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For Cwmfen. Backdated to whenever it was Ril’o died. If you’d like your character to have witnessed Ril’o’s laying out or the actual funeral you can incorporate that in other threads or make a quick reply to this AFTER Cwmfen’s SECOND post.
.... When the Adonis had brought the body to her the white lady had been stunned. Still and lifeless, at least the eyes had been pulled closed so that unseeing eyes did not peer out at her. It was not that the Rosea had never encountered death, she knew the realities of the harsh lives they led, but it had never hit so close to home before. Although she knew her mother and brothers had crossed over, she did not see them after they had. The last images of them were those of living, happy beings. The last image she would have of Ril’o would be his funeral rites.
.... Cercelee did not dwell on Cwmfen’s explanation, although the initial fright and upset was hard to ignore. The same male who mangled her mate was now offing members of her pack. And it had been the same male who had spawned the Adonis she trusted with her life. When Cwmfen told her that the monster would soon be taken care of, she could only trust the woad colored women and then focus on the task at hand. Never before had a Dahlian fallen, not while still within their ranks, and Cercelee and Cwmfen had only their own beliefs to draw from. Whatever they did, Cercelee knew that sending off their first fallen member wouldn’t be easy, it was perhaps one of the hardest tasks she would have to ever do.
.... They split the assigned tasks, Cercelee allowing the church kitchen to be used as a staging area as Cwmfen repaired what she could of the body, cleaned as much of the blood away as was possible. The pups were locked out while the Adonis worked, Cercelee worried about Catalyst who had witnessed the whole event. She would allow them to see the body after it was prepared, but not yet. It was hard for her to even look on the corpse, knowing that his soul was inside waiting for a proper sending off. Gratefully she stole away and gathered up the wood and stones, hauling them up the cliff of Nereid, the huge cliff seemed a fitting place for a cemetary. It took her several trips and her body ached when she was finished, but it was her penitence. A pack mate had died under her watch, the big bad wolf had stolen a sheep while the shepherd slept and now there would be no sleep, not until Ril’o was laid to rest.
....Cwmfen arrived with the body as Cercelee finished the pyre, and together they laid him atop it. Cercelee wished she could think of words that were worthy of the male, but instead she gathered the flowers in silence. Red and white lilies dominated the ones Cercelee gathered and she laid them over the male in unison with her Adonis, covering all but his face. As a child she remembered her father telling her spirits saw flowers as lights, and Cercelee hoped that the friendly spirits would flock to Ril’o now, guiding him to whatever came after this life. When they burned him in the morning light, the flowers would burn too, and Ril’o would have no light left to keep him clinging to the pack lands. Hopefully he would go in peace.
.... Once he was ready morning was still hours away, though it seemed they had worked all night. Throwing back her head she called to the pack, sorrowful. Only a few notes but it told the story thoroughly. One of their own had fallen and if they wished, they should come keep watch with them. Nodding to Cwmfen, Cercelee settled against the stones, her navy eyes looking out to the sea. Nothing would happen to Ril’o now, and when morning broke it would be the perfect time to release him. Morning had always been symbolic of a new beginning, and that was all Cercelee had left to give him.
....Cercelee gently and respectfully acknowledge any and all mourners that filtered through, but she did not move from her spot near to the pyre, the wood and kindling piled below Ril’o, the flowers blanketing him. Only when the first pink streaks began to form in the sky did Cercelee rise, gathering the sticks together to create the sparks that would soon engulf her friend. "Thank you Ril’o, Dahlia is proud of you. We’ll miss you." Her voice never rose above a whisper, but she was sure he heard, if the dead could hear. Turning to Cwmfen she nodded, they could release him now.
