[ c. 13th Century ]
Francis was persuaded by this enclave of spiritual rapture - momentarily. Then, as with a rush of cold air upon a sleepy face, he snapped awake, and in this moment he saw the Pope as a very old man, with milky eyes, struggling for breath, and with veins pronounced, crepe hands, sitting in prayer, alongside him.
"Why have you come here?" he asked respectfully - for as much as the magic had fallen away, so did his trust also.
The Pontiff appeared to have fallen asleep - with his head bowed upon his chest. The circle of light and warmth had all but dissolved, and the heavy darkness was now all around them.
Francis went to get up to get a blanket, but before he could go, the elderly man slumped. Francis caught him before he fell sideways.
The Pope’s heart had stopped, and there held in his arms, Francis could see his spirit ascend above them.
"I knew it was a bad idea him sitting out in the cold like this" Francis thought to himself.
A minute later he could hear the sound of Tobias and Murmur returning up the hill. They babbled lavishly with their festive humours. However this noise stopped fast when they caught sight of their brother cradling a corpse wrapped in velvets.
“Murmur, I need you to bless our Holy Father before his soul flies into the Heavens - we must deliver him back to where he came from, alive if we can."
Tobias left to put Granoldi to bed, whilst Murmur unquestioningly knelt down and put his hand onto the deceased's heart and head. Within minutes the old Pope was up and breathing again.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances
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