The Gift of Farewell

The subject of death comes to us all ... it is just the natural cycle of life that what is born, must someday return to its maker. However, those who are left behind remain to remember, and grieve their loss. To lose property is material and will fade with time; to lose someone dear to you, is to begin anew with a rift where he or she once was, emptier for it. But the memories remain, good and bad, of that person's effect on your life. This work is my own way of dropping to one knee and offering a prayer in their name, as I regale to you, the reader, a tale of a band of saurians who offer their own prayers, and celebrate the long life which their recently deceased, a renowned member of their tribe, led. I, Sabrewing, dedicate this story to those of you, and someday to myself, who has ever had a loved one stricken or taken from your side, and will hopefully give them the respect you know they deserve in the afterlife. Read in peace, brothers and sisters.

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The stars glittered dimly overhead, as if in sympathy of what was transpiring below. A brave warrior had fallen earlier in the day, having finally succumbed to a disease that afflicted his slash-covered hide and made his blood unable to clot and heal, a slow death for him; and now, the village had gathered in the square to perform his final rites.

Every saurian in the village, male or female, young and old, was there, the firelight of the torches surrounding the area reflecting off of their scales, making them shimmer despite the dust in the region that covered their hides. They stood in a ring around the square, gathered in their familial groups, weeping to themselves as they faced the center, and the dais which stood there. And right next to the dais was a young bronze raptor, the red stripes crossing his snout glimmering damply as his tears flowed the most readily of all ... for his beloved lay on the platform before him.

Fierwal had been one of the most undaunting, the most fearless hunters in the tribe of nomads. The sharp fangs that lined his grayish-purple carnotaurian jaws were large and ferocious, and his body a thing of power, able to withstand many blows from club and claw and barely break. But he had fallen so easily under nature's power, and the bitter mind of K'lik, his raptor love, could not understand this. They had been together for nearly five hundred moons; Fierwal was always there for him when he came back with the latest stores of food slung over his shoulder, to embrace him ... to make love to him ... and now he lied here, upon the dim blue dais, his eyes closed and unseeing even under their lids. Tears fell down K'lik's muzzle as he looked over his mate's unmoving form.

Around him, from the mammal-skinned tents, stegosaur priests emerged, carrying their swaying lanterns of incense, the ritual scents of cinnamon and nutmeg filling the air, serving their purpose of helping to alieviate the congregation's pain. K'lik sniffed and petted his palm down Fierwal's bicep, to his lower arm, and to his palm, where his fingers entwined with the carnotaur's, gripping it tightly as he sniffled. "My love ..." he whispered to himself, as footsteps came towards him from the side.

It was Hyliander, the protoceratops leader of the village. His mighty frill, grayed with age moreso than the rest of him, was still quite hard within, sturdy protection for its owner who even now had to lean upon his cane to help support his sagging weight as he stood near the raptor. His somber jade robes blew over his frame as he said in his raspy voice, "It is time to begin, young one."

"But he's not here yet!" K'lik protested, looking with worry about the collective gathering for his hopeful. "He gave me his word he would come!"

"A Draco never brushes an obligation off his shoulder," the tribal chief responded, putting his arm across the raptor's shoulders. "Have faith. He will come."

"I know ..." the carnivore hissed with a sigh. "Do you think he will make it in time?"

"I hope I have. I am not late ...?"

K'lik gasped at the voice coming from right behind him. He turned, starting to get down to his knees even before he had completed the motion, and leaning forward in a full kneeling bow of the utmost respect to the voice, "Your coming here at my request gives my beloved Fierwal honor, Madgram of the Draco, and myself as well. You have my gratitude."

Warm claws lifted K'lik's hands up, guiding the bronze raptor back to his feet to look up at Madgram's smiling face, the ebony dragon almost fearsome to look upon in the quiet night, and the firelight cast no shadow over his muscled scaly body, nor over his dark brown loincloth... it was almost as if he absorbed the very light itself. "The honor is mine to take, young K'lik. Your mate and I were brothers in arms and battle spirit, and I would not take this position if I did not hold him in as much regard as you do. The name of Fierwal, son of E'rnis, is known in our clan; I bring the well wishes and good will of my kin with me." The dragon fluttered his wings out, making the purple membranes within their arms billow, and his spaded tail swished behind him.