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500+
The woman had carried the body from the boarders, lifting it in her arms. The body was heavier than she had expected, as if, without life, the shell that once harbored the wolf named Ril’o became as the earth, a rock returning to the source. She had taken the body to Cercelee, walking the long way to the Church, carrying that body with great care. The head was cradled, as if it mattered. While the warrior did not often exhibit such compassion for a dead body, her mind was understandably connected to the death of the packmate which she now carried upon her shoulders. With her destination having been reached, the Dahlian Adonis had hidden nothing from the white leader. The Warrior knew that she had brought Corvus Vendetta to the Dahlian boarders. Her incompetence had brought Death upon Ril’o, and the Warrior promised the Rosea now that she would stop him. Silently, she promised that she would go to him, to kill him, or to be killed, perhaps even subdued as her mother had been. Whatever must be done to stop the crow wolf would be done. That was what Cwmfen had promised.
As Cercelee built the pyre, the woman tended to the body, locked in the kitchen where the pups would not be exposed. The woman had felt some regret for having brought the embodiment of Death to the family, but she knew that Cercelee must know, and she knew that the Rites of Death must be performed. It would have been unjust to the soul of the fallen to be delivered without the ceremony and respect that was deserved, and as Warrior, the woman knew the importance of such rites. The blood and the wounds were cleaned with clean water and a rag. The gaping hold in his neck could not be closed for the flesh had been torn off, so the woman simply cleansed the place that no longer bled. Once the body had been prepared, the woad warrior looked down upon him, vowing once more to him that she would not rest until Corvus were dead or until she were dead. Her woad bound hand was placed upon his shoulder as he was lay there upon his side, as if to solidify the magnitude of the vow. Had she been Roman, the vow would have been the equivalent of swearing upon the River Styx.
Having carried the body to the Rosea that stood upon the pinnacle of the cliff, the warrior lay the body to rest upon the pyre that had been prepare. Together, with her leader, the warrior collected the flowers in silence, the white and red having great symbolic worth to the warrior: purity, death, power, blood, and the blessing of the gods. The sweet smell floated on the night air, and as the final preparations had been complete, the two leaders of Dahlia rested, awaiting the coming of Dawn. The white orbs were turned to the dark heavens and the horizon in the east, her mind wandering. Her soul was content, ready to do what she must. And with Dawn, with the sending off of the first fallen of Dahlia de Mai, the woman was resolved.
The Rosea rose first and Cwmfen followed. Cercelee laid out the final tinder to be ignited. The black female took a short, blunt stick that had been prepared and lit it with the sparks that Cercelee provided. And with the final words that were gifted to Ril’o, the woman lowered the flaming torch into the tinder, igniting the pyre and the body together, sending the dead upon his journey. "May your journey to the Land of the Dead be safe and untroubled," the alto melody sang, her voice just above a whisper. And the pied Raven came as if called, lingering above the smoke that rose with the rising sun, as if to collect the soul to carry to the lands beyond where no living creature could go. The white orbs looked through the flames to watch the Rosea of Dahlia de Mai in silence.
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.... The fire consumed the pyre quickly, and more slowly Ril’o’s body too succumbed to the fire. The scent of burning flesh was masked well with the fragrant and slow burning plants that Cercelee had included beneath the pyre. The funeral pyre was built in such a way that eventually the fire drowned out his whole body, and while Cercelee and the others knew that their packmate was there, they could not see his final moments. Cercelee settled herself to watch in silence, it would take at least a full hour or two for everything to burn away, but it seemed to short. After that, Ril’o was gone.
.... When the fire did begin to die it revealed only burnt chars of wood and dying embers, the body that had laid there was missing, replaced by ashes. The Rosea, rising then, blew on the tiny pieces of ash, sending them floating down some fifty feet to the sea below. Had the wind been doing was it had been told to by the white lady, Ril’o’s body would peacefully ride on the wind out to sea, but nature did not always comply and Cercelee was just delighted that the morning had broken so calm and beautiful. It was almost too pleasant of a day for a funeral.
.... Later, when there was only a small pile of embers and coals to mark the site, Cercelee would find a fitting stone and ask one of the more literate pack members to carve in his name. That’s all they needed, was his name, for those who wished to mourn wouldn’t forget him and those who in the future wished to learn of him or any others would have to seek out someone for the information. There wasn’t much you could learn from a rock, but perhaps Cercelee would start a book of their pack, and of course, briefly at least, Ril’o would be part of that book.
