i have died everyday waiting for you
The wind through Ludo’s Woods quieted, as if the very trees were listening. The flicker of candles stilled. Then, slowly, light began to bloom.
It wasn’t firelight, nor the silvery touch of stars—it was golden, rich and soft, as though sunlight had found a way to filter through from a place beyond the world. Between the ancient trunks of the woods, space seemed to stretch—taller, wider, deeper than before. For just a moment, it was as though the trees were no longer trees, but vast pillars in some distant hall of eternity. Mort’s hall; and then he stepped through.
Barefoot and boyish, curls tousled by a wind that didn’t stir the leaves here, Mort emerged into the shrine’s clearing with his usual gentle brightness. His brown eyes, warm as sunlit earth, found Alys immediately, and his smile deepened—not with amusement, but with something quiet and proud. "You’ve done well," he said, his voice low and kind. "And you’ve understood more than most ever do." He glanced to the linen-wrapped form at her side, the reverence in his gaze unmistakable. Mort turned, stepping aside; behind him, the light from his realm pulsed, and from within it came the soft sound of paws—deliberate, hesitant, and then quicker as recognition bloomed.
A small, snowy shape bounded forward, the golden light glinting off white fur. Her steps faltered only once before she came fully into the clearing, blinking in the dim candlelight as if waking from a long, peaceful sleep. Mort smiled and nodded toward her, then toward Alys.
"Go on," he said gently. "Call her."
It wasn’t firelight, nor the silvery touch of stars—it was golden, rich and soft, as though sunlight had found a way to filter through from a place beyond the world. Between the ancient trunks of the woods, space seemed to stretch—taller, wider, deeper than before. For just a moment, it was as though the trees were no longer trees, but vast pillars in some distant hall of eternity. Mort’s hall; and then he stepped through.
Barefoot and boyish, curls tousled by a wind that didn’t stir the leaves here, Mort emerged into the shrine’s clearing with his usual gentle brightness. His brown eyes, warm as sunlit earth, found Alys immediately, and his smile deepened—not with amusement, but with something quiet and proud. "You’ve done well," he said, his voice low and kind. "And you’ve understood more than most ever do." He glanced to the linen-wrapped form at her side, the reverence in his gaze unmistakable. Mort turned, stepping aside; behind him, the light from his realm pulsed, and from within it came the soft sound of paws—deliberate, hesitant, and then quicker as recognition bloomed.
A small, snowy shape bounded forward, the golden light glinting off white fur. Her steps faltered only once before she came fully into the clearing, blinking in the dim candlelight as if waking from a long, peaceful sleep. Mort smiled and nodded toward her, then toward Alys.
"Go on," he said gently. "Call her."
