The Road That Flows Along The River

The surface of the lake is pristine, still. The light of the suns, in full radiance and glory, reflect off it. The reeds stand eerily silent. No winds pass through here, and yet ...

Silovar stumbles over his feet as he rushes toward her. She stands with her back toward him, looking over the lake. Her deep mahogany hair and her bright yellow dress are whipping aggressively in a nonexistent wind, as if it threatens to blow her small frame away. The lake morphs and changes in the periphery of his vision.

She is standing in a river, on a rock, no longer with her back to him. She is balancing precariously, her laugh, unfamiliar and foreign after hundreds of years, reflects teasingly off the surface of the turbulent waters. The rushing waters are silent. Her laugh is the only sound. Silovar pauses, stamping his foot on the ground, a dust cloud rising about it. No sound comes from it. Nothing.

He claps his hands together, his palms stinging with the force.

Nothing.

The waters are nearly at his feet. He looks up at her, standing waist-deep in the ocean. Her blue eyes look at him weepingly, her hair hangs wet and heavy over her shoulders. The yellow dress is muted, bleached in the sun and saltwater.

He takes a step forward.

"Stop."

He stops, obediently. The water edges toward his feet, but they remain dry. He stands numbly, staring at her, his hands by his sides. Her voice sounds nearer than she appears to be.

"You are here too soon."

"Saegyth..." Silovar breathes, hot tears running down his cheeks. He steps forward.

"Stop. You will forget me!" Saegyth cries out. Her voice sounds wrong, familiar, but not like... Saegyth's. He cannot place it. Her eyes flash green. A wave breaks across her back.

Then Silovar sits on the grass, watching the endless rolling hills before him. The sky is empty. No clouds appear. No suns above. The silence is deafening. He grips the blades between his fingers, longing for a sound. Not even his heartbeat sounds in his ears. Silovar frowns, putting his hand against his chest.

Nothing. His heart is still. His chest does not even rise and fall as he breathes. Does he breathe? He gasps for breath, but nothing comes. His hand lies still, his chest unmoving.

"It did not take you long to forget me. I expect nothing less from an immortal Dragon like you. Humans' lives are so small..."

Silovar turns to the voice next to him. She sits with her knees folded to her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs. Her yellow dress is yet further faded, but not yet white. Her mahogany brown hair is muted, hanging heavily down her back. Did she have brown hair? Silovar shakes his head, blinking. Her hair is red. She turns to him, her hazel eyes studying him.

"Saegyth, I am sorry. I am so sorry." Silovar's voice trembles. He grabs at his throat as he speaks. No vibrations are felt beneath his fingers.

"I can't even remember your voice. I can't remember how you smiled. I can't remember your face. I can't... even your laugh. I don't know if the one I remember is yours. I lost you. All I have is your name, and even that, it... it slips. I am so sorry, my love, I am so sorry..."

"We already said goodbye," Saegyth says, her voice still strange.

"No, no, we didn't, we...I couldn't say goodbye..." Silovar whispers.

"The voice is usually the first thing one forgets." Saegyth continues gently. "You learned that many times over, didn't you? Even in the times you did get to say goodbye?"

Silovar covers his face with his hands, "I lose them all. Even if I don't let them close, I lose them."

Saegyth runs her hand over his cheek, tucking his hair behind his ear. The touch is foreign, impersonal, but natural all the same. Like he had felt this many times before, but with different hands. He looks up at her. She is sitting cross-legged before him, the sand dunes stretching endlessly behind her. The sky is pitch black. Her mouse-brown hair falls just above her shoulders, and her brown eyes sparkle with mirth. Her dress is pure white.

"Saegyth." The name feels foreign to him as he says it here, even if it is a name he has held on to for so long.

Saegyth smiles, "You don't ever lose them. Not really. They are part of you. Anyone you love is part of you. You would not have taken the path you had if you had not met me."

Silovar shakes his head bitterly, "Geolu was right, you are like sparks in a campfire. All I have is your name. And the names of those that came after... but they all fade. You fade. I... can't have that again. But it has happened. She is already gone. I have already lost her."

Saegyth cocks her head, "Who is gone, Silovar? What is her name?"

Silovar's eyes widen. She is gone. Who is she? Is she gone? He stands, running his hands into his hair and curling them into fists. Saegyth puts her hand on his shoulder, rounding on him, watching him as he hyperventilates for air that never comes.

He cannot remember her.

"She. She is gone. I lost her. I didn't catch her. I love her, but I didn't catch her..."

"But you love her," Saegyth smiles, tears welling up in her blue eyes. She brushes the mahogany tresses out of her face.

"Tell me about her. Tell me about the one you love."

Silovar lets his hands loosen their grip on his hair. He looks at Saegyth, his first love. His first loss. It is true, what she says. The voice is the first thing you forget when someone dies. The way they smell, the way they touch, that goes quickly too. Last to fade is what they look like, but that is the slowest. The most painful. Their exact features blur over time before they finally wink out of existence or become something they never were. 

Four hundred years. Four hundred years he tried and failed to hold on to the memory of Saegyth. Four hundred years he tried and failed to hold on to the memory of the others that he lost. Over time, it was easier to keep them at arm's length. It was easier to fool himself that the hurt was smaller if the dalliances were brief. It was easy to fool himself that the pain would not dig as deeply. Fool. He always loved them. That was his greatest flaw.

She was the first time in centuries that he felt safe to pursue someone. Someone who would not fade. Someone who drew him in against his better judgement into the ever-increasing depths of her heart and fears. Someone whose life experience was as rich as his was. Someone who allowed him to think, for a moment, that there was a future.

Dragon, the beautiful.

"Osthryn." Silovar blinks, "Her name is Osthryn."

The river crashes into existence between them, the rushing water drowning out his last utterance of her name. Saegyth stands in the middle of the water, Silovar on dry land. His hand is still firmly wrapped around hers.

A tear rolls down Silovar's cheek, he smiles with bittersweet joy and relief. He remembers her.

"Saegyth, my love. Her name is Osthryn."

Saegyth's hand unfurls around his. He lets his arm fall to his side, standing clear of the water. His shoulders begin to shake as he finally lets Saegyth go after four hundred years. Her laugh fades into the rushing water as she disappears.

Perfect silence envelops him.

"Thank you, Saegyth, goodbye," he whispers into the darkness before awareness finally leaves him.