.... Now Cercelee rose, she smiled sadly to those who had come to witness, she smiled gratefully to Cwmfen for the lady’s hard work. They needed a priest or priestess to perform many of the acts Cercelee and Cwmfen had been left alone to do. Turning away, there wasn’t anything left to see now, she headed slowly down the cliff towards home. She was more exhausted now than she had ever been. Sleep would come and take her for days before she awoke again.
....
....
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If anyone wants to make their little appearance, now’s the time~
500+
The heat of the flame was drawn by the dark colour of her fur, but the tongues of the flames were kind and did not singe her even for her close proximity. The acrid smell of smoke imbedded itself in the soft scent of her fur, soft fingers incessantly rising with brightened ashes to the heavens. But they did not lift her soul. The world sung quietly and her soul hummed in response as the sword would in her hand, as the spear would in her grip. But the songs were quiet, subdued by this time of mourning. The sadness within the warrior was a diluted feeling as was her guilt and her anger, but it existed there and she recognized it.
As the Rosea blew upon the ashes, the white orbs followed their trail upon the wind that gently carried them to the open sea. And the sea of eternity accepted them in silence as one accepts a thing gifted. The child of Nemain felt a quiet contentment. Although neither the Rosea nor the Adonis were specialized in the rites of the dead, the soul of Ril’o had been sent with ceremony to that land of the Undying Souls. He no longer lingered within these lands, and she felt that he would not return to linger and taint the earth with a dissatisfaction that some dead had. And Ril’o was no angry soul. She knew that he would find solace in those Untraveled Lands and forget the troubles that this life had brought upon him. With a soft sigh that seemed to signify an end, the woman turned her eyes to the heavens only to find that the pied Raven, having levitated upon the place above the pyre, had gone once more.
She gave a respectful bow and watched the white Rosea as she departed. For along while, the black female simply stood there as if in deep thought, as if in careful consideration. Then, as if content with what had been found, the warrior, with a brief acknowledgement of those who had come to gather at the place of mourning, she turned to the last remnants of the pack member that she had failed. And as warrior, she did believe that she had failed him. There was a quiet determination within those white orbs as the sun glinted off of their pure colour. Fluidly, she strode to the last remnants of the fallen wolf before lowering herself at the edge of the cliff as if in meditation. Slowly, the form melted away to yield the primal shape of the wolf, her posture straight and still as if frozen in time. The light played across her fur, illuminating those woad designs of power and protection, as if drawing in the energy of the world so that a future task may be completed. The woad warrior sat in silence, her gaze turned toward the calm sea of morning, lingering at the body’s place of rest and dwelling upon the path that she must take and upon the things that must be done.
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Slaying the Dreamer
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He waited patiently, numbly, in the church with the pups. Their young minds did not understand what had transpired, with the exception of poor Catalyst who had bore witness to the gruesome murder. He was deaf and dumb to their questions, lost within his thoughts. This was directly his fault, because he had fought Corvus before the attack. And if he had been able to subdue the brute, to end his wicked reign of terrorism, the sunny Ril'o would have been alive this day. The children eventually laid their heads down in slumber, more aware of the time than their guardian. His white-tipped ears flicked whenever he heard the muted noises of the woman in the kitchen, Cwmfen nic Graine, her footsteps heavy with mourning and guilt. Finally there was the creaking of the door, and the movements carried her away, leaving the hallowed halls silent.
It wasn't until he head his mate's voice from afar, ringing clear and morose like a pealing bell, did he finally react. With a soft grunt, the ebony-marked wolf rose to his paws, nosing his way out the door onto the grassy lawn. He did not hear the sounds of stirring behind him, and hoped that the innocent pups slept though the funeral rites. He had not been exposed to death until much later in his life, and did not want his wards to learn the sad truth of mortality so soon. All he could think about was that Ril'o was a friend.
He and the golden wolf had played together on the beach, and nearly drowned as the winter ice broke beneath their paws. He had been torn with jealousy when he learned that Cer liked the green-eyed fellow, and it had driven him to propose in the first place. Selfishly, he had not visited Ril'o since... Had he been happy with his lot in life? Had he repaired his bond with Dutch Bilera, his deserter brother? The memories of faces and times that had passed him by rose like a flood, blurring his thoughts with what had been and what could have been. Had he ruined a family? Would Dutch return to see his little brother's grave atop the hill? Would more Dahlians fall because he was too weak to stop the predator?
