They had made their lanterns from simple materials, but with care and sincerity in their hearts for those each lantern represented. Jigano had brought more than one, remembrances of friends gone, or changed, or for those who no one else would remember.
The first he hung was, in spite of the disapproval of the old gods, a lantern for an Ascended. 108's lantern was a perfect cube, the frame of wood, the walls of snowy white paper. Holes had been pricked in the paper to reflect the constellations that sparkled above the Spire - the Spire itself was present on one of the walls, black paper pasted atop white to create the obelisk's silhouette.
As he walked along he found a place for a second lantern. Another Ascended, though now a unicorn. Still, he honored the friend he had lost with a lantern made from differently-sized wire hoops covered in black linen. The hoops dropped away beneath his hand to make a sphere as he lifted it, and he lit the small candle that hung from the handle before he placed it on its branch. The lantern was a dark one, but it was adorned with dried flowers that still bore bright colors, though in the darkness their beauty was overshadowed. Silver thread glinted with reflected light where decorative rows of stitches - the sutures Isla had taught him - ran vertically in three neat rows spaced evenly around the lantern's covering material.
The last lantern was not from the crafting day, but one he had worked on privately. Stylized flames of copper and gold leaped from the copper base, echoed within by three candles that burned brightly as soon as they were lit. He set the red glass lid back on the lantern as he placed it on a high branch, letting the feathers - one white, one pale blue - dangle beneath it. He stepped back with a ragged breath, tucking his shaking hands into the folds of his cloak as he watched the lantern silently, Isuma sharing the vigil on his shoulder. The little gryphlet peeped quiet greetings to her friends as they passed, but the bard seemed lost in his thoughts now that his hands were empty and more lights sprang to life around them, for lives and souls that would not be returning.
The first he hung was, in spite of the disapproval of the old gods, a lantern for an Ascended. 108's lantern was a perfect cube, the frame of wood, the walls of snowy white paper. Holes had been pricked in the paper to reflect the constellations that sparkled above the Spire - the Spire itself was present on one of the walls, black paper pasted atop white to create the obelisk's silhouette.
As he walked along he found a place for a second lantern. Another Ascended, though now a unicorn. Still, he honored the friend he had lost with a lantern made from differently-sized wire hoops covered in black linen. The hoops dropped away beneath his hand to make a sphere as he lifted it, and he lit the small candle that hung from the handle before he placed it on its branch. The lantern was a dark one, but it was adorned with dried flowers that still bore bright colors, though in the darkness their beauty was overshadowed. Silver thread glinted with reflected light where decorative rows of stitches - the sutures Isla had taught him - ran vertically in three neat rows spaced evenly around the lantern's covering material.
The last lantern was not from the crafting day, but one he had worked on privately. Stylized flames of copper and gold leaped from the copper base, echoed within by three candles that burned brightly as soon as they were lit. He set the red glass lid back on the lantern as he placed it on a high branch, letting the feathers - one white, one pale blue - dangle beneath it. He stepped back with a ragged breath, tucking his shaking hands into the folds of his cloak as he watched the lantern silently, Isuma sharing the vigil on his shoulder. The little gryphlet peeped quiet greetings to her friends as they passed, but the bard seemed lost in his thoughts now that his hands were empty and more lights sprang to life around them, for lives and souls that would not be returning.
