FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The air was light and soft, a whisper upon the skin as it lazily drifted along. The grass beneath me bobbed and weaved with the slight breeze. The sky, clear as possible with nary a cloud in sight, was shining with the bright purples and pinks from the setting sun. Birdsong had long since ended, replaced by the chirp of cicadas and grasshoppers. The sunset was my cue to head back inside and collect my mentor, so that we could play our part in the night’s events.

Behind me was the old church, sitting alone on a hill overlooking the town square, as if keeping a watchful eye on the area below. Standing right beside it was a short belltower, barely taller than if three of myself stood atop one another. As my feet brought me up the incline, I could see the church’s door was ajar. The strong oak was old and worn with time, with various little scratches and marks upon its frame, with the majority of the scrapes surrounding the handle. I pushed the door open a bit wider and walked through to be greeted by the interior being flooded with all manner of colored light from the stained-glass window situated just above the entrance. Reds, blues, yellows and greens danced upon the floor, the descending sun causing the light to crawl close to the far wall, and surely soon enough would climb it.

Inside, the church was simple. Humble, one could say. The walls and floor were made up of similar wood as the door; old, but strong oak. Two rows of wooden pews spanned the way from the entrance all the way to the altar, and in the center between the pews was a thin carpet of red. Even now, at this late hour, bootprints and similar marks from the dirt fallen off as people came through were littered all over the rug. I made a mental note to clean that up after the ceremony was over. Decorating the walls of the church were a few banners of elegant purple and striking white, the twin colors of the Myrran faith. The soft breeze came in through the open door, causing the cloth-made pennants to flutter about no harsher than if someone had simply flicked their wrist upon them.

The altar at the opposite side of the church sat upon a slightly raised platform, with a white cloth draped over the top. Standing behind the altar and busying himself with cleaning his spectacles, was none other than my mentor. He was an older man, arguably aged enough to be a grandfather, had he any of his own. A shock of dark hair stuck out from his pale scalp, unbrushed and disheveled due to our preparations taking most of the day. A fine robe the same purple as the banners around us was donned on his form, with a white sleeveless tunic worn overtop; the same manner of dress I myself wore as well.

The old priest was Father MacDonald, the head priest of our church. Or rather, the sole priest; I was still just his student. The older man raised the glasses to his eyes, scanning them for further grime before placing them back upon his face, seemingly satisfied with what he saw. With his sight now restored to him, he could finally see me standing by the door, so he waved me over.

As I walked over, I could see he was almost finished his own task. Laying upon the altar was a body tightly wrapped in cloth strips. This was the body of the late Finn, and what the father and I had been preparing all day for was his funeral.

While I was taking a sorrowful look at the wrapped-up body, I heard my teacher say, “It’s a shame, isn’t it?”

“Always is,” I mumbled in response. Finn’s wasn’t even the first funeral of the year.

The priest let out a slow breath and returned to his work of winding the strips of fabric around Finn’s legs. As he did so, he said, “I daresay I gave you the more difficult job of the day.”

“Nonsense, Father. All I did was build the pyre and a few other things, but here you are having to stare at Finn this whole time while you work.”

He nodded at that, but I could tell from the way his eyes moved as he wrapped the cloth that he didn’t see it the same as I did.

As if hearing my thoughts, he told me, “I’ve worked countless funerals, my boy. After so many years, the harshness of dealing with a corpse loses its…edge, I suppose.”

Even though I understood where he was coming from, I just couldn’t see it that way myself. Maybe one day I would, but at the moment, it felt like someone was pricking my heart with a tiny needle every time I glanced at Finn’s body. Just last week, I’d been playing a round of cards with the man in the tavern. It just felt almost unreal to be looking down at his lifeless form, even encased as it currently was.

With these thoughts in mind, I reminded myself of what this was about; not to mourn Finn’s death, but to celebrate his life. Allowing myself to get swallowed up by this misery would do no good for anyone. I took a deep breath and turned my gaze once more to the older man before me.

“Everything’s all set up, by the way” I stated, changing the topic.

He gave a nod as his wrinkled hands finished the last of the wrappings on Finn’s feet.

“And now he is all set up.”

For a brief few moments, neither of us said another word. We merely stood there with our own private thoughts. Perhaps, like me, the father was replaying memories of his interactions with the young man who now lay dead. Perhaps his mind was elsewhere. Whatever the case may be, it wasn’t until the loud flap of the banners from an oddly strong gust of wind that one of us finally moved.

I cleared my throat. “We should probably get him out there. Best to do it now while there’s still daylight left.”

“Yes. Can’t keep Mother Myrrah waiting. She’s expecting him soon, after all.”

It was a slight bit awkward and difficult for the two of us—an aged priest and his admittedly average strength student—to carry Finn’s large body over to the barrow. By the time we laid him down on the flat bed of the cart, a few beads of sweat were already dripping down my forehead, the salty substance stinging my eyes. The father wasn’t doing much better. I could see his arms and legs shaking from the effort, hear how labored his breathing became.

A hand reached out to him without me needing to think, offering a helpful and reassuring touch at his shoulder. I motioned for him to take a short rest in the nearby pew, which he readily accepted.