His muscles ached from the bruises and lacerations that the crow-wolf had left him, still struggling to heal. He had slept through the initial cries of panic, the distress call that Cwmfen had sounded as she shielded his little Catalyst. He had been too weak to traverse to the scene of the tragedy. Now he at least owed the golden youth this, a visit to his final send-off. He arrived wordlessly, his pale eyes dull with regret. It was his fault.
He stood stiffly on the grass as he watched the two women stand before the pyre, tendrils of fragrant smoke arising from the wooden structure. He had no words to say. What good would an apology do? He believed firmly in an afterlife, not a heaven or a hell, but simply a place where the spirits gathered when their bodies no longer existed. He had dreams of ghosts and presences, and his father had told him that his dreams were all true, because they were messages from his ancestors - that he was a vessel to channel them. If he was a seer, would he not be able to see Ril'o now...? Could he convey his sorrow, that he had let this happen and it was all because of him? His ears drooped sadly as the flames licked higher, destruction and rebirth cycling in their flickering light.
His mind went blank for a time, watching distantly until the ceremony was complete. Ril'o was gone. He had lost a friend. Words were exchanged; he heard none of them, until he saw his mate departing. There was weariness and age in her posture where there had not been before. He felt it too. With one last lingering stare at the sky - will I see you tonight, mate? - the hunter turned to follow her, four paws padding heavily on the ground. Even with the sun's warmth on their backs, with the promise of summer in the air, it was a cold day in his heart.
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
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Sankor had been fighting with himself for hours on if he was going to go or not. He didn't want the world to know how deeply the death of his friend effected him but he knew that there would be talk if he didn't show. The male was torn between emotions and guilt. He wanted nothing more than his friend to return, to know that they cared that he would be missed. Sankor came close to the area where he knew that the funeral would be held and he stopped in his tracks, closing his eyes and trying to gather himself before stepping out into the clearing.
There were no words to say as the dark two toned male approached the blaze that once had been his friend. The hair along his back stood on end as he watched the flames lick around Ril'o's body. He lowered his head as the others settled around the pyre. There was nothing he could offer his fallen friend but instead the dark mahogany male titled his head back and let his voice lift to the clouds above. The lonely sound of his howl echoed across the lands as he let the song rise to the heavens, hoping that the only gift he had to give would usher his friend home to the next life.
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The news had travelled, as some things did here, through the pack grapevine, so when the call came, Lubomir wearily made his way to the rest of his packmates. He couldn't really say why he was here. After all, he did not know Ril'o at all, had never spoken to him, although his face was familiar from pack meetings and chance encounters. His death had been a shock, the thought of someone coming into pack lands to murder in cold blood something he could not fathom. Lubomir had wanted to stay away, had wanted to hide and ignore that there was no need for him to be there. But from what he knew, they'd shared a rank together, they had been responsible for the pack together. And yet Lubomir was here, alive and breathing, and this one was not.
There were not many here. He could see the leaders, of course, though Haku was conspicuously absent. Lubomir felt a light sneer curl his lip. Of course the male wouldn't be here to pay his respects. Why should he? Let the women lead and ignore the rest. He stood silently as everyone paid their respects. How eerie it all felt. Lubomir looked away. How much did it really remind him of his own pack's demise? There had been no ceremony there, there had been no pyres, nothing to mark the passage of his family to the world of the dead. And there would be none, unless he braved the great distance and held some ceremony for them. In his heart, Lubomir mourned his loved ones with every breath. And now he would add Ril'o to his list.
"May Fenrir guide your way from now to the world of the spirits. May your journey be easy and painless. May you not remember the pains of this world to enjoy the good of the next. You will be remembered, Ril'o." Lubomir looked to the stars. They promised clear, warm nights and days of languish, nights to dream of better things. But now, all was cold and painful in Dahlia de Mai. One of their own was dead.
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