Ramal Bayda

“I get it,” Friqui says. “We all do. We knew you wouldn't be here for like, forever. Just… you gotta come back, ok?? Visit us?”

“I will.” You promise. “I'll be back as often as I can.”

The Carnival preparations are already well under way, this year in Stillmirror's domain. Bushy-Tail, Pebbles, Lincoln, and Upton bid you farewell. “Be sure to save some of the stories you find for us,” Bushy-Tail says.

You smile. “I wouldn't dare deny the Lord of the Revels consort and emeritus.”

Stillmirror reflects your face up at you. “I told you,” they say. “You made it. Winter didn't stand a chance.”

The Plains stand, warmer now. You feel the breeze, watch it stirring each grain of sand, whispering the promise of flight. The rusted metal structures, that once Rascal climbed. This place isn't really empty, if you pause, to take it in.

“Ready to go?” Rascal asks, when you've circled all your homes, and come back to him, the place where home is strongest.

“Always.”

The breeze blows fluffy white clouds, like a migratory herd of sheep. A valley stretches out below, green and welcoming. The sun is gentle in the sky. Small, squat human structures, with roofs of straw, stand in good repair along a sparkling blue ribbon of water.

The path down looks steep and narrow. But it is where the stories have led you.

“You can fly, if you want,” you tell Rascal. “I'll be ok.”

He shakes his head. “Don't be silly. We're sticking together.”

“We can turn back… I might be wrong.”

“You know stories. I don't think you're wrong. I want to help.”

“I love you.”

“You too.”

You descend with care. Whenever either of you stumbles, the other is there.

You aren't wrong. You have collected every variant of this tale along the way, fit them together, like a puzzle.

There are animals in the houses. They greet you warmly, but your questions seem to upset them, and they close their doors. You and Rascal follow the river, smiling at each other's reflections. Stillmirror swims into your mind.

A little further off, beyond the houses, there stands a ring of stones. Moss grows over them. They are uncared for, untrusted. They are softly crying.

“No one believes in me. They think I am a dream. Perhaps I am…”

“No.” You say, with gentle conviction. “Memories of you have wafted out from this place, lying buried in countless stories, if you tilt them at the right angle. We came here looking for you. To let you know.”

“We see you.” Rascal says. “You're real.” He reaches out a paw, with a questioning glance. The stone seems to nod. Rascal places their paw on it. You do the same. The stone is ice cold to the touch, though it is Spring. You do not recoil, as you once would have. You've been through the worst Winter, and endured it. As your paw lies on the stone, the stone grows warmer.

“I am.” The voice says. “I'm real.”

After every quest, the coming home. Increasingly, it is already approaching Winter when you and Rascal cross the threshold back into the City. The cold times are not best-suited to travelling; they are times for huddling together. The time community is at its strongest.

The Gated Place is not so gated as it once was. It is warm, and welcoming. It is a tapestry woven from stories and the lessons they teach. You are adding to that tapestry with your quests. You gather as many variants of each tale as you can, recording them in the archives of the Gated Place, now shared with the scholars of the Suburbs. You analyse their connections, sometimes in discussion with the Carnival-folk, and with Ida too, who is taking a greater interest in her family's approach to story. Obscure images that crop up here and there, roses the red of blood, the needles at the end of spinning wheels… many of them are clues to shared tale-histories. Some of them are Spirits.

You catalogue the stories of the Stone. The hope that they will warm and breathe and laugh again. You will tell their story in the Carnival this year. Keep their memory alive, far from their home, even as those close to them repress it. Home is where you're cared for, and loved.

You are cared for, and loved.

Carnival time now. You and Rascal dancing together, in that Place of Perfect Stillness. You standing up (he squeezes your paw, 'good luck') and telling your tale.

“Once upon a time, inside a ring of standing stones, there lived a Spirit…”

You watch Rascal climbing one of the Rust Trees, like he did so often when you were young, taking flight, and soaring over the Plains. Your heart soars with them. Every day at home is an adventure. Every day away adventuring, you're still at home. Hopping, jumping, soaring across every threshold, along an endless road of never-ending tales.