Resurrected Forms

Murmur slapped Peter on the shoulder, proud of himself for this most perfect resurrection. Well, near perfect, it was. His faith had been steadfast, when he had found the abandoned corpse laid out beneath its shroud of shrubbery - and exhumed it from the thorny bracken, sensing the lively pulse of the soul still strong, holding on by an astral thread, as it were.

Pietro had died all too quickly, unfulfilled and alone.

His longing to find his boy had persisted. And when Murmur petitioned the Heavens on his behalf, Pietro’s soul leapt at the opportunity to regain its way back into this world. And he did.

Only this time his muscle and bone was reconstructed - made up from the decayed remains from which he had lain in, in the pit, with all that emulsified around him.

Already, unbeknown to him, he was partly beast, and tree, as well as human. His body had drawn the living memory for its form, but its substance had come from the grave itself.

Murmur, the young and hopeful Monk, had no idea of the forces he was accommodating - his faith was pure and his intention was good, but he was naive believing that within this world was the "be all and end all’ of existence. And, to knit life out of death, would have unnatural consequences.

Resurrection takes on many forms - and that need not mean reform by mere repetition. Nor, that it is, of itself, a blessing.


-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances

Melancholy & Sufferance

“Francis continued: “My Father, we must find a way once and for all to get you back into the human form. And I, well I, needs find myself also. I am not Man, I am not Fay, I am not Saint.”

He continued: “In this country, in this time, I am called folksy, or rustic - but the charm of it is wearing thin. I feel it too, the need to leave - but our purpose has not been fulfilled, it has … staggered.”

“Son” the dog sombrely said in thought, “I could die again any day - this dog body is aged, and what of it? I will be born back into a litter of mutts and what, if in the name of God you cannot find me this time? Or, worse still, I am destined to become a cow? or a fish? or a cloud?” He sounded beyond despair.

“Let me bathe you. The air out here is drying. It is this heat and the itch that talks through you.”

The old dog put his heavy head onto his paws and closed his eyes - he mentally shut Francis out as well, diving deeply into his dog-consciousness of melancholy and sufferance.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances

Homeless

“We are homeless Francis - we have no real place in this World or this time” Chips said, for the thousandth time.

Francis placed his hand to calm him on the ruff of his neck.

Telepathically he smiled a half smile - designed to be consolatory and reassuring. He paused for further thought.

“Pietro” he said “You and I both know there is no going back” he hesitated here as he saw the large brown eyes begin to weep. The fur down to the big dog’s snout bore trails where the eyes had cried day after day with such sadness.


-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances

Despondent Chips

Chips was despondent - his coat itched terribly like the twig woven tunics of the penitent monks - his was a misery of crawling fleas and canine eczema.

The diet at the lab was not at all what he was used to, and the fumes from the cleaning agents there were excessive. Basically he was suffering ‘lab coat’.

He often sat mournfully at the feet of Francesco, whose sympathetic nerves twinged in unison with his beloved companion.

Both were captains of non-conversation. These mute spirits would telepathically converse, one to another with a constant ease, and over time it had grown to be something of a single-minded dialogue.

- Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances

Different to most

Francis of course was different to most, for his Elvish blood gave him the perception and skill that charmed the woodland and the farm - and attracted even the terrible.

And whilst he could not coax a daisy from the moss, as Puck could do, he could multiply fish as his Master had done, and pacify the natures of both beasts and men, just by his presence.

The old Pope knew not of the Robber Hode and his connection with the Elven nephew, but he had had his wonderings, and it was for this very reason he had sent spies into the community now five years old.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances

Daffodils would spring up

Daffodils would spring up wherever his feet touched the ground. It was just one of his many tricks in the common world for the fay - for when developed, they can inspire life wherever they go.

Depending on which season, the bulbs might sleep and wait until Spring, to push their way up through the dirt, to answer their calling sun - but nonetheless these floral tracks and trails would begin at the footfall of this ageing elf.

Words, like flowers, would spill out from the mouths of mortals around him involuntarily - their trails wound pathways back to their heart-forged thoughts - fast flying and skimming the ethers - like fireflies in winding lines, illuminated by their passions of any given moment.

Puck always knew their thoughts, and their intentions, before they were forged into words. He knew it all, for you see human beings really aren’t all that complicated or profound … they can be confusingly random, but were never really a match for his own wit and knowledge.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances

Early Morning

Darkness was all around as it was still the early morning and not yet lit.

He couldn’t see where the words were coming from, yet the voice sounded cordial enough.

“What would you have Francesco, if you could have anything?” was asked, deeply, with consideration. It seemed to be coming from the lion above from where he sat.

Perhaps this was an invitation to pray out loud, Francis bethought. I will oblige -

“Here then”, he began -

“Merciful benefactor,
Lord of Lords,
Creation’s gate
Today I pray
I pray this day
this day of days
this prayer of prayers:
for Wisdom’s light: to bespoke our minds
for Grace’s charity: to provoke our cares
for Heaven’s bounty: to sustain our souls
for Godly Reason: to make calm our selves."

He stopped here, for there was a great cracking noise above and Francis moved quickly, instinctively rising to his feet, in case any of the stone were to fall.

It was the lion - the great stone lion from up above — whose hardened shell had taken on a living form, and with a heavy thud, sprang all the way down, and there stood right before him, staring at Francis in the half-light of the new morning.


- Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances