. “Please, no…”

There was no response. They turned the pup again, pushed gently on its chest, on its belly. One lay her head against him. He looked so tiny, so fragile, dwarfed by the female’s head and ear. She listened for a moment, then pumped at his chest with her fingers a few times. One pushed her muzzle to his, blowing into it. The chief midwife pumped his chest again. Then she listened to him once more, longer this time. Afterwards, she wiped her eyes and shook her head.

“I…bring him to me!” Etchka tried to blink away his tears, a moment of hope dawning in his ragged heart. “I can heal him!”

The midwife’s chief slowly pushed herself up and turned to him. Fresh tears and Rain’s blood stained her fur. Sorrow shone in her eyes, and hung, leaden, in her voice. “No…you…you can’t.”

“I can heal anyone!” Etcha’s voice came out a broken, battered moan.

“There’s nothing to heal, Etchka.” She approached him on shaky legs, and set a trembling hand upon his shoulder, squeezing. “He…he was already gone when…There’s…nothing any of us can do. Not even you.”

“No…” Etchka dropped his head against Rain’s chest, sobbing into her fur. “No, no!”

“I’m sorry, Etchka. I’m so sorry.” The chief midwife settled on her knees alongside him, hugging him, rubbing his back. While she comforted him, she listened to Rain’s heart. “At least she’s doing better.”

Etchka managed a numb nod, squeezing Rain’s hand.

Despite their chief’s pronouncement, each midwife did all they knew, trying to get the pup to breath, trying to get his heart to beat. They worked on the newborn longer they needed too, far past the time it was clear he would never draw breath. None of them wanted to give up, any more than Etchka wanted them to give up. Etchka cried the whole time, till Rain’s fur was soaked with his tears. Eventually, the chief midwife went to each of the others, and asked them to stop. They were all crying as hard as Etchka was.

When their efforts were over, several of them attended Rain. They bathed her, and with Etchka’s help, gently moved her so that they could take away all the bloodied sleeping mats and hides, to replace them with fresh ones. Etchka stayed with her the whole time, squeezing her hand, whispering into her ear, stroking her fur. He set her back atop the new mats when their bed was ready, and they examined her anew. Her heart rate and her breathing were both back to normal.

While Rain was being attended too, the others cleaned the stillborn pup. They bathed him and washed his fur, sniffling and whispering to him as if he could hear them. Etchka watched a while, and then touched the chief’s arm. “Can…Can I hold him? I want…I want to hold him…”

“Of course, Etchka.” She patted his hand, and gestured for them to bring the pup over.

Etchka took the pup into his arms, cradling him reverently against his chest. His warmth was already faded, his body starting to stiffen. His fur was still damp, and sticky. It was a pale gray, like his own. The nubs of tiny horns marked his little head. His ears looked too far too big for his body, his tail outsized. Each little finger had its own tiny, dull claw, silken soft pads adorned his hands, and feet. He looked…perfect. As ready to face the world as any urd’thin pup could be upon birth.

Yet never would he draw a single breath. Never would he smell the desert air, or taste his mother’s milk, or drink the oasis, or feel the morning dew upon his pads. He was everything they had hoped for, and he never even had a chance to live.

“What…what happened to him?” Etchka hugged his son against his chest, struggling to hold back fresh sobs.

“I don’t know.” The chief midwife stroked his ears, hugging Etchka’s head against her body. “He was stillborn. He…He died, inside her.”

He died inside her.

What little was left of Etchka’s heart shattered like brittle, baked clay.

Was…was that because…?

Had he…?

All Etchka had wanted to do was save Rain’s life. Had he doomed his son with that same desperation? Was that the balance the stars demanded? He buried his muzzle against the tiny pup’s fragile form, cursing the gods in his head. What cruel deity would force such a choice upon someone? Fresh tears soon soaked the stillborn pup’s fur anew.

“I’m sorry!” Etchka sobbed against his son. “I’m so sorry! I just…I wanted to…help her! You should…you should be…and you’re so beautiful! And I…I took…everything from you!” He took a few shuddering breaths, trying unsuccessfully to collect himself. “Your…your mother. She…she believes that…we live, other lives, and…I have to believe that now, too. Somewhere, sometime, you will know life! You’ll know what I took from you…I…I hope it’s true. I want you to live. I know…I know you mustlive, I’ve…I’ve seen you. In my dreams. Maybe that was…before all this. Or…when we’re all gone, we’ll…We’ll live together, in another life. I promise you, if I do see you in another life, I will never you go! I will never let you know this pain! I’m sorry, my son…I’m so sorry. All I can…can tell you now is…I love you, son, I love you. I’ll always love you.  Even if I’ll only see you in my dreams.”

