(General warnings: inability to breathe; heights)
Your footsteps used to echo through sacred halls no human had walked before, accompanied by the eager beating in your chest. Heartbeat – footstep – echo. A heavy, impending rhythm.
The only thing you heard was the glorious cheer of the crowd. The anticipation of victory made every breath ring like brass, like the blaring trumpets that would surely welcome you home. You felt golden, and colossal, like the Sun. Both of you had no choice but to shine.
The edge of your blade vibrated with a song of its own, metallic and crackling with static electricity. And you let it sing.
Time after time, you would sound the sharp final note of this intoxicating symphony.
Each time, for a split second of silence in your speeding heartbeat, you would be left alone, in a dark without a sound. A moment of ultimate finality in a place that was no longer a place.
Time after time, you would be brought back into the light and air, reaping your rewards, letting the world's ecstatic cheer crash against you like waves, flood you, fill you.
Not this time.
This time, the dark does not subside.
This time, you have nowhere to go back to.
What is worse, perhaps, is that you have nowhere to be.
The place that is no longer a place is all you have now. The cosmic opposite of spaciousness means that, in the suffocating absence of air, you are not granted the relief of feeling the walls close around you, the world smother you. There are no limits to the vacuum; there is no vacuum; there is no thing.
When your bare, hoarse voice escapes, lonely and flat, there is no ether to reverberate through, no echo to harmonize with you.
You are nowhere. You are a song that cannot sound. You are the only morsel of consciousness to vaguely grasp your own melody.
You are barely anything.
You are irreversibly alone.
A note catches in Bard's throat, and for a moment they are breathless, and shaken. Then they cough – like the fuzzy wheezing of a clogged flute – and feel the air fill their lungs once again.
Miriam's voice sounds from high above, impatient and strained with effort.
- Hello? A little help?
Kiwi shakes off the uncomfortable reminder of last night and raises their head, up to the tops of two twin trees, where Miriam is trying desperately to keep her broom straight. It does seem quite hard to do with just one hand, while the other is occupied, clutching one end of a rope stretched between the two parted crowns.
Kiwi clears her throat one more time before singing out:
- A lit-tle bit high-er! ~
Miriam grumbles, and her broom lurches up just a bit. The rope now runs parallel to the ground, a level bridge from where its other end is glued to the opposite trunk.
- Now?
- Perfeeect! ~
From down below, Bard can't quite make out her movements, but they can imagine them vividly: Miriam pressing the end of the rope into the tree bark, letting the adhesive substance on its tip fix it in place; then her wrapping her fingers around it, face shifting into a concentrated frown. They can almost hear the quiet exasperated sigh, masking the nervousness Miriam always feels when casting less familiar spells and never wants to show.
As a thick woody vine stretches and knits itself along the length of the rope, connecting the flaming-red leafy tops, Bard claps their hands excitedly.
- Great job, Miriam!
Miriam is already floating down to the ground. She is trying really hard to not look relieved.
- Yeah, - she mutters, glancing to the side, - thanks. Let's just... hope it holds. - She nods at the free space behind her, impatiently inviting Kiwi to join her on the broom, to rise back up to the connected crowns.
- Sure you're holding on well?
Bard adjusts their position in the hold of a curving branch and flashes Miriam a slightly tense smile.
- All good here! ~
Miriam frowns.
- Don't fall. Here you go.
Bard takes one end of yet another piece of rope from her hands and holds it up to the level of the previously conjured vine above their head. The sticky mushroom mash takes hold, but they do not take their hand away as to not test the glue with the rope's weight.
Miriam flies over to the other tree trunk, stretching the rope along the already formed scaffold. She glances at Bard nervously, and they give her an enthusiastic thumbs up – before immediately fretfully grabbing the branch below him, having almost lost his balance.
- Don't fall! - Miriam exclaims emphatically. Her tone is nothing short of disbelief: perhaps at the fact that she has to repeat herself so soon, perhaps at the fresh confirmation that the warning is actually warranted. - Eya... Just. Hold on, hold the rope, and don't.. stare while I do this.
Kiwi graciously looks away, letting their glance glide across the treetops shimmering in the light evening breeze. It's a new, fascinating perspective from this high up: the mass of moving, rustling red stretching all around them, making them forget about the ground below.
Bard takes the moment to appreciate the old trees, some of the tallest ones in the forest, raising him above their smaller siblings, into this weird valley of whispering leaves. Here, there is only the gentle waving of foliage and the sky that goes on and on, painted gentle orange by the setting sun.
Saphy was right. This is the perfect spot for a little perch, especially with the two crowns so conveniently close together. The thought brings Bard a gentle kind of joy. It is as if the forest itself was encouraging the initiative, eager to accommodate humans' curiosity.
Bard breathes in, taking in the calming alien view, and swings their legs in the air softly to the tune of the simple song they are so used to humming. It comes out a bit more strained, this time. There is a slight tightness in their chest, but they will not dwell on that. It can probably be chalked up to balancing many, many feet above the ground.
The rough bark of a newly formed vine softly bumps against Bards fingers, and they accommodate it, letting the woody liana reach the trunk and sink into it, as if having grown out of it many years ago. Miriam is doing amazing!
- You're doing amazing! - Kiwi promptly shares aloud, slightly breathless. Magical feats never lose their novelty, not to them.
Miriam skips past the usual embarrassment at being complimented and straight to a quizzical look.
- You sure you don't wanna' help?
- I'm helping! - Bard replies readily, feeling just slightly disregarded. Miriam fumbles.
- Ugh, no, I... - the words come out loud and annoyed in her rush to explain herself. She pauses - with obvious effort - and takes a few seconds. - ...Yeah, you are. Thanks. Just... aurgh, - she gives a jerky impatient shrug, - you know what I mean!
Bard does know. Combining spellwork and singing is something the two have been experimenting with quite a lot. Bard could probably orchestrate the movement of the vine, direct it with their voice while Miriam is inducing its growth, instead of her sending it along the pre-marked trajectory of the hemp rope. But they shake their head, perhaps a bit too hurriedly.
- This is better! And you're doing great!
Miriam examines their face, looking skeptical, vaguely confused.
- Fine, - she mutters in resignation. - If you say so. Toss me the next one.
Bard complies.
Their humming has stopped now. Instead, they turn their full attention to Miriam, promptly forgetting her earlier request. She throws a slightly irritated glance in their direction, but does not say anything, letting them observe as a new sprout rises out of a previously bare section of the bark.
Kiwi looks at the sturdy vines that will hold wooden planks, that will in turn hold a shiny new telescope. One of the many Elara has prepared for her world-wide project, to direct everyone's questioning eyes to the sky, to the novel, unfamiliar stars. Together, the people of Earth will explore the horizons of this young universe that has become their new home.
The thought of stars tickles Bard's throat, like the beginning of a song. The faraway lights, so tiny against the vast dark night sky, trading rays and stitching into constellations, must be creating a symphony of their own - one Bard is so eager to discover.
- This is gonna be great, isn't it? - they ask, their eyes clouded by visions of otherworldly landscapes.
- Yeah... - Miriam is silent for a moment, and Bard comes back to earth to look at their friend, questioning. - I don't... know much about stars... But if the astronomer lady says we can help-
- Of course! 🎶 - Kiwi all but jumps up in a rush of passion. - We just need to look! We will find something really cool!
Miriam smirks, but the smirk is unprecedentedly close to a smile, only adding to Bard's emotional high. They swing their legs in the air excitedly. It's new, and thrilling, seeing their friend like this: with the steadily growing readiness to find joy in the world around her.
- I'm glad we're doing this together, Miriam, - they say, smiling, as they shuffle to the side to secure yet another piece of rope against the trunk. - I like sharing things with you.
Miriam's hand holding the rope jerks just slightly as she looks away, momentarily flustered.
- Uh... yeah. Me too, - she blurts out, then draws a breath. - It... wouldn't be the same on my own. Or. You know. Without you.
The last vine is grown, and both of them sit down on the soon-to-be-platform, listening to the rustling of the leaves and watching the sun slowly sink towards the horizon.
Bard glances over at Miriam and examines the new look on her face, the one they've been spotting more and more. It is quiet surprise, like stepping out into the garden early in the morning and being met with a perfect gentle breeze. These days, the world seems to keep startling Miriam in the best of ways.
