The Spirit is Swift

Usually, when a mortal departs his fleshly frame, he ascends up through the gates of death, and out into the cosmic spray. There, his etherial starry body takes the soul into the realms where he is best suited - up and away from the concerns of the earthly world and its impulses.

The spirit is swift, and knows the heavens intimately. For this is the natural home to all men's souls, and more natural than the life previously known.

Now this time became very much as it was before - all Pietro could contemplate, was that of finding his son who had run away, now so many years ago.

His spirit flew over the paddocks, and past the fruit fields, through to the mountains where the camp of Francis had grown to a castle community.

In a stone wall there, was a fountain trickling within, and beside, on a pedestal, was a bronze head that looked just like his beloved boy. He knew he had come to the right place.

Pietro’s spirit dashed through the vast corridors, searching within, sailed its way past the cells and vestibules, frantically seeking his son.

Pietro-Peter stopped back at the bronze, looking longingly at the face - to then notice an inscription beneath the piece that read:

Francesco di Pietro di Bernardone
~ 1181 - 1226.


-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances