~ A ballad found dancing on the tail of a shooting star ~
There is a tale out there of The Wanderer. One so small and so insignificant that few ever get to hear it. But in truth, such a story is also a gem, hidden and so unusual that even the Fae would pay in troves of gold and silver just to glimpse at its strangeness.
A tale of a tiny moon lost to the middle floors of the tower. A moon no gods or mortals cared to notice, as it was devoid of all life except for a few trees and critters. And so when the local deathstone star grew and swallowed its corner of space, not many glanced at those it took with it. None except the Wandering God who stopped by while traveling through the infinite tower. Like someone about to take a lunch break, he landed on the moon and rested by a fire he wished into existence. Taking out some spices and leftover meat bits, he began to cook up a small snack to enjoy while looking at the local happenings around him. From the fire’s heat, there came a sort of protection and stillness around the area.
And there, from a rock small enough to count as a brownie’s stool, a small bird popped out from its shadow and jumped around. She searched for the source of the smell that disturbed her final moments. She has been alone for months at this point, so anything new was a curiosity to her. She turned to look, and to who most saw was a god minding his own business and cooking his meal, all she saw with her small starlit eyes was-
a bush.
A dark brown, curly mess that had a leaf or two stuck in it. There seemed to be a human stuck under it, but she didn't mind. Here she might find company and rest, perhaps even a little peace while waiting for the end. And so she flew up unknowing of customs or introductions, and plopped right into his hair. Death was a skip away, so why care now?
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It is said that the Wandering God was a bit shocked but glad for the unexpected company. "A home is a home where sleep is huh?, ain’t that the truth”. He laughed and leaned back on a tree to look at the star’s approach. Here, he shared fruits and cooked meat while both sat for a moment, looking out to the ever encroaching light. "To look at coming death while chewing on burnt jerky is an irony in itself" The god said out loud. His pupils rotated slowly with shiny golden rings as . "To witness the ending of paths it cuts without care…oh… how it rips the tiny threads”.
The tiny bird stared down at the god and dug a bit deeper, as she may not have known of paths, but she did know that the big shiny thing in front of them was not good. Not good at all. The bird began to quietly whine as the death mana had begun to eat away at her even through the fire’s safety now…
The god felt the bird’s path begin to fray and whispered "I may not be able to stop its spread, but I can offer you a ride at least."
It is said that The Wanderer stood up on that small moon. That with a whisper to space and a slice of his left cleaver, he made it so that the star did not leave so much as death and desolation, but instead emptiness and peace. To give life a chance.
There, he stood atop a tiny moon with a now single remaining tree and a small bird in his hair.
And there, with one single step, the Wandering God took leave of that rock, and back onto the Long Road, but this time with tiny winged friend atop his hair.
Like all roads in life, time passed by and the god and bird wandered within the tower. And such like life can be, eventually The Wandering God and the bird had to walk their own paths, alone. The bird became a constellation, lighting up the way for those who were alone as she once was.
And The Wanderer? It is said that he can be seen sometimes whistling a melancholic tune to the night sky, and a certain group of star’s wings will sometimes wave back. Some may claim that in itself is a small token that whispers “I am still here”.