Miriam appears to have felt their gaze and meets it, eyebrow raised. They do not feel the need to explain, simply smile and dangle their feet happily. Miriam smirks and turns her face back to the gentle peachy sunset.
- ...It's gonna be nice, - she says contemplatively, - spending time here.
Kiwi takes a deep breath and feels the tightness in their chest ease and melt away.
- Yeah.
.
The walk back to Saphy and Miriam's home in the orange twilight is comfortable and special. Bard rants about the trees back in Langtree, and how different they are, and how she never climbed any before, in all her time living out in nature. Miriam grumpily recounts all the times she had to, to get potion ingredients back when she hadn't yet learned to properly fly a broom. When exiting the woods, she points out a specific tree which, she is convinced, has a personal vendetta against her, always tripping her up on its bulging roots. There is that unmistakable comfort of familiarity in her voice. For Miriam, exasperation often seems to be the easiest way to express her deep fondness for everything that is home.
They both take a second at the edge of the forest as the colorful house comes into view, just as the last rays of sunlight fall down the roof, then softly go out, one by one.
Saphy welcomes them with a boiling cauldron. (Her firm habit of using it indiscriminately, for food and for potion-making, is something Bard is still getting accustomed to.) Over dinner, she asks the two about their exploits with genuine, animated interest. Miriam shares the details, half-begrudgingly, throwing quick glances at Bard in moments of self-consciousness. They chime in readily and take the opportunity to praise Miriam's skills, seemingly making her more miserable in the process. It is a new and sweet routine for the three of them.
It is well into the night by the time Kiwi and Miriam get to setting up the guest cot, and Miriam keeps stoically fighting back her yawns. She isn't great at staying up past a certain hour.
- It isn't very bouncy, - she mutters, dissatisfied, as Bard plops down onto the thin mattress.
- It's great! - Bard reassures, running their hand over the clean sheets. - Goodnight, Miriam!
- G'night, - she mumbles sleepily, already walking towards the rope ladder hanging from the second level. With her hand on one of the rungs, she lingers for a moment and looks over her shoulder. - Are you still sure about tomorrow?..
Bard tenses up for a moment and does their best to shake it off.
- It... Yeah! It has been a while, so...
The rest of the sentence hangs in the air between them, irresolute. Miriam sighs quietly and makes her way back to the cot.
Their friend's arms wrap around them in a steady, comforting hug, and Kiwi suddenly feels very fragile. They return the embrace, hands on her back, and stay there for a few seconds, allowing themself to feel small.
Miriam pulls away and looks at them, eyelids heavy and droopy.
- Need... - a big, poetic yawn finally escapes her, despite all the efforts, -...company?
Bard shakes his head.
- You should get your rest!
- ...Yeah. Probably best, - Miriam grumbles and turns away with a final awkward pat on Bard's shoulder.
Halfway up the ladder, she sighs in annoyance and pauses, hanging from the wall with her head turned.
- Could you maybe try counting sheep this time? Silently?
Bard gives a couple of hurried flustered nods. Sharing space with other people again is proving to be difficult to combine with their musical routine.
- Sleep well, Miriam! And, - they grope for words for a bit, but don't find anything better than, - thank you.
Miriam nods slowly, turning away.
- Yeah. You too.
Bard dresses down and flops on top of the cot, hands on their chest. They listen as the house fills with the familiar duet of snores and quiet whistles and smile to themself, thinking about how rapidly Miriam nods off when she is tired enough.
Lying in bed and exploring the authentic years-old webs in the corners of the room, Kiwi goes over the events of the day in her head, and ponders what is waiting for them tomorrow.
A glum gnawing feeling rises in their chest, clawing at it from the inside. They push it away. It will be okay. And they won't be alone.
They lie there, trying not to worry. About tomorrow, about last night, about what this night will bring. They try not to think about the nightmares, and about the tightness in their chest, and the labored sounds of the once-effortless tune.
They close their eyes and dutifully imagine a sheep. A reeeally fluffy one. With big, shining eyes, and with a spring in its step, ready to conquer the highest of fences.
- One ~, - they sing to themself, as quietly and softly as they can.
The note does not come out right.