He watches quietly.
He listens softly.
The haunting melody plays, drawing him closer, closer to where he knows he must go.
The faces of the dead stare blankly back at him. He wonders what Gertrude Oliver would make of the strange apparitions.
He recognizes some of the faces. Joe McAllister, Harry Sumner, Robbie Pierce. They were good men, he remembers, brave in the face of adversity. He almost laughs. What is more adverse than war?
The Piper called them all.
He knows, in his heart of hearts, that he will join the procession tomorrow. He cannot imagine otherwise. He knows the beauty of the world will be spoiled for him always otherwise.
The Piper pipes. It is alluring, in an odd way, he reflects. He knows why the children in the story willingly gave up their homes for the song.
Yet he still remembers Rainbow Valley and Ingleside. He remembers the visits to Avonlea, the visits of friends from all over the Island. He wonders how he can bear to give them up.
He knows he will never be a poet, nor will he live to see Ken and Rilla wed. He will never have the pleasure of laughing at Jem's and Faith's wedding, will never see Shirley graduate from Redmond. He will miss Nan and Jerry's constant bickering, will never see Di's happy face again. He will miss Mary's cutting wit and Carl's quicksilver smile. He will miss Una's shy glances. He will never see Miss Cornelia outlive Marshall Elliott, nor eat Susan's 'monkey face' cookies again. He will never see his father's warm steady grin again.
Most of all, he will miss his mother's beautiful presence. He knows why Father was drawn to her, for her beautiful spirit, the spirit that is the birthright to all her children.
His mother often talks of bends in the road. He knows he was approaching a bend in the road of life. His has been twisting ever since the start of the war. He does not fault anything that has happened to him. He cannot.
He sees the moonlight, white and pure, shining on Rainbow Valley, purifying it. And Rilla, who is oddly close to him tonight. He's been lost in the filth and blood of the war for so long, that he had forgotten what he was fighting for. Now, in this moment, it comes together, crystal clear. He fights for the future. He is sacrificing his dreams for the dreams of the future. He will never become a poet, but by this the poets of the future will be safe. And he knows he fear nothing ever again. Not life, not death, nor anything in between.
And many things are made clear to him in this moment. He sees Ken and Rilla, Jem and Faith, Jerry and Nan. He knows his nephews and nieces. He sees that in the future, there would be another great war, and this sorrowed him. But he knows that if the Idea lives on, the other war shall be overcome.
They would go over the top at dawn. He is no longer afraid. It is as Jem always tells him: his imagination scares him the most. He needs imagine nothing now, for he knows.
He meets the Piper's eyes for an instant.
He senses the support of the boys in khaki behind him.
Then they disappear.
He knows he will see them again shortly.
Walter Cuthbert Blythe knows that tomorrow the Piper will pipe him west.
A/N: No idea what brought this on. Reading Rilla of Ingleside too many times, I suppose. Walter's always been my favourite.