It was the time of day where the sun turned orange and the light it illuminated pierced through the ruffling leaves of the trees like volleys of fire arrows.
The warm hills of Pastow were cooled by zephyrs from the mountains in the east, and it smelled vaguely of white jasmines. The birds cooed from their nests ready to rest for the evening.
My mother and I finished training. At the time, I had packed up my tools and weapons. As I was untying the reins of my horse, Fengge, my mother called out to me.
"Mei," she said with her back to me, staring off into the setting sun as it's light withered away beyond the horizon, "you are strong, so you must help people - even if it's only the ones closest to you. Just help the people you can. Just help as many people as you can."
I returned to our home to wash up for dinner perplexed by her thought-provoking plea.
She never came home.
As I stared at the old man resting on his death bed many years later, who was barely able to breathe, and could not lift his hand to meet Anton's face in an attempt to comfort him, I was reminded of that loss.
The weird limbo of uncertainty that plagued me for months. Fortunately, it would not plague Anton. He would gain closure at the loss of his father, and the church would do the same at the loss of their beloved Archbishop.
This loss stung harder but would heal quicker. I did not envy Anton. I was grateful to know that he could heal from this cleanly with the templars at his side.
The following days I held Anton while he cried, and I did not let go until the rivers had run dry. I do not know if this is what my mother meant on that day.
People die. There is no stopping that. But at least I can help those that remain.
YOU ARE READING
Memories of Mei
FantasyMei Marivaldi recounts the events of her life growing up in the era of the Second Lands. Many of these events remain a secret from her current traveling companions, and she planned to take them to the grave. Can Mei learn to let go of the past? The...