Hyliander bowed to Madgram as well, who returned the gesture with his arm crossed over his chest and a dip of his head. "Well spoken, revered Draco," the saurian said, tapping the bottom of his staff into the ground. "Now we must begin, K'lik. Do you remember the words?"

"Yes, I spent all afternoon practicing. I will make him proud," the raptor replied, taking a deep breath.

"And so you will," Hyliander said. "Come, to your places."

Murmurs rose among the crowd as the large eight-foot form of the dragon following the two dinosaurs became visible in the flickering firelight, and everyone who saw him dropped to their knees and arms in the presence of a Draco, a domino effect that spanned the entire village populace until all were knelt in homage to the great reptile. Madgarm's voice boomed forth as he addressed the congregation, a silhouette against the light, "Good people! Please rise to your feet once more ... for I come as one of you tonight, to pay my respects to the dead. The Draco understand your grief, and such formality should be given to whom it is most deserving in this moment!"

All were still for a minute, but slowly the saurians again came to their feet, resuming their positions in the ring around the village square, waiting as the torches around the circle crackled and flared. Waiting for the ceremony to begin. And as the village chief stepped forward toward a large bowl, three feet in diameter, that positioned exactly ten feet to the north of the dais, it did.

"Little Ha'Armone," he called out, lifting his staff above his hooded head as K'lik from his spot nearby to see where he was looking, "The spirits desire attendance ... prepare the invitation."

A gathering parted on the eastern edge of the circle, and a small girl approached from amongst them. A goldenrod-scaled pteranodon of the tender age of four emerged; her fragile body was garbed in a pure white gown of a silken material, her crested head bearing a wreath of wildflowers and a small veil at its front. In her hands she bore several tan leaves, holding them spread apart from one another like a hand of cards. She silently approached the bowl, Hyliander stepping away from it as Ha'Armone leaned over its edge, holding the leaves over the center as his fingerclaws crumbled them into pieces, scattering their remnants into the contents of the bowl: tinder, wood coated in oil, and a plain red cloth -- the remains of Fierwal's head sash that he wore on his hunts. "Noriath det sum domina, con-mia sur'a," the pterasaur uttered in her high-pitched voice, speaking the ancient tongue and invoking the gods above to watch over what was to come, and to be with the collected group as their paid their final respects. To many villagers nearby, the stars overhead seemed to glimmer a little brighter, reassurance that indeed, the gods were with them.

Hyliander's staff lowered again, and he nodded to the girl, who bowed before him and walked back to her spot. He turned in the other direction, and K'lik watched as the chief called forth, "Noble Kyo, the spirits need your guidance ... show them the pathway."

This time, a young ankylosaur boy of chestnut coloring and girded in a crimson tunic heeded the call. K'lik felt a particular twinge in his heart as the lad came forth, bearing his brightly burning ceremonial torch. Many rotations ago, K'lik, himself, had been a Pathfinder in the ritual which helped send Je'Harth, son of Trilsha, to the next world from here. And now, he was in such a ritual again, with a much more important job ... and sending his dear Fierwal forth on his journey. He surpressed a sob, wanting to be strong for his mate, and watched young Kyo approach the bowl. The boy lifted the gold torch over his head. "Greath ... th'ludo forra to me," he chanted, and the contents of the great bowl were set ablaze as he pulled the torch away, providing the brightest light yet from the immense fire that cast a great shadow past everyone to the outskirts of the ring. Even Madgarm, himself, was fully visible in the light it produced, the great orange tongues licking towards the sky. The protoceratops' staff again thudded on the ground, and Kyo bowed, took the torch and returned to his spot.

Hyliander turned to all the villagers, looking at each one of them, as the tribe was a hundred strong now, though still they made a complete ring around the square. "All present today know why we are gathered," he began, his voice proud and booming in contrast to his frail appearance. "However, that does not make it of any less importance ... in fact, it makes it of even moreso. Fierwal was a binding part of our village, helping to tie us together as brothers, and his effect was profound. Make it known!"

