The late morning light of an early summer sun dances on the ripples of a small, cool stream where it flows lazily from the mouth of a low mountain cave; glimmering and glinting off of roots and stone and dew within, and little fish, and wet moss, and myriad small, colorful pebbles that made up the stream’s bed, it bounces off the verdant, deep greens outside, casting the hues of life and fertility into the darkness to harmonize with the soft burble of water finding its way along in search of the sea.

Carried within the cool, clear channel, a deep ruby stream of life flows from a large form within, its glistening black scales yet rising and falling.

O mountain, the wind cries, hold dear our child. Keep final watch over her who split her life between your shadow and my embrace, who loved us both in all the moods she knew us. Hold her gently within yourself as she grows still and cool, and returns her love to the world.

The mountain says nothing, but softly weeps. It has seen a thousand thousand ages.

O earth, the wind cries, Take her love home into you. Her essence, muscle, body and scale alike, the sails of her wings, her organs, and the life she carries within, these she returns to you, to the land, to the smaller creatures, the fish, and the flowers. Even the tiniest creatures of all shall come to her, to thank her, to return her to sweet loam, the earth from which she is made. Love her.

And the earth is silent, or as silent as the earth can be.

O time, the wind cries, to you she leaves her bones, made of the collected life, love and energy of so many other lives, a fleeting monument to show that she lived and stirred, and grew from nothing to become something. Her claws and teeth will stand for her ferocity; her long spine, her strength.

But, the water burbles, what of the wisdom that yet shines in her eyes? Of her flame, that warms me yet, found of the spark that came before her form to imbue her with consciousness from her first divine breath? Will they snap out of existence? Will consciousness decay with a dying mind, ending in nothingness as it began?

This, I will carry, an unknown voice whispers, the gentle touch of eternity, as the wind sings her song, as the earth dances to her return, as the water delivers her essence to the sea, as time flows on inexorable. Return to my embrace, for you are beloved.