Two steps forward, one step back to remember

The walk to the stone was solemn, yet there was a newfound sense of serenity.

Little Nut was the one to congratulate for that.

The path was barely there, climbing towards one of the many small springs of the mountain, the rocks having been smoothed over by years upon years of rain and snow.

The yellow and orange leaves made way to green, pines becoming at this altitude the usual tree, while my breath started to fog up, despite it being two hours after noon.

Roughly two hours, at least. I only had the sun instead of clocks, and neither animals, spirits or trees cared much about what hour of day and night it was.

The hamlet cared even less, the work and the rest being the dividers of the day instead of the short and long arms of a clock.

And it was...relaxing, in its own way.

Before being forcefully transported here, its dictatorship was everything, even when I barely was able to speak.

Now?

Well, the work was harder, physically, and the pressure was even worse. If we planted in the wrong moment, there was the real danger of dying of hunger.

I had felt that, once.

But, on the other hand, the sounds of flowing water, the smell of pine's resin, seeing the animals moving and almost tasting the air, full of spirit's magic?

That almost made it worth it.

The only sound I made during the ascension was of my boots cracking and moving the branches, leaves and stones on the ground, my other senses calmed by those sounds.

I also was aware that the animals, which usually would be cussing against each other for not having done something for the preparation in winter, were keeping themselves under control.

I would make sure to keep seeds and meat for that kindness.

After what I thought was half an hour, I reached the spring where I crash landed.

It was, in its own way, both nostalgic and tear-jerking.

It was beautiful.

The water sprouting from the spring was crystal clear, the pines siding it almost bowing to it and the small clearing where it stood.

Maybe it was not almost, this world had spirits after all, and the tree above the spring? I knew it was that.

It was an old apple tree, many knots and twists on his wood, its roots strong in their grip, some of them going off the stones above and around the spring.

Its leaves, as expected, had already yellowed and many of them had fallen, but in summer its green was as vibrant as the emeralds I saw on TV. Maybe more, I could not say.

Many birds had made their nests there, its many branches being the greatest protection against hawks and sparrows during the day, and from the owls in the night.

There were some far away screeches, shouting against other hawks about how a particular fat mouse was theirs by right and they were encroaching their territory, but it was not that important.

What was important, for me, in that day, was the white and grey marble, almost hugged by that tree, and the names I had etched on it, their shadow hauntingly mocking me.

I had asked Thorin, the local smithy, to borrow the tools in exchange for some good iron I had traded with the moles, and it had taken me four days, through which I had slept under the cloudless sky.

The dreams I had then made me cry during each morning, and, at the time, I did not know if I was happy to remember my family and friends or if I would have preferred to forget, and all my memories being simply far-fetched dreams.

But they weren't.

A small weight landed on my shoulder, and it was the red form of Nut, staring at me, and not saying anything.

I smiled at him, a sad smile, and said, in a way that I hoped was reassuring: "Don't worry, buddy, I am just reminiscing."

He didn't look like he believed me, but he remained silent.

I turned back towards the stone and, after prepping myself by breathing deeply and by closing my eyes, I started walking towards it.

It was a heavy feeling, the one I had in my heart, but it always helped to come here.

To mourn.

During those steps, I saw the animals gathering on branches and on the ground, prey and predator alike, something that had happened the last time, and the time before.

It was like this day had become a truce for nature, like they had jointly decided that this was a moment of peace for all.

It was honestly touching.

When I reached the stone, I got on my knees and, after putting lavender, mint, chamomille and some more herbs that the spirits liked to be around, and after putting them under dry twigs of the apple tree I had in front of me, I used my flynt to light them up.

The spirits liked that, they said, and this was their place.

After the aroma of the erbs started to join that I went to my knees and started, wordlessly, to say to those I forcefully, and unwillingly, left behind.

“Well. This year was better than the one before, guys.” I still didn’t like speaking to a stone, but it was better than just cry this day, or whenever I felt down.

“Mark, you know when I talked about dwarves? Well, I found out that the stories about those catgirls may be true as well! Well, if the wandering troubadour, who was going through the hamlet, was a male catgirl. Catboy? He said to call him of the Feles, but you know how it is. Also, he did purr when, after winning a contest I had with him, he let me pet his ears.” Funniest shit that happened in the Common House in a long time, and Mark…Mark would weep of envy for this, just to be able to “pet cat-girls”. He…he had a lot of those long pillows with those at his apartment.

“Luke, I tried to ask the Sylphids if they could help me fly. You know, like you were learning to in that dump of a one-engine. I dunno if you got the licence, but I know that I risked to die of face-plant against the Red mountain.” I continued, feeling my nose starting to run. Luke had been on and on about that license, and if…if he didn’t get it,

“E-eloise, I was able to rub the belly of a bear cub. W-well, I had to ask her mama, b-but I was the one to get out the t-thorn from its paw so it’s not like I was completely out of l-line.” my eyes started getting misty, and my voice started to stammer.

“Ed, Alex, I hope you aren’t driving Manny and Maria up the w-walls with your antics. I…I know that you are my ne-nephews, and that Maria wa-was a brat, but she…she still is my big sister, right? Do…do not be like we were to Mom and Dad, okay?” The two brats would…would absolutely do worse than us. They would, and Maria would love them so much, and mom and dad would spoil them rotten.

“Mom, dad…” I tried to get the words out, something good: “I…have been eating well, this year. I have even gotten muscled, da. Should see a veterinarian being this… But I don’t…I don’t…”

Then I bowed my head in front of marble stone and, weeping like I was a boy, broken gulps coming out of my mouth, my nose running free and my hands clenching on my pants.

“I try, I try! But I miss you all! I like here, but I feel guilty, so guilty! Sorry, sorry!”
A paw went to my head, a small one, but I didn’t stop.

The wind, or the spirits of the wind, seemed to move the branches of the tree so that it hugged me, but I didn’t stop bawling.

Hopefully tonight the hamlet would be better, or at least easier.