Transcending Time

She had not been expecting to see them when she closed her eyes. She could remember hearing someone else's voice calling her name as she slipped. But, when she opened her eyes again, she was seeing them.

He looked the very same, dressed in his green uniform with his big bushy beard. She ran to him, a child, slamming into his knees and wailing into his linen pants.

She cried his name, over and over, and he scooped her back up into his arms, his beard once again tickling her face in the scratchy way it had so many, many years ago. He kissed her forehead and murmured his apologies for having to leave her.

"Daddy," she whimpered, no older than five. "I took up your color…" she sniffled, "People tell me it suits me."

"It does, princess," he murmured, the rumbling of his bass voice comforting away her tears.

She opened her eyes again and was looking up at him. He had been so tall. But he wasn't holding her now, she was standing on her own, still about a foot short of him.

She had his dark ruddy hair and she wore his color. She smiled through the tears in her pale eyes and she hugged him again, this time able to bury her nose in his uniform without assistance. He smelled like leather and fern grass, just like she remembered from so long, long ago.

Then she looked to her mother.

She was the same petite, demure woman she had always been. Her pale blonde hair and pale, pale skin were just like the statue that had once laid in their bed. A sad smile was on her mother's lips, and she offered a hand to her daughter.

Karane strode to her three steps, then harshly slapped her mother across the face. It left no mark, and Karane immediately crumbled into a fit of violent keening.

"You left me!" she screamed, now at her mother's feet, clutching her long dress. "You gave up! WHY? Why didn't you fight? Why didn't you fight for ME? I NEEDED YOU!"

Her mother knelt to her and wrapped her thin, weak arms around her daughter, who was once more a child, of age 9 and covered in mud. "Shhh, my sweet baby," she cooed. "I'm sorry."

Karane inhaled her scent of vanilla and laundry with every angry sob. It was just like she remember, but this time it gave her no comfort. She pounded her fists against the ground and wanted too much to cling to that anger. She wanted to so much… so so much…

But Karane stood back up and was taller than her mother now, in a pair of patchwork overalls that were rolled up to her knees. Her mother smiled at that and embraced her daughter with a surprisingly tight grip despite how delicate she looked.

Her father's arms wrapped around them both, putting her in between them both. She was once again a child, and they both cuddled her close, her father perching her in his arms.

As the tears subsided, Karane had grown again and she was now much older than either of them were. Her parents looked the way she remember them, and when she looked down at herself, she looked the way of the most recent memory. She felt herself grow suddenly self-conscious of her appearance. She did not look their daughter, she was too grown for it. Her read hair was fading into paler tones and greys, her face showed creases, and her stature was taller and stronger and wider with age and experience.

She wore her uniform, now worn with age and sporting places where repairs had taken place. Her mail was well kept, though, and she garnished honor patches for her long standing service. Her father smiled and murmured to her, "My strong girl."

Karane let out a small laugh and her mother readjusted her beret for her, it had gotten askew. "My beautiful daughter," she whispered, kissing her cheek.

They each held one of her hands.

"Where are we?" she whispered, barely able to speak the words.

"Its not for us to tell, princess," her father whispered back.

"Who CAN tell me?" she asked.

"Only you can answer the question for yourself," her mother murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Karane took a deep breath. When she exhaled the air, she opened her eyes again and she bravely said, "I'm ready."

She took a step forward, her parents stepping with her, holding her hands through the struggle. With each step, she was a child, a youth, a woman, a mother. She was all of them at once, all of the ways she was remembered. A few times, her parents had to carry her along a step, because she was too young to walk it herself. Other times, she was faster than they were, having to wait for them to catch up to her nimble legs.

But she made the journey bit by bit, always transforming from one age to the next. She did not know what she was going towards, but she knew what she was leaving behind. She was leaving behind a family, she was leaving behind friends. She was leaving behind a career, she was leaving behind a legacy.

But as she left those things behind, she knew they would not fade. They still had time to go on. They had a path to take too, and it would lead them further into age.

Hers, on the other hand, was repeating itself as she walked stalwartly forward with her parents, hand in hand. She was a child, a youth, a woman, a mother, a knight, a student, a lover, an enemy. She was all of these things and none of these things anymore.

Death transcended time.