There was not a day on the island that rained harder than this one; not a day that the winds howled louder and swept aside everything in its way and made them all fall at once like a house of cards, and yet, there was not a day on the island that it was cloaked in such peace and serenity, lulled by the drumming of tears on windows, falling from the sky like a veil that obscured all vision beyond.
But the wake did not begin with such weather.
Beams of light had filtered through the canopies above, yellow and warm. They tasted of sweet-smelling corn, falling in abundance from the sky and onto the casket surrounded by people and undergrowth.
It had started out warm. Not a sound had been made in the mourning of Slayne Castor; not the wind, or the birds, the humans or their words.
There was never a ground for the dead on the island. Prey consumed by their souls were kept alive regardless, on the missing floor in the predator's Hall, unmissed and forgotten. There had never been a graveyard until this passing. The passing of Slayne Castor.
There was no priest, no prayer; the words of the Order stunted by events of recent and the power they used to hold over hope for an afterlife or faith in the unseen—dissipated. There was no invitation, no eulogy; no order in the absence of the power that was once so insistent on its presence. The people who attended his wake were the ones who had, in some way, established a connection with him while he strayed on the island.
On earth, his family had been informed of their third son's passing but it did not seem to matter in light of the numbers they had. He was the third son of the third wife and that itself sounded poor and insignificant. Slayne was a forgotten pet amidst the pedigrees and there was nothing he could have done to change the direction of the wind.
"Wish we talked a little more about anything." Dmitri said to no one in particular, eyes fixed on a daisy that was crushed under the weight of the casket. Both were white.
Shri fiddled with her bouquet, secured by a string of twine. "He wouldn't have talked to you, Dmitri. At least not about the things you talk about."
Whether it be mere passers-by of his window or those who'd bother to wave, peering through from time to time to acknowledge his existence, they each took turns to offer a blossom on top of the coffin before backing away. Where his face could be seen—through a square of glass, a window just for him—was an expression that was strangely serene.
Iolani Tori, like the rest, made his round before offering a lily.
"I liked him," V was on the other side of the casket as Io laid his flower in the middle of it. "He was one of my favourites. One of the few who saw and understood the beauty of order till his very end."
The sparrow met her gaze.
"I don't think his view was necessarily that of yours, Miss V," he said quietly, so that only she could hear. "Maybe what he saw from his window just happened to coincide with what he was truly in love with."
His gaze rested on the nightingale that was far behind and she understood what he meant at once. The bearded vulture retreated into silence and it was then, before Luka's offer that it began to fall. In moderation they did, at first.
Umbrellas were passed around and tiny holes of darkness began to appear on a single spot of the island, the sound of skeletal fingers drumming above almost deafening.
Io could only see the lips of his eagle friend move as he placed the flowers where he'd placed his lily. It was hard to see the emotion on his face, for the rain was like a veil and that itself was pleasant for it gave every heart a privacy of its own, a space for thought and the creature to pace.
At last, it was time.
A member of the council called for help with the other end of the white casket and it seemed, all of a sudden, that the rectangular hole in the earth had no bottom, no end. That it would swallow the coffin should it be thrown into the abyss.
It landed with a dull clank on the wooden boards underneath, the lid rattling just a little as did the bars of the nightingale's cage for every shovel of dirt tested his heart and made it tremble like a blossom in the wind but resist he could not, the longing to see.
He braced the wind and the rain.
There was not a day on the island that rained harder than this one; not a day that the winds howled louder and swept aside everything in its way and made them all fall at once like a house of cards, and yet, there was not a day on the island that it was cloaked in such peace and serenity, lulled by the drumming of tears on windows, falling from the sky like a veil that obscured all vision beyond.
Members of the council shouted at the prey who knelt in the earth and cried below for his partner to return, struggling to lift him up and away. He refused to be swept, fingers digging into the dirt for ground—the single branch of cherry blossom wet in his hand.
How fleeting they were,
Falling as fast as they bloomed
But how long they stayed;
Stayed in the heart and poisoned the soul for that
was Love.
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A/N: What does it mean to err, and what is an error, exactly, in humankind? To be broken, or to break; when does it happen?
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Flight School: Predator
Fantasy[Second book of the Flight Series] "More than anything, the sky was red. It wasn't dark, no. Just red." Iolani Tori learns about the part of him that isn't human; and sees the line between animal and himself thin to something less than a thread. If...
