#i don't know if i want to tag survivor and monk. they're not technically here

[flecks-of-stardust]

And They Shall Always Follow — A Rain World Short Story

The bond between siblings cannot be broken by mere distance. Though lost, its siblings will always be where it is.

The third sibling bids farewell to the big tree, followed by the memories of Survivor and Monk as they do so.

No formal content warnings for this piece of writing.

It wakes to the gentle nuzzling of Egg Parent, a delicate nibbling on the ear that rouses it from the depths of sleep. Not fully awake yet, it nibbles back, but Egg Parent pulls away, padding towards the exit with fading footfalls. Other Parent is already gone, leaving behind but a scent to indicate a presence that was once there. It stretches, and then follows Egg Parent’s tracks, the dirt soft beneath every step it takes. It knows what is to come.

The tree is always larger than it remembers, and it takes a moment to look up into the branches of the tree. The faint scent of blue fruit lingers even here, at the tree’s roots, owing to the many batflies that have roosted here through the light falling and rising many times over. If it squints, it can maybe see the fruit in the highest boughs of the tree, a lengthy climb away.

It turns to look at Egg Parent and Other Parent, watches the gentle, quiet grooming. The air is heavy, heavier than usual. Other Parent looks at it, eyes bearing a similar heaviness, and flicks an ear; a permission, one that is not needed, but granted nonetheless. Then, Other Parent turns away, and Egg Parent follows, grooming, waiting.

No time to waste, then. Skittering forward, it approaches the base of the tree, gazing at the shrubbery around. Long, spindly leaves drape over the ground, providing ample space to play with the strands. It picks two of the leaves up, folding them over each other. How did Brave do this again? It watched Brave, once, sitting out here at night, fingers moving fast to twist the leaves into delicate, pretty braids. More often, when light came again, it would find the leaves all tied together. Why that was, Brave never explained, but wherever Brave went, braided leaves would follow.

It asked Brave how to do this, once. Brave held its hands and the leaves, moving its hands for them, but the moment it let go, the braid fell apart. It tries now, too, one leaf over, one under, one looping around, but the leaves spring apart regardless. Brave had not laughed then, instead nuzzling the top of its head gently; it wonders what Brave would think now.

It tears off one of the leaves, tucking it behind its ear, and continues. Up and up it goes, hand after foot after hand again, slowly climbing the tree. On the first branch, a thick, round and gnarled piece of wood, it pauses, walking out towards the end. Soft sat up here often, much like Brave was often around the bushes. Sometimes Soft would eat fruit while it sat here watching the light fade, the juices dripping down to the ground below; sometimes it would join Soft, and Soft would curl Soft’s tail around it, nibbling on fruit as the light dribbled out of the sky, bit by bit.

Soft always had fruit nearby. Sometimes it was hard to tell what Soft smelled like, because Soft often had fruit juice smeared on Soft’s snout, and so Soft also smelled like fruit. If Soft groomed its head, then it too would smell like fruit; it used to push Soft’s snout away until Soft groomed the fruit juice off. Despite that, the bark here does not smell like fruit, nor does it smell like Soft. But here, with the light dappling onto it through the leaves of the tree, if it focuses, it can smell Soft here still.

Padding all the way down the branch, it plucks off a small twig and tucks it behind its ear. Then it leaves the way it came, continuing further up the tree. Long ago, Brave and Soft climbed this way with it. It was hard to get a grip on the bark then; now, it doesn’t think twice before ascending, climbing with all the speed that Brave and Soft had had. This moment had seemed so faraway then, too, as if it would never grow to be as fast or as strong as Brave, or as determined as Soft. But here it is now, making the climb on its own.

The bark grows rougher, and the branches thin. Deftly, it leaps from bough to bough, climbing faster and faster. The rush of air past it as Brave had tossed it at Soft when it was young resembles how the sky flows around it now as it jumps up on its own. And with a few more steps, a few more leaps, the fruit is within reach, batflies flying every which way around its head. Plucking a single fruit off its stalk, it gratefully begins eating it.

It peers back down as it eats, seeing the distant silhouettes of Egg Parent and Other Parent. Ever since Brave and Soft left, things grew quiet here, and the air always felt more still. One moment Brave and Soft were here, and then the next, they were both gone. Egg Parent never explained much; there was rain, and there was wind, and it was dark. And then they were gone.

It munches on the fruit some more. Wherever Brave and Soft are now, they both must be thriving. Brave always knew what to do, and Soft was always kind. If anyone could survive on their own, it would be Brave, and Soft would find a companion quick, too. Perhaps they have both just lost their way? They are both clever enough to find their way back home.

Home no more, though. Cramming the last of the fruit in its mouth, it begins the trek back down, half sliding and half climbing. It, Egg Parent, and Other Parent are leaving now to find a new home. Why, it doesn’t know, but whatever new home they shall come across shall be just as wonderful as this. Other Parent is good at finding strange, tasty fruits and resources, and Egg Parent is great at making new things. Wherever they go, it will be just as warm, just as safe. And wherever they go, Brave and Soft will follow, too, eventually. Because why wouldn’t they?

It reaches the ground again, and it scampers over to Other Parent and Egg Parent. Other Parent roughly grooms it again, cleaning the fruit juice off its snout, and then nuzzles it forward. With a tail flick from Egg Parent, they set off, walking away from the tree, and it follows.

A few steps in, however, it pauses, looking back at the tree. It’s still strange to leave the tree behind, even if it’s prepared to go. All its life it has been here, with Brave and Soft at its side. The new home will be safe, will be warm, will be wonderful, but it will never be old home.

Egg Parent chirps. It gazes at the tree for a moment longer, then turns away, bounding after Egg Parent. It doesn’t matter, though. Because no matter where it goes, Brave and Soft will follow. Because they always have, and they always will.