Father carried me outside the morning after my maze dream and I saw tears running down his face. I tried to wipe them, but I couldn’t seem to move. I was too tired, my body felt heavy, like my bones were stone and my muscles had faded away.

“Poor Father,” I thought, “but it’ll be alright.”

I no longer felt sick, despite the inability to move. I couldn’t figure out why he wept. I would ask Mother what had been going on while I was in my sick bed. 

When we emerged from the house, the sun was blindingly bright. How long had it been since I was well enough to go outside? And where was the rest of the family? Surely I could not have slept through breakfast, Mother always woke me up, no matter how much I wanted to stay asleep. But the table had been empty when we passed. 

Father kept walking, his stride heavy and his path aimed towards our woods. Oh, how I missed the woods, the oaks standing vigilant. 

Our guardians. I thought of Grandfather then and wondered if he could have been saved from the illness if he had had an oaken guardian, like we did. Would my sapling be smaller or sickly too? Our spirit and souls were bonded together, so if I was ill, my tree might be too. Poor tree, I hope it recovers well. 

As we moved through the trees, my family came into view. We were gathering in the Family Grove. The saplings and young trees waved in greeting, the wind moving through them. Mine stood strong and proud, it had grown well these past ten years. 

Father stopped at the edge of the grove. His face had grown paler the closer we got to the grove. His cheekbones stood out, what were once friendly lines on his face now looked sharp and deadly. 

“What’s wrong Father, are you alright?’

Again he didn’t respond to me. 

I called out to Mother and she didn’t either. 

Why wouldn’t they answer me? And why, even though the sun was blasting through the trees, was I still so cold? Why had Father carried and ignored me all this way?

And then I saw. 

An altar was built in front of the oaks. Dressed in the family’s colors, was my funeral altar. A marker, like the kind that marked Grandfather’s life and death, was at the base of my tree. 

I tried to run, to remove myself from Father’s firm grip. But I couldn’t move. 

He slowly walked to the altar, gently laying my body down. 

I was dead. 


Mother and Father started the Resting Rites, saying prayers for my safe passage to the possession of Deyja, the Divine of Death. My body and soul were still tied together, but the connection was fading, my eyes grew blurry and my ears became muffled. I could still watch and take these last moments with me for as long as the connection remained. After it was severed, I would stay in my tree, and guard my family from there. 

I thought of my favorite memories, every happy moment that had become a freckle. I had so many unclaimed moments; maybe they would become happy moments as I watched over my family. I thought of my love for my living family and the love I had for my ancestors. I would be meeting them soon, and I hope they liked me. 

A deer was watching us. I wonder if it was the same one who watched Father and I gather herbs before I fell ill. The one who saved me. Did it know what was happening? Was it also saying goodbye to me? Their antlers glimmered in the early morning light, the velvet on the antlers shining and I knew it was the same one, and I would carry this deer’s goodbye with me and watch after it too. 

It slowly approached us, following the path Father had just walked me down. 

My eyesight was almost completely gone, and I could no longer hear the prayers of my parents nor the deer’s approach. 

The deer turned to them, looking them in their eyes. 

As I faded, the tie around my soul finally loosened, my last thought was of this strange deer, with blue eyes, placing its nose on mine. 

I didn’t know deer could have blue eyes.