Those last three words marked the next part of the ceremony: a chance for the group to express their gratitude for the deeds of a fallen hero, and to be recognized. At the bare minimum, three people -- K'lik, Hyliander, and Madgarm -- were obligated to speak because of their role in the ceremony, but almost always, there were a few people who would tell of some brave act, or of a kind word that was said. K'lik wondered what would be said in the name of his love. He was soon to find out.

A large brontosaur, an artisan in the village, stepped forward into the firelight first, his neck craning high over everyone at nearly twelve feet tall, and his voice was just as imposing. "Fierwal was a good builder, and he helped us to construct the tents in the winter in due haste! Many lives were spared from the void because of his hard work!"

The saurian stepped back, and his remarks were met with a deep rolling growl from the collective's throats, a ceremonial method of positive acknowledgement. K'lik growled thusly, as well, as he watched a female dimetrodon come forward, and all went silent to hear her.

"I would not ..." she murmured, wiping tears away from her eyes, "I would not have my husband with me today, if sir Fierwal had not been with his hunting party. The sons and daughters of Huven and Pleya shall forever be indebted to him." She, too, stepped back to her spot, and affirming growls rolled through the gathering. K'lik remembered the day Huven had been rescued; a great tree had fallen in the forest nearby, blocking an important roadway in a gorge that direction. Huven hadn't been able to scale it by himself, and called for help, and Fierwal had heard his cries, rushing to him and fending off any wild boars which came their way as he helped the dimetro scale over the massive treetrunk and get back to the town. While he was a capable warrior in his own right, it's quite possible that Pleya could be right about his possible fate.

A small gallimimus female came forward meekly, clutching a clothen doll to her face and nuzzling it. "Mister Fierwal found Bey-Bey for me ... I really want to thank him." K'lik smiled as the girl rushed bashfully back into the arms of her parents, who embraced her tightly ; in such times, even the most innocent contributions were welcomed ... and sometimes, they were the most genuine.

Many people in the village offered their stories, and all were heard willingly and with patience. To rush this part of the ceremony was seen as very disrespectful, and everybody knew it. Finally, it came down to the last three. Hyliander went first.

He stroked his beaked chin as he spoke. "Fierwal ..." he said, looking at the carnotaur's body lying upon the flickering platform. "From the day he was born, I knew he was special. My own dear mate oversaw his delivery, and she declared him to be one of the strongest, healthiest baby boys to ever emerge from an egg." He waved a hand towards the crowd, continuing, "But not only was he strong by himself; he made us strong as well, bringing home good meats for our bodies to nourish themselves on, never giving us a moment to be without hunger. Dedication, that was his defining characteristic ... dedicated to his clan ... dedicated to his mate ..." K'lik blushed, his snout tipping downwards as he listened to the protosaur, "And most of all, dedicated to survival. Anything that could be done within his power to achieve it, he could accomplish. That is why we must not look on this moment as a weakness ... but as the gods above, releasing him from the pain and anguish of a mortal life, rewarding him for his struggle. He was a gift heaven-sent to us, and we shall all see him again." The chief lowered his arms, returning to his spot by the brightly-burning bonfire. Loud murmuring growls replied to his proclamation, and then Madgarm stepped forward, his thin tongue flicking out of his mouth briefly as he looked deep in thought.

"The Draco are highly revered as a race, for our wings, for our tools, and teaching the world below of magic," he began, his voice deeper than K'lik had heard it before. "And yet, it is beings such as yourselves who create the real magic. Fierwal approached us one day, and gave us something that we could not even give to ourselves ... humility. Both Fierwal and K'lik here gave it to us." The dragon stepped over to the raptor, his warm palm resting on the young one's shoulder, who rested his own hand atop it in a gesture of trust. "I was not unlike your own Huven, except for one thing ... I did not initially want his help. Indeed, I was prepared to die where I was found, my wings broken and useless and my battered body on the ground. But these two came upon me, and looked past my selfish insanity to give me the aid I needed. They healed me in body and in spirit, and I am better for it ... the Draco are better for it, for they heard the story from my own lips when I was able and ready enough to return to my own kind." The dragon looked down at K'lik and smiled again, "My tribe looks upon this tribe as our brothers. Be there for us, and we shall be there for you. Only together can we truly survive as your chief has declared."

Affirming growls, and even a couple of respectful bows littered the gathering as the dragon stepped back to his position at the head of Fierwal's platform, reaching down to the ground to pick up two wooden poles with cloth wrapped around either end, and he turned to face K'lik. All eyes were now upon the raptor, the last to speak, and he looked around the congregation, the silence overpowering save for the loud crackling of the fire. The raptor stepped slowly over to his mate's side, resting his palm heavily on the carnotaur's cool shoulder, and he sighed to himself as he tapped his mind, his heart for what he wanted to say. He couldn't just say anything at all ... it had to come from deep within. It had to.

"My heart had never really opened up to anybody before I met him ... and to this day, there is none who could know my secrets better than he. Absolute trust and undying devotion, those are what he offered me, and all I ever asked of him. He would return from the hunts, his large frame shaking under weary restraint and the dust collecting on his brow." The raptor walked to the head of his carnotaur love's platform, kneeling there, his hands settled on either side of his broad cheeks. "'K'lik', he would say to me, 'The sun has taken its toll on me. Show me how much you love me' ... and I would know just what he wanted. And I would be there, sitting astride his backside, admiring his bulk as my talons manipulated the muscle underneath the hard exterior as if it was nothing but clay in my hands."

All eyes watched as the raptor's own welled with tears, his fingerclaws tracing the dinosaur's lips tenderly. "He accepted me so willingly ... took me under his arm and never left me behind. Even on days where he was lauded as a hero, and smothered with the affections and rewards becoming his status, there was still that look in his eye when he came to me ... that told me I was his to cherish, just as he was mine. I would have had it that we had died in each other's arms, if I knew the world to be one that was fair and just. But I am thankful for being given the chance to see him off into the next world ... and that he was not met with a violent end." The velociraptor leaned over, his lips pressing a delicate kiss to his mate's own, and he once more stood up. The chorus of affirming growls echoed from the congregation, and Hyliander approached the pair, lifting his staff to call for attention.

"What you see before you is genuine, brothers and sisters! This is a bond which I dare not separate with my traditional duties in this ceremony. Therefore ... I have permitted K'lik, himself, to perform the Elegy of Quietus in my stead, and I shall beat the ritual drums as I used to do before I became your leader."

A murmur of shock fell over the tribe. Never before had any of the village chiefs denied themselves the duty of the song ... it was seen as a tremendous honor, and they were seen as the only beings fit to undertake it. If Madgarm had not insisted on being allowed his assigned role in the ceremony, he would have been pleaded to invoke the Elegy for certain, so to give K'lik the duty was far beyond his normal station. K'lik stepped forward and declared, determination making him look several years older as he stood with his chin held high, "I will fulfill my duty as befits a warrior of our village, and a warrior such that would make our departed Fierwal proud! Tonight, we show him, and ourselves, that he will not be forgotten."

Hyliander nodded in approval, reaching his withered hand out, the raptor turning and offering his own, and they grasped each other at the wrist. "Show the spirits well, lad ... guide your love to his new home without fail." K'lik nodded to him, and the protosaur walked over with his staff to join a small gathering of saurians who stood poised and readied with musical instruments. The reed and the drum were present, as three strong men, including the chief, stood before great hide-covered kettles, their fingerclaws resting on the taut strip of skin covering the empty containers. Beside them was the lone strings player, a demure, slender plesiosaur whose fin-like arms grasped the birch lyre as if it was made of the most fragile glass, her eyes' lashes feathery and wisplike as they blinked over her blue-gray irises, the same color as her red-dress-girded body. Two panpipe players, twin pachycephalosaurs, stood together, their bony-headed heights nearly a whole foot in difference, and the smaller looked up at his brother, who pet his shoulder reassuringly. And finally, the youngest of the group, Herceal the compsagnathus, the green stripes raking across his brown backside quivering as he held up his recorder nervously, his fangs clicking in his mouth. Hyliander reached his hand over, grasping the hatchling's side, "Do not fret, little one. Fierwal knows it is a good thing you do now ... he will be with you." Herceal churred in some relief, straightening up and holding his hollowed bone instrument more firmly, watching the raptor's solemn beginning. The entire village watched ... heaven itself seemed to watch, and observe.

