FSE

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The mist was thick, and the moisture made her old bones ache. She had thought that would stop now. Perhaps she had to get past the gate first. She hoped she could find it soon. The path beneath her footpaws was smooth going, broad enough to admit an army, and that was odd as a path this wide should be exposed to the sun, but there was no sun here, only the mists and the trees. Step by slow step, Craklyn made her way forward, the walking stick in her paw from habit more than anything, same as her glasses; even with them she could see nothing in this land of fog.

Soon, perhaps seconds or centuries later, the gates gleamed before her, as she had known they would. The darkness within was that of a soothing misty evening, pleasantly cool, shadowed enough for any small creature to feel secure, though no predators could stalk them there. Night-blooming flowers filled the breeze as the gates eased open, welcoming her... or, as she saw, letting another beast out. She stopped.

Piknim. It was Piknim, young and fair as the day she died, clothed in shadow-green and a honeysuckle crown. Craklyn's back had bent over the seasons; she was the same height she herself had been on that day now, just right to meet Piknim's eyes.

Adolescent foolishness, harmless but foolish nonetheless they'd called it, and perhaps it had been at the time. Perhaps it could have been more, enough to be taken seriously by the adults, if it had a chance. Craklyn didn't know. She did know she had never stopped missing Piknim, had never felt the same way again. She had wondered how she would feel when this moment came, and now she was looking at the little mousemaid she felt very, very old, and dirty. What gave her the right, why would perfect Piknim want her back now? She looked away, and looked back again as dainty paws took her wrinkled ones.

Piknim kissed her, and drew her towards the gate, and with each step Craklyn felt her seasons fall away.