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Death.
A name that every being knows, whether by the word itself or the witnessing of it. Some know Death as a force to fear, an inevitable end that should be avoided as long as one can. Others know Death as a coworker, sending souls from their side of the ether to Hers, an exchange either bestowed upon them or taken up by them. Sometimes, they are just in their decision making of who to send, and who to spare. Most often, they are not.
And then there are some that simply see Death as another force. Another cog in the gears of the universe, gradually shifting and ticking away in an endless dance through time and space. Neither good nor evil, neither malevolent or kind, Death simply IS.
One such being, She noticed, was the crow.
A simple little bird, he followed Her on Her daily strolls through the forests; as She collected the essences of the rotting leaves, the decaying insects, the occasional bird or beast that had finally lain down for one last sleep.
She knew of crows, of wolves, of other carrion creatures that traced her footsteps. Waiting patiently for her to guide the souls of the old and sick from their earthly shells, before feasting gratefully on the remains. She knew that they understood what She was, that She would collect them one day, but that She was the source of their life.
Perhaps, to them at least, She was a god.
Was that why the little bird took an interest to Her? She often wondered as She went about her walks, watching as he hopped along the grass beside Her, picking at sticks and twigs as they went. Now and then coming just close enough to nearly brush against Her veil, but never enough to actually touch.
Even he was smart enough to not come into direct contact with Death.
He was a funny little thing, She smiled as he croaked, tilting his head at Her, as though he could hear Her thoughts.
“You’re a curious one.” She chuckled at the bird, receiving a laughing ‘caw’ in response.
She didn’t recall when exactly they had first met, he had sort of just appeared amongst the other carrion fowl that followed Her presence. But, She appreciated the company nonetheless.
For Death was, unsurprisingly, carrying on a lonely task.
Mankind feared Her. It was to be expected of course, She knew that. Once one achieves a sentience that can begin to comprehend mortality aside from the baseline of a preference to live rather than die, the very concept of Death is terrifying. It was only natural for humans to fear Her, to avoid Her at all cost, to tell dark and horrid stories amidst the light of a campfire about how, after two close calls, on the third She will come to take them away to someplace unknowable.
It was expected, She told Herself. But, it still hurt.
There was some comfort to be found in nature. Plants and animals relied on Her for their very existence. And while nothing in nature truly wants to die, nature still knows that Death is part of the cycle of Life, and that by the Death of one, another can Live.
It was why mushrooms joyfully sprouted amongst Her footsteps, why scavengers hopped about Her in excitement and thanks, why plants bowed their leaves and trees their branches, letting Her presence snip away the sickly portions of themselves to allow for new growth.
Yet still, not even they would linger for long.
A few times, a few rare and sorrowful times, Death would be approached by an ancient beast. A stag covered in battle scars, grey and shaking in his age on aching knees and wheezing breaths. A boar, blind and brittle and patiently waiting for Her arrival. A rabbit, sick and tired and longing for rest.
They would sigh in relief upon seeing Her at last, and gently lay upon the ground before Her, and wait.
Death would honour their request, kneeling before them and, for one brief and wonderful second, would hold their head in Her hands. Stroking their muzzles, scratching behind old and weary ears, giving their heads a light kiss and whispering encouragement to rest. And for a moment, only ever a single moment, She could feel the warmth of Life within them. Of years long and hard and wonderful and filled with the wonders and sorrows that Life brings.
And then they would breathe their last, content and restful, and that beautiful warmth of Life faded in Her hands.
And Death would feel lonely once more.
Never able to touch the essence of Life, never able to feel that connection She had so often witnessed in the bright flash of memories of those She took. Never able to experience that bond of companionship for Herself.
In a way, the little crow that followed Her, was the only form of friendship She had truly known.
Sure She knew respect, for everything that ever lived respected Her. And She knew adoration in the forms of nature that thrived off Her mere existence.
But the crow, She noted, was the only one that seemed content merely existing beside her.
He was not there to pick up the insects that faded from Life at Her feet, he was not there to pick at the shells of the creatures She escorted into the Beyond, before returning them into the cycle that Life created.
He was only there because...well, not even She fully knew.
But, She enjoyed his presence nonetheless.
He continued to follow Her as the seasons came and went, his feathers darkening and turning glossy, his flight patterns growing more complex and bold. She noticed he took great enjoyment in flying dangerously near to Her, close enough that She would almost flinch to avoid touching him, before he would bank and flutter to the side. Cawing in laughter at having startled her.
She would take the opportunity, when it presented itself, to spook him in return. Sneaking up quietly behind him as he slept on a branch and lightly blowing against this feathers, a cold puff of deathly air that no doubt sent chills down his spine, waking him from his nap, startled, and sending him squawking and puffing up his feathers for minutes afterwards as She laughed.
Often, he would give Her gifts.
And he was quite thoughtful of them too, She noticed.
