A rustle roused Geoffrey from his sleep, and he slowly craned his neck sideways to glance at the desk, where Solange was grinding herbs, whispering with Marveck in such a low tone that Geoffrey could barely hear the hum of their voices. His unit leader, leaning slightly to the side, lent an attentive ear, nodded, and handed the requested tools and herbs in a well-practiced manner.

It was a sight he had seen frequently these past two weeks, yet he still couldn’t help but grin whenever his tired eyes landed on it. Warmth welled in his stomach, and Geoffrey turned on his side, pulling the blanket over his shoulders as he cuddled against Cerwin. He wrapped his arms around the deer’s neck, burying his face in the warm, soft fur.

He soon fell back asleep, for he could barely stay awake these days.

***

“Are you sure you can’t swallow another spoon?” Marveck probed, his tone of voice almost pleading, but Geoffrey could only respond with a shake of his head. “Well, you’ve eaten quite a bit today, anyway!” His unit leader whistled, a smile crinkling his eyes ever so slightly as he put aside the half-emptied bowl of soup. “Solange is about done with grinding the herbs, so—”

“It’s fine, Marveck,” Geoffrey interrupted him, slouching against Cerwin. Like always, the mountain spirit had crouched behind him to serve as a backrest while he ate. Now that he was done with his breakfast, the deer was meekly rubbing his muzzle against his cheek, silently asking for pets. Geoffrey obliged and habitually ran his fingers through his fur, his movements gentle and slow. “I feel quite fine today. I don’t really need herbs to numb the pain. You know, they make me drowsy, and I’d rather stay awake this afternoon.”

“But—”

“I’d like to talk a bit instead of sleeping.”

Marveck opened his mouth, but ultimately closed it and nodded. After a deep breath, his unit leader said, “Alright, but are you really feeling fine enough to talk? You know it tires you out.”

“Yes, Dad, I’m fine enough to talk this morning.” Geoffrey let out a chuckle, a teasing light dancing in his bright green eyes. Still, he wasn’t lying, for he indeed felt relatively well today, or it would be more accurate to say that he had a revitalizing bout of energy. His mind felt lucid enough to engage in a conversation, and his breathing wasn’t as erratic as usual, being steady and not shallow. He wasn’t coughing his lungs out, and his head wasn’t throbbing in excruciating pain.

But that wasn’t necessarily a good sign.  

Denying reality wouldn’t do him any good, and Geoffrey had seen too many ill patients at deaths’ doors not to know what this sudden energy meant. Most likely, Solange and Marveck, too, knew.

“So, what did you want to talk about, son?” Marveck teased back, pulling the wooden stool closer and inviting Solange to join them with a wave of his hand.

“Everything and nothing, I guess?” Geoffrey shrugged, watching from the corner of his eye as the witch left his desk to perch himself on one of Marveck’s thighs. His jaw was clenched, his nose crunched up in a scowl. Sorrow swirled in the depths of his eyes, drawing a weak smile out of Geoffrey. How strange that a witch would mourn me when the army couldn’t care less whether I’m alive or dead. Really, who is the monster here? But whatever the answer was, it didn’t matter anymore.

“Everything and nothing?” Marveck repeated, his mouth twitching. “That’s not really helpful!”

To the playful scolding, Geoffrey responded by clearing his throat and scratching his cheek. Chatting had never been his forte.

No, it had always been Richardson who got the conversation flowing, never running out of subjects to gossip about. Not every topic was to his taste, and Richardson had a predisposition to be grumpy and vulgar, but he never let awkward silences run for long.

I miss him. The man’s annoyed face popped into his mind, and Geoffrey couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. But I guess I’ll be reuniting with him soon, whether in hell or heaven. If the afterlife existed, that is. Maybe it did, maybe it did not. He couldn’t tell anymore.

“…A few months back,” Geoffrey forced the words out, “I found Richardson’s flask. I don’t know how, but it ended up in the river and got washed ashore.”

“The landslide rolled down the mountain facade until it reached the river,” Solange enlightened him. “Over time, the currents broke down the soft dirt and carried some objects, those that weren’t stuck under boulders, along the river. My people have found a few hats and, well, a few other things.”  

“I see…” Geoffrey nodded, pretending he hadn’t seen the ill-at-ease expression on the witch’s face. He could tell what kind of things he had found, for he had seen what happened to corpses caught in a flood. In his mind, the currents of the river should have had a similar effect. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I left his flask in Cerwin’s dwelling, in the bedroom. I didn’t have the presence of mind to take it with me when we left, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Marveck leaned his head against Solange’s arm. “I talked a lot last time, but you didn’t talk much about your everyday life with Cerwin. Mind telling me more about your lifestyle during these past few months? What you did, what you ate; anything, really.”

