I stared up at the sky and the pale light of morning that was threatening to chase away the dark. The battle had been fought hard, and I was at the other side of it, broken but victorious. Even now I could feel my life force leaving me, painting these lands beneath my body with my blood. Pain lanced through my body, and even breathing was difficult, made more so by the poison slowly seeping into my blood. These would be my last breaths, and at that moment I could only wish for more time.
My thoughts went to my new bride and the child that I would never know. How strong he would be. Would he know our traditions? Would he carry on the legacy of his grandfathers? I would go with my father now, and there would be no one to lead. No one to protect. Flashes of pain were punctuated by the heat of a brand as it was drawn across my flesh until the poison was seared away, leaving a scar.
Then I saw her: face masked with concentration as she spoke quiet prayers and cast runes across the charred flesh. One eye clouded white, the other black as night. She smelled of battle and herbs and earth. It was a language I did not understand, and there was no familiarity in her touch.
I stared for long moments until everything went black and I was standing at the edge of an endless plain. The horizon was far out of reach, but a light shone distant on it, like the promise of something just beyond. I started towards it and found that I could walk again, run again, sprint again. I was a stag leaping across the tall grass, scaring up dust and game with my light, deft hooves. The plain gave way to a vast sea, black as pitch, and stretching out for the horizon in the distance.
"Tis not yours just yet, stranger," scratched a voice from nearby.
I turned and saw a raven crouched in a bare tree near the sea's edge. One of its eyes was clouded over. It stared at me with its head cocked to one side.
"Not finished. Not finished," it cawed, and then took flight in a cloud of black feathers as the wind picked up.
I stared out across the sea and the light on the horizon seemed to grow further. My sight grew dim and my eyes watered until everything seemed a mess of color and light. I was no longer a stag, but a man, standing bare against the wind as it pushed me back from the brink of the churning black sea.
It is not yet my time to swim.
I took a deep breath as if I had been beneath those same waves for hours until my breath was waning. Sitting bolt upright, cool, calming hands took my shoulders to ease me down again. The touch was familiar, soothing, and I felt a great ease settle into my very being.
"It is not yet your time to swim," she whispered, wiping my brow of the sweat that had formed on it. Or perhaps I imagined those words. She pressed a kiss to my forehead and I nuzzled into it, reaching for her in the dark. My fingers curled into her robes.
"Stay," I choked out dryly, and felt her weight fall against my side as she settled in.
