[PRP] but where is home? [Foxy / Shush]

[Maxx D]

"I'm glad you found me again," Foxy said as they passed some frosty brush, finding herself unwilling to part ways for a while now. It felt natural to have the pale shadow of a girl by her side.
"Did you mean to?"  

[Jun D]

"Yes…" she said.

And then, slowly, so very slowly:

"I had...a dream…"  

[Maxx D]

Foxy was surprised, then pleased, and then worried, because it didn't sound especially positive (not that this girl ever sounded very positive, to be honest), and she was worried about her.

"A dream?" She prompted gently, her steps unconsciously slowing as she waited her answer.  

[Jun D]

The words she could not find.

"Rot..." she began, "pain…"

"Nothing," she sighed.  

[Maxx D]

The moon.

The girl was the moon.

The girl was the dream.

The obelisk.

The glyphs, the signs.

The pain.

It came back to her, and rooted her as she openly gaped, and after a while, finally worked her jaw to speak.

"Yes," she began, "I had that dream too, and I thought I saw the moon, but it wasn't you. Oh, Shush!"

Her mind spun, in a way that too jumbled her thoughts, momentarily robbing her of more words. She hoped, in that moment, that the doe would find something of value in that, to tell her more than "nothing."  

[Jun D]

Ah, she knew. She'd seen it too. The kind doe had felt it too, the pain.

There were no more words, hardly any words, that she could find, but no longer did she feel she had to find them. The kind doe had felt it too, the pain. She knew.

"Everything," she sighed, the last of what she had, "dies."  

[Maxx D]

"So it does," she said, almost grimly, "but I didn't let go without a fight. And after all, we're still here."

She leaned into her tenderly, a purposeful phrase. "We're still here."

Some part of her thought, perhaps, that this was a sign of belonging, and she felt ever more reluctant to leave Shush alone in this moment.

"Where will you be going, Shush?" she decided to ask, "Home?"  

[Jun D]

Soft, hard, soft. Her touch was as warm as the mountains were cold.

"Nowhere…" she began, "elsewhere…"

Everything dies. The kind doe had fought. That was a fight she knew not how to fight. She was a corpse; it snaked its roots into her chest, and swallowed her in rot. She died. She was a ghost, who drifted, who only Wandered. Who followed only the cries of lost children. There were the plains, and Mama's gentle voice. She died. His waning breath; the fragile sac. She died.

She was a ghost, she had no home. She followed the cries of lost children, only.

"I have no home," she said.  

[Maxx D]

"Then I will be with you, until you find it," her voice stern, but not unkind. Soothing, perhaps, in its determination. "And since we've been all over, the whole swamp will have to do as home, for now."  

[Jun D]

What a thing to say, under the cold moon rays; what a thing only a doe so strong – a doe so kind – could so easily say. Everywhere home, till you found it – nowhere was home. She was a ghost, long had she died. She was a corpse, with only rot. There was no home, no home for her, only the cries of lost children.

But the doe – the doe was kind, and she was strong. Her touch was soft, hard, soft, and warm. She did not seem to know she was a ghost. She would come to know it, and she would go away. There was always an end, to everything. Everything dies.

But, for now…ah, for now…her touch was warm.

"Yes," she said.

"Foxy," she said, because she knew it.  

[Maxx D]

It turned merry and she smiled with sheer delight. "Then, we're home now." And she walked her.

END