Call me Immortal

Sparrow

Dated back to when Pyr dies so like... a season or two ago before any yearling parties or yearling raids.

Sparrow had retrieved the body herself. There were wounds- fur in her teeth that was not her own, the scent long washed over and covered by rot. This was not a murder per se- though it was no secret that Pyra had enemies and the she had oft sought them out on her own accord. She found trouble- the was the original most unholy sin. No one had come and burned their borders or killed their kids, so either there was a looming attack, or their vengeance on Pyralis had been good enough to sate the crime.

Sparrow hated how pragmatic her first thoughts on the subject were, how rational and detached she felt as she evaluated the safety of the pack in the face of her old friend's death. She hated that that overall upset her more than Pyralis actually being dead. Maybe it was because she knew Pyra was old- she told herself that she had already mentally prepared herself for that. She didn't like the idea that she had grown so unselfish in her time that she cared about things like the safety of numbers over the safety of one close. Was this what it meant to be an alpha?

Still, Pyralis deserved a good funeral. Sparrow knew it should be a party- that it should be free and chaotic and wild. Sparrow labored herself with gathering materials, helping Friar fashion a boat the size of Pyralis. She worked her paws raw and her gums bloody from tying knots and making sure the thing would both float AND burn. She made the plans and the props needed, not letting her packmates help more than she had to. Everything needed to be done and fast, but it just felt like twice as much work to try to dictate rather than to do it herself.

Sparrow set up torches all along the beach and lit them as the night fell. Every pack member had their own little bottle of alcohol- watered down for the pups. She set it up so everyone could take a swig and pour the rest over the casket ship where Pyralis curled up all groomed and quaint looking with shinies and snacks and flowers and all the pretty things to make her look like the god Sparrow thought she would surely be if there was an afterlife.

Sparrow took her turn first, giving a speech best left to the imagination. Sparrow wanted it to be meaningful, but she just felt empty- betrayed by the fact that she had no more feelings to give or that her body simply refused to feel them. She rambled on a little and drank more than she poured out.

When everyone had taken their turn, Sparrow pushed the boat out to sea and swam beside it a while with Friar at the stern, his torch lighting the way. When it was time, and the tide had started to pull on the hull, Friar climbed to Sparrow's shoulders and dropped his torch on the woman's casket. It simmered at first, then started to take flame. Sparrow paddled back- this should be the time they started the party. Friar played his lute, and there was food and drink, but Sparrow headed to the ship alone. She needed some time to think.

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Call me Immortal

Pyra Funeral

Sparrow