The saurian's scales, the color of polished copper, gleamed and dazzled the eye as he stood before the raging bonfire, looking deep into its depths. The red sash of his mate was long since consumed, nothing left of it but cinders and the lazy gray smoke which spiraled forth from the tongues of flame to be dissapated into the night air. Warmth enveloped his body as he looked into the fire for the strength to do what was required of him now ... his soul pleading to his dear Fierwal for the support his aching heart needed so much. He reached behind his back, his talons curling around the smooth cylinder of the ritual spear to retrieve it from its harness. He brought it to his front, holding it at the ready stance in both fists before the bonfire. "I pierce this burning rage now, just as my heart was pierced," he spoke slowly, aiming the silver blade of his spear and guiding it into the depths of the bonfire, holding it there in the heat as the words came from his mouth. "Behold ... for it now shines bright and red ... as red as the blood in my body."

He stepped backwards, holding the spearhead far from himself, and as he turned, all of the gathered people looked upon it, the metal comprising the weapon able to heat very quickly, and displaying its power as it glowed in its tempered state, steam permeating the air around it. The metal sizzled as he approached the Draco, who stood poised and readied with both of his poles to his sides, his mammoth, powerful anthro frame dimly lit in all of the light nearby.

K'lik stood before him, lifting the spear into an attack position and holding it at an upwards angle, its superheated point aimed directly at the dragon's throat. Madgarm did not so much as flinch, his breathing still regular and calm ... he looked as if he had observed, even performed this ceremony a hundred times, even when the Draco rarely oversaw even one. "Speak, dear friend," K'lik said to him, "And tell me who you are."

"I am Gaia given body," Madgarm replied, correctly, in his deep rolling voice.

"Why does Gaia dwell within you?" The spearhead quivered a little, still poised near the dragon.

"Her child has gone from us ... The fire of Her pain burns within me, Her mortal vessel."

The velociraptor nodded and directed the spear lower, his eyes still on the Draco's as the point now hovered by the clothed-covered end of the staff in Madgarm's left hand. The heavy glow of the heated spear had not even begun so much as to fade. "Will you let it burn without, as well?

"It shall be so ..."

And K'lik, and touched the spearhead to the cloth. Instantly, the fabric was set albaze, the intense heat igniting the rags easily. So, too, did the right staff start to burn as it was caressed by the sun-like weapon, the black Draco holding them away from his body at his sides and looking straight ahead as K'lik bowed to him, took the spear and walked to the gathering of musicians, this time lifting the spear and pointing it at them. Herceal hissed in fright for a moment, but he was calm once more as K'lik did not move.

"Speak, dear friends, and tell me who you are."

Together, the company of players answered, "We are Gaia given voice."

"Why does Gaia dwell within you?"

"Her child has gone from us ... Her tears flow from deep within us, Her mortal vessels."

To this, K'lik directed a new question, as was his duty, "What is voice without a soul to fuel it?"

All fingers in the band pointed to the raptor, who holstered the spear as they chanted back, "Within thyself. Go forth, now, and join body, voice, and soul in harmony.

K'lik nodded and bowed to the collection, turning and retracing his steps to the illuminated dais bearing his love, his muscled tail swishing as he stood before it, facing Fierwal's feet. His arms lifted up over his head, palms beared to the starry heavens in a look of plea, and as he positioned himself thusly, Madgarm the winged ebony dragon brought the two burning staves before him, holding them sideways, one over the other, their flaming ends on opposite sides as he stood with his legs in a widened stance, readied. A hushed silence fell over the group, the wielded instruments poised at their bearer's muzzle or claw, just needing the cue to be played.

The bonfire snapped a fierce crackle, and the first notes of the dirge flowed from K'lik's snout. "I looked ... upon still waters ... and the great beyond saw me."

