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Despite how many years had passed, Lindi struggled with the loss she felt. It was still there, ever present to this day. It lingered in the back of her mind, in a broken part of her heart, in the memories and wishes she held onto.

At least knowing Nathair was alive in some way lessened that burden. He was somewhere else, living, and she’d take that blessing even if it meant she’d never be able to see, touch, or hear him again.

It was the only hope she had.

“Pryssia is beautiful this time of year,” she stated, leaning back on straightened arms to stare up at the thick canopy of branches above. White snowfall blanketed every surface available, bringing a startling yet mystical contrast to the otherwise evergreen conifers.

Most larch trees, although with similar needles to conifers, had lost their autumn orange foliage once winter truly gripped the world. But, unlike the birch trees, they had no meaning.

Ward off evil, huh? Their spindly branches did little more than hold up snow. Then again, no leaves means no place for Demons to hide from the sunlight.

“What is so beautiful about this place?” Weldir asked, his voice distant and revealing he wasn’t next to her, but somewhere far away. As always.

She pretended he was right next to her. “I guess I like the snow.” Her voice made another companion nearby turn their head one-hundred and eight degrees, so that their big yellow eyes could lazily blink at her. “I also like how quiet it is.”

The snow owl, who had made its home for the day, gave a low and raspy hoot.

It lifted its wings to shake off a small amount of white flakes that had drifted onto its feathers, further concealing the large bird’s presence.

She thought it would fly off, but it merely watched her with a wise and calm interest, keeping her in its sights, observing her.

She was used to being watched.

“I like that owl’s feathers,” Lindi admitted, eyeing their mostly white downiness.

“Then why don’t you take them and I’ll make you a new cape?” His tone was aloft, lacking in any emotion as per usual. She’d learned to just accept it.

Lindi shrugged. “I’ve thought about it, but I like the darkness of my raven feathers.”

“You look like a Demon,” Weldir pointed out.

Lindi sighed and closed her eyes while lifting her face to the weak, wintry sun. “You have a point,” she grumbled, trying to keep her annoyed disappointment from her tone. “I think maybe that’s why our children don’t like it when I greet them as a raven.”

They were always immediately on the defensive, likely thinking she was coming to attack them like any other Demon. Over the last few years, she’d learned it was best to approach them as a human. But even then, they remained wary, although some were beginning to converse with her.

It was a slow and arduous process.

She had many children to meet, many languages to perfect, and it was... difficult. Not impossible or pointless, just time consuming when she wanted to move on to greet another child. To make sure they were well and living somewhere safe.

The fact that they’d needed to eat many humans was a blight on her conscience, but she tried to ignore it.

They were what they were, and she’d long ago accepted that, among other things.

Watching the owl turn its head once more to bury its dark beak into the back of its neck, hunkering down for more sleep, she listened for any danger as per usual.

One of her children had made a home in the mountains nearby, and while they rested in their cave, she came here to spend her day.

They preferred to be alone when they slept, disliking her nearby when they were otherwise vulnerable.

Not that her children were vulnerable creatures. Not even with their hard, although breakable, skulls.

The cold continued to swirl around her as snowflakes gently followed the flowing breeze, but the talisman gifted to her from an Anzúli of Eyropea kept her warm.

She had many things hidden beneath the black feathers, but the blanket of her cloak kept her nice and snug as she sat on the ground.

The thick icy powder creaked whenever she shifted her weight.

A small, sad smile minutely curled the corners of her lips.

Nathair would hate it here. He liked everywhere hot.

She’d often greeted him when he was sleeping in a knotted ball in the sun, soaking up its heat in the middle of the day.

He tended to hibernate in the water when it was winter and often refused to leave it.

She had a feeling the cold didn’t bother him when he was aquatic.

Thinking of him had her eyes wandering the desolate, empty forest. No tears came, as she’d long ago ceased shedding them.

“How’s Nathair today?” she asked quietly, trying not to disturb the peace of the area too badly.

“He’s fine, Lindiwe. Just as he always is in Tenebris. Just as you always ask.” There was no sigh of irritation at the question she asked frequently, without shame, nor was his tone curt. It was informative, and in some ways, she thought Weldir appreciated her asking.