After the first few flowers he had tried to give Her had faded rapidly in her hands, despite Her insistence that it was fine, he would instead bring her things that wouldn’t be at risk to fade. Oddly woven together bundles of sticks, shiny rocks, coinage from some poor soul’s pockets, hair pins, gems, the shiny carapaces of dead beetles, the shed of a snake, the shells of eggs. Her favourite of all being a red, heart shaped pendant carved from a fist sized ruby.
How exactly the little bird had managed to carry the massive stone to Her, She would never know.
But, each gift She treasured dearly, placing them all into a bag She never removed, and She always, without fail, thanked him each time. To which he would puff his chest feathers up with pride and ruffle his wings, giving a little pleasant purring trill in delight, and She would laugh.
As each season passed, however, She noticed him beginning to age. As all creatures must do. His feathers grew dull and speckled with grey. His eyes began to grow unfocused, glazing over with cataracts. He no longer bothered to fly, instead opting to hop slowly upon the ground. Still beside Her, as always. Still croaking pleasantly whenever She acknowledged his presence. Still handing Her sticks and twigs and interesting pebbles whenever he could.
And while She knew that the inevitable was fast approaching, She was still unprepared for when it happened.
As She stepped out of the ether, one day in winter, when Her reign was at its peak, She saw him. Perched patiently before the entrance to the Otherside atop a small boulder, waiting. Croaking happily at Her arrival.
And...She knew.
“No.” She said quietly, hardly more than a whisper as she stepped back, away from the boulder. Away from Her friend.
He croaked once more, slowly stepping towards Her voice.
“No!” She felt herself dropping hard to her knees as an emotion She had never felt before, never knew had a name, welled up in Her throat.
“No! No no no no NO NO NO!!!” She insisted, feeling Her face grow hot. Her vision blurred as the first tears She ever shed fell to the ground with a startling hiss. Wherever they fell, the snow burned away as a flurry of mushrooms, in all their brilliant colours of reds and oranges and violet, burst like flames through the stark white of the winter around them, coiling upwards and around Her as She began to sob.
Yet still, the crow insisted, fluttering weakly from his perch to land before Her. His blind eyes begging, his aged voice pleading.
He was old.
Possibly far, far older than any bird should have a right to be, She knew that. And he had stayed just out of reach from Her for so long despite his ageing frame, his frail form that surely ached for rest, just to keep Her company for a little bit longer.
But now even he knew that he was succumbing to the great sleep, that he could no longer stay awake. And...he was tired.
It was what he was trying to tell Her, She realised.
He was tired.
And it was time.
But, he could wait, just a bit longer. To let Her mourn, to let Her reminisce, to let Her say goodbye to Her only friend.
Death sniffled, wiping the tears from Her eyes as She finally settled, allowing Herself to sit amongst the forest of mushrooms now surrounding Her.
And She remembered.
She recalled out loud to the crow of their various adventures. Her favourite memories of them both. Her wish that She could, at least once, without the consequence of losing him, have given him a little pat now and then in exchange for his gifts. And he croaked in laughter and wisdom beyond that of a simple crow, and gazed at Her through cataract blue eyes with a fondness She had never witnessed before.
Before, finally, She stretched out Her hand.
And he hopped into Her palm.
Nestled comfortably into Her arms as She held him close, finally able to stroke the now greyed and unkempt feathers along his back.
Placed his beak against Her shoulder.
Closed his eyes.
Sighed.
And Death held him, and stroked his feathers, and kissed the top of his head.
Before finally releasing his soul.
And then, She cried.
And cried.
And continued to cry.
For how long, it did not matter, for time means everything and nothing in the perception of a god.
And finally, when the forest of mushrooms had grown large enough to create a canopy, and the snow had been blocked out from sight, and the ground grew damp with the melt of an oncoming spring, She let Herself breathe.
The bones of Her only friend were still held within Her hands. Perfect and white, pearlescent scaffolding that had once housed the soul of a creature full of love and Life.
But, despite having released him, She had not felt him leave. He had neither passed into the ether to return to the Earth and be reborn, nor into the Beyond to rest. He was still there. Though, no longer bound to the shell that had once housed him.
It did not take Her long to find his soul, still lingering, floating beside her.
It was a beautiful thing, amorphous, glittery and green and full of warmth and light. Death couldn’t help but stare in confused awe at the sight.
Why hadn’t he left?
Why hadn’t he moved on?
Perhaps it was Her newfound emotions of love and grief, perhaps it was Her first experience with loss, or perhaps She had just forgotten in the moment. But it wasn’t long before She remembered, a soul could only return to the Earth if a vessel matched it. And, if it neither passed on, or found a vessel, it would simply have to wait until one was ready for it.
With a faint flicker of hope, an idea sprung up within Death’s mind.