Etchka took another shaking breath, and glanced at Rain. Gentle, he moved into bed alongside her, still cradling their son. Etchka nosed at Rain’s ear, whispering. “I hope you wake, soon. I want you to see him, before we…” He sniffed, and swallowed back a sob, leaning his head against his mate’s shoulder. “We should…we should give him a name. don’t you think? He should have a name, so that if we meet him, in another life, we’ll know him. He…he deserves to have a name. To be remembered.”

The Chief midwife leaned over to stroke Etchka’s arm. “I think a name would be wonderful.”

“Rain would want that…”

“I’ll…leave you alone, for a little while. If she wakes, call us. We’ll be outside.”

Etchka nodded, fighting to hold back the heaviest of his sobs. He knew in days to come, a creeping numbness would set in. None of it would seem real. And years from now, it would be almost as a bad dream, something they could put aside and pretend it did not happen. And yet, Etchka did not wantto put it aside. Not ever. He did not want to forget how much he loved his son. How did not want to forget this felt. A mistake forgotten was a mistake repeated. His son deserved to be remembered, no matter how quickly his story was over.

Or was it over? His life was over, but his story would persist. Etchka was certain. The pup’s story would linger with his parents for their rest of their lives. A tragedy that Etchka would ever wonder if he had caused, or if he could have averted it. But he did not want his son to be a memory only of pain. He wanted his son’s memory to be one of love, of hope. There had to be hope to balance fear, joy to balance sorrow. But where was the hope in this?

“You could have a hopeful name…” Etchka murmured to the pup. “Maybe…you could be a parable, to them, to our people’s future. Some story, however tragic, they can draw a hopeful lesson from. So the next prime shaper knows better…” He sniffled, wiped his eyes, his nose, and then hugged his pup. “Maybe I’m just being selfish, maybe…I just…want some tiny…star of hope to remember you by. You know…” He sniffed again, somehow finding it in himself to laugh. “When I was a pup, they teased me because…because my name comes from the old language. No one uses it anymore. But it means Father. A silly name, but it’s mine. I…I’d like to name you, for the old language, too. Something…something hopeful. For the hope that we truly will see each other again, someday, in another life. And when we do, I’ll love you with every mote of my being, and I will never let you go. So…I’m going to name you Vakaal, for you will always be my parable. My hopeful story. Someday, my beautiful parable, I’ll see you again.”

*****

Rain awoke in time to cradle her pup. Etchka held her as she rocked the pup’s limp form in her arms, singing to him through her tears. Despite her sorrow, the stillbirth did not seem to surprise her. Etchka wondered if she already knew the pup would not survive when she sent him for the midwives. At the time, she had not wanted him to heal her, and perhaps she clung to some hope that her child would live, even if she did not. If she blamed him for healing her anyway, she spoke not a word of it.

When Etchka told her why he wanted to name their lost pup Vakaal, Rain managed a smile and kissed his muzzle. “A beautiful name, for a beautiful child.”

At last, the midwives returned to check on Rain. They were happy to see her awake, and took time to listen to her heartbeat and her breathing. Through great effort, they eventually convined Rain and Etchka to part with their child. Despite knowing the poor pup had never drawn breath outside his mother, it still ripped a gaping hole deep inside Etchka when they carried the child away, his tiny, limp tail draped across the midwife’s arm.

The whole tribe had planned a great celebration for their prime shaper’s child. But after everyone saw Etchka running frantic through the village, news of their tragedy spread swift. Where they had once planned a ceremony to introduce the pup to the village, now they built a pyre. Every tribe member brought something to burn. Some brought sticks, or palm fronds, others brought old bits of clothing, or dried reeds. By offering some small part to the pyre, each tribe member hoped to help carry the soul who never truly knew life across the great desert. In that way, at least they could all have touched the pup’s existence, however briefly.

The tribal elders came in person to help Etchka and Rain through the village. One of them picked Rain up and carried her, gentle as could be. Ethcka stumbled along, half numb, squeezing Rain’s hand. Another elder held Etchka’s other arm to steady him. The others stuck close, ready to assist whenever needed. When they neared the edge of the oasis, where the pyre was nearly finished, one of them fetched a sitting mat for Rain, but she turned it down. She wanted to stand, instead. Etchka put an arm around her, letting her lean all her weight against him. The elder holding his arm braced himself against Etchka, helping to support them both.