Sometimes he shared what they’d done together in Tenebris, or if they’d spoken of anything notable. She knew all about Nathair’s life in the afterworld, and he was as happy as he’d been on Earth.

It didn’t seem to matter to him that he’d died. There was relief in that.

Then again, he’d done little other than occasionally hunt and sunbake. Perhaps it was beneficial that her laziest son happened to be the most suited for such a drastic transition.

But there was a well of guilt that constantly dripped along the waves of her conscience. Especially since the more humanity Nathair gained, the more it did bother him. He was beginning to understand, and she and Weldir were both waiting for the day he felt trapped.

Felt anger and betrayal that he’d been the one to die.

Or maybe he’d already begun to show those emotions and Weldir was hiding them just to save her. Whatever trials Weldir dealt with when it came to Nathair, she was privy to as much as he cared to share. Which, knowing Weldir, was not the whole story.

But Lindi had already begun to face that regret and guilt, even if he tried to protect her from it. She was growing strong enough to acknowledge it.

“Where will you go next?” Weldir asked, obviously desiring to keep their conversation going.

“I’m not sure yet.” She shrugged her right shoulder, which dipped that side of her body forward while she was reclined on her arms. “Maybe Austrális again? It’s been a while since I visited Fenrir. I’d like to see where he is with his humanity now.”

Over the last few years, they’d grown into an ebb and flow. She’d come to accept Weldir’s presence entirely and often filled the quiet void between them. It was due to the lack of any shared tenderness.

They were... friends. If friends lacked any common ground except the proximity of their minds. She had their children to contend with, but they weren’t great companions, and he had Nathair. Other than that, all they had was each other.

She’d found solace in that.

“As you wish, Lindiwe. Do you wish to fly this time, or would you like my assistance?”

He always says my name, Lindi thought, once more lifting her eyes to the owl, only to blink rapidly when she realised it was gone. A silent predator so skilful she hadn’t even heard it depart.

She kind of liked that aspect of it.

Lindi... Lindiwe... She looked up to the blue sky between the stark and needleless branches above her instead. I... don’t remember the last time someone called me by my nickname.

It’d long ago felt foreign. Like a part of her that she’d been holding onto – a sickness, a disease even, that continuously festered. A wound she could heal but refused to bandage.

It’s been so long since I saw my parents’ faces. I don’t even remember them anymore. How many years had it been? seventy-three years, perhaps. I can’t believe I’m ninety-four and I still look the same as the day I died.

Why was she holding onto the nickname? Why was she holding onto people who only mattered in her memories from so long ago? They’d always be cherished and valued, but why linger on them when they only brought her pain?

I keep losing those I hold dear to my heart. Her parents, Furir, Nathair... the countless other humans and Anzúli she’d befriended, only to part ways with them and return to find they’d died or aged beyond recognition.

Her heart shifted. With snowflakes collecting on her lashes and causing her eyelids to twitch, she thought, I think Lindi is gone.

The child she’d been. The inexperienced and unjaded woman. A daughter to parents who were gone. A friend to people who were long dead.

Lindi hadn’t been used to being an original thinker.

She’d done what she was told, because what she was told to do was best for the family. She’d been allowed to make choices that would impact her future, but until she married, she was under her father’s rule.

Of course, Lindi once had fantastical thoughts.

She’d wondered about the world, the stars, and what it all truly meant. She could be stubborn and headstrong, and determined in all the best ways, but she’d done as she was told, because that’s what made her parents happy.

It was all different now.

Other than Weldir, who was a soft voice in her ear, there was no one to tell her what to do, and no one she needed to make happy.

Other than doing her duty for Weldir, she was free, but that freedom came with longing and loneliness.

Isolation. She was given freedom to explore and learn as she once dreamt, but she’d lost the heart for it once it was in her grasp.

She never realised how much she needed and relied on those restrictions to keep her rigid and determined until they were taken from her.

They’d kept her complacent. She’d had her dreams and loved the idea of them until the rains of reality were different to what she’d imagined once she experienced them.