She placed the remaining bones of her friend before Her, gently arranging them as though he were merely sleeping, and then emptied out the contents of her satchel full of gifts.
Stones and carapaces and coins and shells and bones and twigs, all of it tumbled out across the forest floor as Death began to place each gift perfectly in place amongst the bones.
Coins for eyes, feathers for wings, sticks for feet, gems for organs, a familiar pendant for a heart. Death sculpted and moulded the form before Her into the shape of Her friend, all the while the little green soul bobbed back and forth, as though inspecting Her work. Not unlike how he would when alive.
She smiled at that.
Her first smile since his passing.
But it was then, as She was finally satisfied with the image of a crow before Her, that She heard the Earth protest.
He cannot return as he was before. The voice whispered through the trunks of the mushrooms surrounding Her, echoing through the land with a gentle shudder. His first form has passed, why do you insist on returning him to the shell that he came from?
The Earth hardly spoke to Death. Rather, the two had existed in a sort of quiet, mutuality. Relying on one another to exist, the same as Life did for Her as well. The trio’s motions flowing in and out of the existence of time and space as seasons changed, and creatures were birthed and perished, and mankind lived and died.
And so Death answered, “Is this new form I’ve built for him of bones and gems and found things not enough? Is it not different enough from what he was first formed as?”
And the Earth responded, bubbling up mud around the form of the crow, altering the shape, much to Death’s distress.
You do not create creatures that can live. The Earth rumbled. And to Death’s utter dismay, the crow before her was sucked beneath the soil.
But the Earth quieted Her distraught digging to retrieve Her friend’s bones.
Do not think, Death, that I am hindering you. It stopped Her. I have watched you two for many years.
It continued, the mud bubbling furiously as it spoke. I have seen your loneliness, your desire for a friend. And I have seen the soul of your companion, and his own desires to stay alongside you.
Finally, the bubbling stopped, and the form of the bones and various trinkets that formed the crow was returned to the surface. But, to Death’s utter surprise, the bones began to shift. The twigs and sticks branched outwards to form limbs, the bones of the wings grew rapidly into massive appendages, until the skeleton of the crow was now that of mankind. But, winged.
The various stones and twine and shells melted, flowing about the scaffolding until they had formed muscles and organs and flesh and hair and feathers.
And finally, what lay before Death, cold and still and un-breathing, was no longer the body of a crow. But that of a man, winged with glossy black feathers, grey scales of the likes of a corvid across his arms and legs, taloned and clawed. His face framed with unkempt golden hair, his eyes closed, as if asleep.
All that remained of the form Death had built for him, that She could see anyhow, was the heart shaped pendant, still visible within his breast. Shimmering with bits of faceted ruby and garnets, a burst of blood and Life within his otherwise pale, lifeless form.
Death was speechless.
Stammering, confused, She finally asked, “What have you done?”
And the Earth replied, I took all that you had given, and merely formed what that made. Nothing more.
“But how will this work?” Death cautiously reached a hand towards the still form before Her, before drawing it back, glancing in worry at the still fluttering soul beside her. “You have said so yourself, I can’t create beings of Life.”
Then do not try to. The Earth whistled through the air. Instead, create a being of Death.
And then all was still, and silent.
And for a long time, that was all there was, stillness and silence.
Before finally, Death reached out Her hand to the soul beside Her.
And like he had when as a crow, the soul perched within Her palm, warm and content. And She placed it into the ruby of the creature’s chest before Her, then pressed Her lips to his and breathed.
Just as Life breathes itself into the lungs of a new creature, so too did Death breath herself into the lungs of this new being.
She watched in joy and awe as the crow, now in a form Her touch could not end, took a breath on his own. His chest heaving as the ruby heart fluttered to life, beating strong and steady, his eyes slowly opening into his new form.
He looked confused for a moment, no doubt not used to the strangeness of this new body. But then his eyes locked on Hers.
With a shaky laugh, still sounding like the squawk of a crow, he flung his arms around Her.
And for a moment, Death panicked. Out of habit of never touching the crow, out of fear of an untimely end, She flinched as She felt his arms around Her. Until She felt it. Felt the warmth of another being. Felt the joy of life within his touch.
Fear faded to relief as he remained alive, his heart still beating despite his hold around Her shoulders. Despite his face burying into the crook of Her neck, his wings flapping awkwardly as he struggled to sit up for the first time in his existence, still laughing weakly as he held Her.
Then relief became wonder, then wonder became joy.
And Death joined in his laughter, and his embrace.
It would take some time for the crow to grow used to his new form.
It would take Death some time to grow used to being able to hold his hand.
But it took no time at all for word to spread of a new being. An Angel, with a ruby heart and wings of night, who escorted Death wherever She went. Immune to Her touch.
And even after thousands upon thousands of years, the two were still seen together.
The only change between descriptions of them then and now, being a pair of golden rings, now perched around their fingers.
......