As pieces were added to the pyre, the urd’thin who set them came to offer sympathies and sorrows to Etchka and Rain. Their stroked their fur, pressed their muzzles together, hugged them, any show of affection and support they could think of. Etchka had no words of thanks to offer them, but he appreciated the gesture, just the same. Other couples had their own pups offer something to the fire. Some brought old clothes they’d outgrown. Others brought little wooden toys to burn, in the hopes that wherever Vakaal went next, he’d have toys to play with there.

Only when the pyre itself was complete did the chief midwife bring forth Vakaal’s body. Now, he was bathed and cleaned, and adorned with several tiny wooden emblems, which together meant ‘gods’ story’, in the hopes that Vakaal would reach the gods, and be remembered as part of their great story, despite his brief flicker of life.

Etchka had other ideas.

They took the stillborn pup through the tribe, letting everyone see him, touch his fur. In that way, at least, he had existed, he was known. All had seen him, touched him, and in his own way, Vakaal was a part of all of their lives. They brought the pup to his parents, last. Rain and Etchka both hugged him one last time, cried into his fur, whispered their love and their goodbyes. Etchka promised to see him again, in another life. Rain smiled at that idea, and kissed their poor pup before tearfully handing towards the midwife.

Etchka took the pup from her, instead. “I’ll do it…”

Tribal elders helped support Rain while the chief midwife led Etchka to the pyre. His legs refused to work. His feet leaden, dragged through the sands. Vakaal’s limp form was at once unbearably light and inconceivably heavy, and it took every ounce of strength Etchka had to lift the body, and set it atop the pyre. Once it was in place, he leaned in to kiss the child’s ears, whispering to him.

“I’m sorry.”

Etchka returned to Rain’s side, and hugged her tight. She buried her face in his chest, crying into his fur. People came and spoke, but Etchka cared little for what they had to say. No words would comfort him, no expressions of belief in the gods could bring his son back. None of them hurt as Rain and he hurt. While he appreciated everything offered, he little interest in listening. Only when it was time to light the pyre did the words start to catch his ears.

“Now at last, with black sorrow in our hearts, do we commit this poor child back to the sands, and the skies.” The chief midwife cast her hands towards the bright blue sky. It was often her role to preside over funerals, just as it was over birth celebrations, like a wise gatekeeper over life, and death. Behind her, several others carried bundles of dry reeds to cooking fires, and set one end alight. They returned to the pyre, and pushed the burning reds into the kindling at the bottom of the pile. As smoke wafted, and the flames took hold, the chief midwife turned towards it. “From sand, we are born! To sand, we return! We call our plea to the gods, as we return this lost child unto the great desert! Grant him a place in your great story! Grant unto him a meaning, a purpose, a memory to memory to live on, in all of us!”

From sand…

We are born…

The First flattened his ears as the words strange memories unspooling in his head, spilling from the ever-widening crack in his mind.

To sand…

We return…

All at once, he saw himself standing not amidst a tribe of urd’thin, but alone among a sea of sculptures built from sand. They had the form of urd’thin, the fine details, yet each was but golden grains, forged by impossible shaping. Even Rain was but sand, clutching him. Etchka heard the chief midwife speaking, but saw her frozen, a lifeless golden statue. In a blink, she had turned, facing him, the same frozen position, the same body of sand, and yet, somehow, she stared at him. Her gaze pierced him to his heart, her words echoed in his head in another’s strangely familiar voice. The voice of a female urd’thin, the color of the desert at dawn. All at once, she was there, alive and well, and moving amidst all the sand sculptures, calling out to the pyre.

“Let this child return now, to sand, that one day he may be forged anew. Let his story begin not with his life, but with his death. Let the world turn, and the story change, and the gods’ great cycle one day renew! Let him be woven into its great fabric, that evermore, this star but waiting to be born, will be born anew! Let him be that upon which the gods’ great story ever turns!”

Every word spoke, he whispered in repetition to himself. And with his whispers came shaping, pouring through the chasm in whatever unknown barrier lay inside his head. His whispered words gave that shaping purpose, and it wove itself into the world, into existence. Etchka gave it further purpose, grasping for his son. He could almost…feel him there, as if…he was meantto be there, and simply wasn’t. As though there were a soul just waiting for a vessel to be born…

Find him. Comfort him.

The world flickered, and the sand sculptures all moved. There was no movement to observe, no shifting and no sound. All at once they were simply all facing the same direction, staring at the pyre. Atop it now sat not a body made of a sand, but a shining beacon, brilliant and blue-white. Like a star, cast down from the heavens and stranded upon the earth. The light grew and grew as the flames rose, its blue-white light slowly erasing the fire’s orange flick.

Etchka reached towards the stranded star, and saw his own hand not as flesh, but not as sand, either. Instead, Etchka’s arm was as the vastness of space, an outline of infinite black that silhouetted his limb, his fingers against the sand and starlight. Within the darkness endless stars were strewn. Etchka looked down at himself, saw Rain’s arms around him, golden sand clutching the cosmos. At his heart was a great star, like that upon the pyre, ever turning. In the image, Etchka knew his son was meant to be a great star in the sky, brighter even than his father, the first to truly be life and cosmos intertwined.

The pyre flames reached Vakaal’s body, and the images were but sand scattered by the wind. Everyone was real again, and Rain was sobbing into his fur as their son’s ashes returned to the desert. Etchka hugged her tightly, but the images left confusion reigning over him. He was suddenly unsure if his mind had translated the midwife’s speech into his vision, or if the words he heard were only in his head, just like the images. His mind struggled to adjust, and he found himself wondering if stars could truly die. Even if the body was gone, was the light still there? Even as reality slowly took root in his head, it left Etchka feeling as if he had failed somehow, that all this was wrong.

But all he had wanted to do was save Rain’s life.

As the flames consumed the child’s body, the whole tribe howled it’s mourning. Etchka and Rain threw back their heads, howling their grief with the others. The sound carried across the desert, as if all the world was mourning with them. When their voices gave out, Etchka and Rain held one another, and cried until they had no more tears left to shed.

Only when the pyre had burned out, and darkness began its nightly conquest of the sky, did the tribe begin to disperse. As each urd’thin left, they once more delivered their sympathies and sorrows to Rain and Etchka, along with offers of support. At least this time Etchka found the strength to thank them. Etchka and Rain lingered until the flames were out, and the ashes grew cold.

When the ashes were cold enough to handle, the chief midwife scooped some up in her hands. “To the wind, and the sand, return!” She tossed some of the ashes into the air, where the breeze scattered them across the sands. “To the water, and to our lives, return.” She flung the rest of her handful of ash into the oasis, where it clung to the surface of the water. Then she crouched and scooped more ash, and presented her ash-caked hands to Etchka and Rain. “And to your parents…return.” She smeared the ash across their faces and muzzles, sniffling. “That your story may ever continue, through them.”

She bowed her head, and pressed her muzzle gently to Etchka’s, and then to Rains. Each of them hugged her, and thanked her. She had some of the others help them to a spread of sitting mats nearby, sprawled across the sand. Platters and bowls of food were there, along with water, juice, and kurat. Though neither Etchka nor Rain were at all hungry, the midwife bade them to eat, nonetheless.

Etchka forced himself to choke down food. It was difficult, for everything tasted of ashes and sand. He washed it all down, but the water and juice tasted of the same. Though he hoped in time these feelings would pass, for now he wondered why he even bothered eating. But he knew Rain must feel the same way, and she would need him now more than ever. Just as he needed her. So he ate until he was full, and he made certain she did the same. She needed her strength back. The midwife made sure they both drank plenty of water, as well, refusing to let them live until the drinking jugs were empty.

While the two of them ate, other urd’thin worked to clean their home. They removed anything stained with blood, and replaced it with something clean. Fresh mats, fresh pillows and animal hides. They scoured the home entirely, scrubbing away blood stains, and pouring fresh sand over old, where the floor was bare. Bundles of freshly cut herbs, and collections of flowers were hung from the domed ceiling and along the walls. Musk moss and other incenses were burned, all to help cover the scents of blood and birth.

By the time Etchka and Rain were escorted back to their home, it was almost as if the whole thing had never happened at all. Thanks to Etchka, Rain was healed, and thanks to the tribe, their home left no evidence of the tragedy. Etchka suspected that by morning, the pyre’s remains would be gone as well, as the tribe sought to move on, and to avoid any painful reminders for their prime shaper and his mate.

But Etchka knew this was not something they could forget. A clean home would only go so far, and his healing could only mend Rain’s body, not aching heart nor her wounded soul. Together, they collapsed into bed, and though Etchka was certain he had cried out all his tears, somehow his body found fresh reserves. Without a word, he broke into sobs against Rain, and his tears brought forth her own.

Together, they cried themselves to sleep.