“What I ate, eh…?”

So, Geoffrey talked of the fresh persimmons and apples Cerwin gathered, of the mushroom and alfalfa sprouts he scavenged, of the fish and birds he hunted, and everything else Cerwin went out of his way to find for him, including carrots and berries. His diet had been quite deer-like, but it had filled his belly just fine. It was always better than pea soup, hard bread, and a flask of alcohol.

Hours flew by, and Geoffrey told of the things he had done with the mountain spirit, and all the things that the mountain spirit had done for him. He could not help but let out a snorty laugh when he remembered his attempt at crocheting, the wooden hook feeling like a foreign object in his hands. Even though Cerwin had tried to explain to him how to loop the wool, it had ended in a disaster. The stitches were either too loose or too tight, and the scarf he had tried to crochet turned crooked. It looked no better than an amalgam of dead worms intermingled together, worms that had been roasted under the blazing sun and stomped over, too.

In a way, it had been impressive how ugly it turned out, enough for Cerwin not to bring up crocheting again. All the mountain spirit did was turn around and pretend he hadn’t seen anything. He couldn’t even muster some false words of encouragement after seeing that thing. Geoffrey didn’t insist, either. 

Crocheting was not for him.

Another time, Geoffrey tried to teach Cerwin how to properly cook some vegetables, so that they would taste better for a human tongue. The things were safe for consumption, but sometimes tasted a little bland. The confused look on the mountain spirit had been adorable, and the resulting dish was so awful Geoffrey told him to forget about it.  

Words flew out of his mouth, and he did not realize he yammered about their quiet daily life for over half a day, nor did he realize how blissfully peaceful these months had been until he spoke of them.

—Peaceful to the point that he had forgotten his sins. It had been only for a short moment, a mere moment where he had allowed himself to dream about a lifetime spent with the mountain spirit, away from the bloody witch hunts and the man-made calamities.

But now, that fleeting dream was coming to an end.

***

Propping himself on his elbows, Geoffrey glanced over the bed where Solange and Marveck were lying. The dark room barely allowed him to discern their silhouettes, but they had gone to bed a while ago, and he presumed they had fallen asleep. He stared at them for an instant before turning his attention to the deer beside him.

“Cerwin…”

The mountain spirit lifted his head, the pale antlers drawing the eye in the darkness. Geoffrey stretched his hand until he touched a familiar snout and used it to guide himself to press his forehead against the deer’s. A short silence filled the room before Geoffrey forced himself to whisper the harsh truth.

“I don’t think I’ll pass the night.”

He could feel his energy slowly slip away, fading into nothingness, and as it did, his senses started to dull. Coldness gripped his heart, and numbness spread through his body. He had wanted to outlast Cerwin, he had tried to, but he was only human.

His weak body was failing him, and he could do nothing about it.

A rustle, followed by a cracking sound, and the deer morphed into a humanoid form. It didn’t seem to be his usual human form, as patches of fur covered his neck and chest, from what little Geoffrey could see. Cerwin wasn’t completely humanoid, yet wasn’t completely animal-like, either. He appeared caught between the two forms.

Warm lips were pressed against his forehead, a feather-like kiss that Geoffrey could barely feel, and he snapped out of his stupor. Regardless of his appearance, Cerwin was Cerwin, and that was all that mattered.

“I guess I’ll not be passing the night either.”

“…Were you trying to outlive me?” Geoffrey asked, and the answer was a low grunt. He had missed those grunts. In his animal form, Cerwin couldn’t talk, and Geoffrey hadn’t heard his voice in two long weeks. Somehow, it sounded far more tender than what he remembered. “Say, Cerwin…”

“Hm?”

“I’d like to see the sky one last time.”

“Then, let’s go.” This time, the mountain spirit didn’t try to dissuade Geoffrey, even though it was currently the coldest month of winter. In silence, he got out of bed, tied a blanket around his waist to hide his nudity, and wrapped Geoffrey’s emaciated body in a bundle of blankets before pulling him into his arms. His steps were soundless as he made way to the exit, and just as he was about to open the door, Geoffrey glanced over his shoulder at the bed.

“Thank you for everything,” he whispered. “Farewell.”

Then, Cerwin opened the door, and as it was about to close, Geoffrey thought he heard a muffled sob. He lowered his eyes and leaned his head against the mountain spirit’s chest.

Parting ways hurts, always.

Cerwin’s thumb caressed his shoulder, comforting and reassuring.

He did not tarry, however.

Before long, they were outside.

His sense of touch was starting to shut down, and Geoffrey barely felt the cold. Even as the breeze, carrying tiny pieces of ice, whipped his sunken cheeks, he only felt a slight discomfort.

I’m getting drowsy already. Geoffrey concentrated on the sound of crunching snow to keep himself awake. He listened to Cerwin’s heartbeat as the mountain spirit ventured into the valley, crossing the forest until they reached the riverbank. The moonlight shone gently over the half-frozen water, pale blue hues glinting and catching Geoffrey’s eyes as Cerwin sat cross-legged in the snow, with him still nestled in his arms.

They were in the clearing where Cerwin had found him.

Unlike that day, an inferno didn’t seem to be raging in the sky. Instead, thousands of stars twinkled in the cloudless night, surrounding a full moon.

“Cerwin, do you know what happens when you die…?” Geoffrey finally mustered the courage to ask the taboo question. He no longer had the strength to move, and talking was becoming increasingly difficult. His eyesight, too, was getting blurry. He had to ask now, or he might never be able to.

“No one really knows,” the mountain spirit spoke softly, his voice like a luring lullaby. “Many humans believe that they either go to hell or heaven, according to the life they lived and the principles they upheld. As for spirits and witches, we believe that we return to the cycle of life and reincarnate. Life never truly ends; it just changes form.”

A silence, then Geoffrey murmured, “I like that.”

The words seemed to grate his throat, and a cough, a bloody one, soon followed. Even though his body was getting numb to external stimuli, it didn’t mean the internal pain had stopped tormenting him. It felt like his lungs were drowning, and perhaps that was the case. Solange had tried to explain to him what was happening inside his body, but he couldn’t comprehend much of it, for it had been nothing more than gibberish to his ears. All he knew was that his lungs had been slowly dying, most likely due to an infection.

Still, he didn’t want to stop talking just yet.

Please, just a while longer.

“Can people meet again,” Geoffrey gasped, “if they reincarnate?”

“If fate allows it, yes.” Cerwin’s arms seemed to tighten around him, but Geoffrey wasn’t sure. His body had turned into a shell, a broken thing he was trapped in. “If it is meant to be, I hope we meet again in our next lives.”

“…So do I.” His voice was hushed now, even more so than before. 

Geoffrey painfully craned his neck, staring at the starlit sky above them.

These past few months had proven to him, time and again, that he had been wrong. Witches weren’t wicked beings, and spirits weren’t demons who brought disaster to the land. No, humans did. They simply didn’t want to admit it, lying to themselves and placing the blame on others. It was easier that way, and he had also chosen to be blind and deaf, comforting himself with the belief that his elders knew better. Denial and obedience had led him to commit numerous sins, but perhaps these sins meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, and no God cared about this little life of his, or the guilt that crushed his heart.

There was one being who cared, though.

A being who shouldn’t have, but did.

If anything, he wanted that being to be happy. If they could indeed be reincarnated, he wished to bring Cerwin as much joy as he had brought him in this life. If such a miracle were possible, he didn’t mind being a foolish man.

Their time together had been too short.

Oh, blood. Cerwin’s nose was bleeding again. His eyes and ears, too.

But Geoffrey’s arms refused to move, and he could not wipe the blood away this time. It would have been a fruitless endeavor, anyway.

I’d have liked to have a bit more time, though. He had no right to ask for more, not after all the lives he had taken, directly or indirectly, yet he couldn’t help but hope for it and regret.

“You’re tired.” Cerwin’s voice was a hollow whisper. “Sleep now.”

“Hm…”

His consciousness started to fade, and Cerwin’s face blurred. Still, Geoffrey thought he saw falling stars cross the sky behind the shadow of Cerwin’s head. Don’t witches say that making a wish upon falling stars will make it happen? Despite everything, was he allowed to make a wish? Would his plea be heard? He hoped it would be. A silly hope, maybe, but he had nothing left to lose.

Another star fell, and he made his wish.

If fate allows, let us meet again and live a long life together, one where our bones grow weary from old age... It was a comforting wish that drew a smile out of him. He imagined a quiet life with Cerwin, in his dwelling yet again, as he heaved his last breath, cradled in the arms of a being he never wanted to be parted from.

Not in this life, and not in the next one.