Funeral Rose
Mourners, dressed in black, crowded around to watch the coffin being laid to rest in the ground. Mice, squirrels, otters, moles and even a badger came to watch the funeral of Martin the Warrior.
One lone mourner lingered long after the rest had gone. No one had seen the mousemaid; she had kept herself well out of sight. Her life depended on it, she considered.
Once the others had departed, she waited a good long while in case they returned. Then she stole out, and among the many flowers that graced the Warrior's grave, she planted a single rose. A laterose, by name.
"My name is Rose of Noonvale,
The tribe of Urran Voh
My only brother is named Brome
And Martin's name I know."
A tear coursed its way down her cheek. She had never known Martin personally, but her father's stories and his genuine affection for the warrior had moved her to make the journey, and feel as if she knew him.
She spoke her own song.
"My name is Rose of Noonvale
My father is the Healer Brome
I wait for news of my friends
For I am all alone."
It was true. She was a wanderer like her father, but she was her aunt in everything else. She was alone in the world, as her mother had died when the young mousemaid was born. Her father was still alive, as was her elder brother, but she stood alone in life's hard way at her own choice.
"Some are born old maids, some achieve old maidenhood, and some have old maiden hood thrust upon them," she said whimsically. Perhaps she was thinking of it in not so much her own terms, but as in her ancestor's, or, rather, Martin's.
"Clearly, the future is still to come," she said, and laughed. Then she strode purposefully away.
*
Rose of Noonvale slept beneath the stars. Her head rested on a black stone, worn and dusty.
The ghosts of the past rose up to haunt her. Her wide eyes took in Badrang, Hisk, Crosstooth, Clogg. The horde of Marshank surrounded her, advancing, always advancing …
She screamed.
They were gone. She lifted her head, trembling from fear. Her father's stories had finally taken their toll on the mousemaid. Nightmares had come to her in the place they had begun as real.
She stood up and dusted herself down. Then she picked up her haversack and set off in the direction of Noonvale.