As the melody came from the raptor, Madgarm's back arched as he took a step backwards, swinging his torches in a slow circle by his sides. As his legs returned next to each other, he stepped to his left, following the motions of his dance as if he had been a Coryphee of Gaia for years, and K'lik watched him out of the corners of his eyes as he looked ahead, over his mate's body that shimmered as firelight reflected off of him. The musicians gave forth their low, quiet tune, the three drummers beating their instruments gently to provide a soft beat. He continued to sing, "At first, I could not face what there was to see, but now, understanding touches my heart!"

The black dragon's tail followed his motions like a long scarf, as he lifted a torch and thrust it towards the heavens, a thrum of the plesio's harp accompanying it as the other rose to join it. The instruments' music grew in volume, as did the raptor's voice, who looked a little to the left and right, seeing the audience's rapt attention. "O gods above, provide strength unto me, and tell of thine grand design for creatures great and small ..."

The beating of the kettle drums grew louder, a deep bass rumble that echoed through the bodies and hearts of all present. The flames of the great roaring bonfire seemed to grow bigger, the shadows being thrown from it suddenly looking darker, absorbing any light that was not its own. K'lik's slitted eyeballs were filled with nothing but the raging fire, his arms lifting up and held upwards from his sides, and before him, Madgarm's eyes were closed, letting the rhythm guide him as he started to circle around the dais in his ritual dance, looking lighter than air despite his powerful, bulky body. He twirled and spun on the balls of his feet upon the sandy ground. A great *FWOOSH!* came from him, and now all four of his rag-enshrouded staff ends burned their fiery glory as he had just slammed the two rods together, igniting the remaining sides as he now spun them like a fire-dancer. The copper raptor's snout tilted upwards as the song welled from deep within his chest.

"Through mountain caverns, on hilltop trees, through deepest ocean, I would have my soul rend their tying binds apart, in blasphemous quest for safe egress to your side!" K'lik's voice was nearly loud as a yell now, and the whistles and strums from his musical cohorts amplified to match his urgency, and his muscled arms stretched high over his head, pleadingly. "My dear one, my departed one, the great river awaits thy crossing. The two you will need, I shall provide when Gaia's father brightly shines. Monument built, and testaments uttered, they serve to remind us of how you served heaven and earth, lest we sinfully forget." Madgarm's dance became more frenzied, his burning props coming dangerously close to his ashen hide in their spinning. "Your pain and despair, they are gone! Our minds, our souls, they remain as one! My future burns brightly, in thanks to your presence, so I do not shed tears any longer ... for we shall be together once more, when Gaia beckons us home!"

A final loud beat of the drums, and the song was over.

All was still for a moment, Madgarm ending his role as he snapped down to one knee, his torches put out as he thrust them into the sand, smothering the fire.

Only the great bonfire remained burning, crackling in the air. And before it lay the fallen warrior, looking at peace as he lie facing the twinkling stars overhead, the skies silent in their sympathetic respect. At his feet stood K'lik, who breathed in slow measures, looking straight ahead for a long moment ... and then starting to move.

No one stirred as the velociraptor knelt beside his love, his snout pressed to Fierwal's chest, and he started to sob softly. The ceremony was over ... now, there was naught left to do but bury the dead.

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The sun was just creeping over the horizon as K'lik, who donned his mate's crimson cape, stood over the cairn that marked his grave. He knelt by its side, his eyes full of compassion as upon the pile of stones, he placed two silver coins, as well as a single strand of gold beads, a long-held family heirloom in his tribe. He stood back up, the wind blowing the cape up against his leg, and gave a little sigh. Then he heard something, and turned to look up at the source of the sound.

Above him, a small lime-green bird was perched upon the scraggly branches of a small tree, tweeting happily. He gasped -- it was a griever sparrow, a very rare species that was told to bring good fortune to those it saw, and in pure irony, it was most often seen just after one had passed on. He remained standing there, looking at the small bird, which hopped and pecked at its perch for a moment as it trilled its song, then took off into the air, heading east.

K'lik knelt and placed a hand upon the top of the cairn, petting it softly. "Do you hear her, Fierwal?" he whispered, a tear creeping out of his left eye. "You are truly honored and blessed in death, just as you were in life." He picked up a couple of stray pebbles, placing them back atop the burial mound, giving it back its smooth shape that he had made himself, as the village had looked on that night.

"She's singing for you, Fierwall ... she's singing for you."

~Fin