As he took the seat, I could hear a subtle popping in his knees. “This old body ain’t what it used to be,” he said through gasps of air he was poorly hiding.

While wiping the sweat from my vision, I told him, “Next time, I’ll get someone to help. You shouldn’t be putting so much strain on yourself like this.”

“That…that would be nice.” Even sitting down, his limbs were still jittery. When I offered to get him a drink, he declined, saying, “I’ll be alright, lad. Just need me a little time. You should go on and bring Finn out. I’ll be on my way shortly.”

“If you’re sure.” I gave my instructor one final offer of water before he waved me off. Seeing as he was so adamant about this, I grabbed the cart’s handle and pushed my way out of the church. Even on the wheeled wagon, moving Finn’s body was still a task in and of itself. Moving the cart felt like struggling to roll a boulder up a hill.

Soon enough, I was back outside, seeing the sun sinking ever lower towards the horizon, now almost kissing the line separating the sky and earth. I made the mistake of stopping to admire the sight, for once I tried to move the wagon once again, a jolt of pain shot through my arms as quick as a whip. For a few moments my arms wavered in my attempts, forcing me to dig my heels into the soil beneath me in order to gain enough leverage to resume moving.

From the top of the hill, I realized I’d need to take my steps carefully, else I’d risk the cart getting away from me. So, this meant more strain and effort on my part to not only push the cart, but also hold onto it as I could feel the wheels wanting to roll downhill. From this slightly elevated position, I could see a good portion of Blackthorne, the place I called home.

It was an ordinary town, a modest size allowing for the people to live comfortably, but not too large so as to become a bustling city like Dhis or Reven. To further add on to the relatively simple nature of my fair haven, Blackthorne was circled by tall walls of solid and sturdy wood. Strong enough to keep out the more…nefarious types. We’d been promised by the duke an eventual move to stone, but that had been some time ago.

Thankfully for my aching arms, the funeral site wasn’t far off, as just down in the town square, I could see the little structure I’d built as the pyre. Along with the pyre itself, I’d also set up further by getting the square cleared of debris and other obstructions, and putting up a crimson flag off to the side. A small table had been placed by the flag, upon which lay a number of equally blood colored cloaks for the funeral attendees to wear. Some tall candle lamps, situated around the square, would serve for lighting once the sun disappeared for the evening.

The square itself was an area mostly used for ceremonies like tonight’s; weddings, festivals, feasts, etc. It sat in the middle of town, shadowed on two sides by shops and homes. The buildings surrounding my current location were of simple wood and brick make, the same as the rest of town, really. The lone exception to this rule was the church itself, what with its design being entirely wooden.

Wheeling the cart in, I could see I was the lone person in the center plaza. Due to the upcoming funeral, the shops closed early to make way for the preparations. Some of the merchants offered their assistance, but I politely declined. This was my duty as an upcoming man of the cloth, and I would see to my work accordingly. It didn’t take me a long time to set up for the event. Not really, at least. Just a few short hours, the bulk of which was mostly working on the pyre itself. Thankfully, the church had plenty of firewood already available, so I didn’t have to chop any wood beforehand.

I stopped the barrow next to the pyre and begun my attempt at moving Finn over to it. Placing both hands behind his shoulders, I lifted him up with all my might, forcing the lifeless body up. The problem, however, was that due to the tight wrappings entombing the man, he could not be made to sit, causing instead his entire body to rise with him.

I silently cursed my own lack of raw strength to properly move Finn, as just when I tried to shift him to the pyre, I could feel a stinging sensation in my arms and hands and nearly dropped him hard onto the stone street below. It was only thanks to the cart’s wide bed catching him that Finn didn’t have an unfortunate after-death fate.

I may or may not have let slip some rather inappropriate swears at this point. My loud vocalizations were able to mask a certain someone’s approach until I felt a large, strong hand land upon my shoulder.

“Now now, Richter,” came a gruff voice behind me, “is that any way for a priest to talk?”

An involuntary pull at the corner of my mouth forced a smile out of me as I instantly recognized the voice’s owner.

I quickly turned around and was met with a tall, broad-shouldered beast of a man. My gaze was initially at around his chest, he was so tall, and I noticed he had chosen to wear his guard uniform; leather armor worn on top of a padded cloth tunic and breeches. Raising my sights, I could see how the ridge of the armor’s collar gave way to the man’s hairy body. Thick dark hair covered his neck, leading up to his face which had an equal overgrowth of finely brushed fur. An elongated mouth stretched outward from plump cheeks was my next view. As my eyes scanned further up, I briefly locked onto his eyes—as green as creeping moss—before moving on and taking sight of the pointed ears on top of his scalp.

The man before me was a combination of beast and human. More specifically, wolf and human. If one were to take momentary glance away from the animal head atop his shoulders and instead at his hands, they would find them to be massive, each digit ending with a sharpened claw. One could also perhaps take notice of the man’s legs and how they bent at an odd angle just like a dog’s hind legs. Likewise, a man such as this could not be complete without a flowing tail lazily dangling from the backside of his breeches, a convenient hole having been made for just the reason.

This wolf man was Roderick, a longtime friend since childhood. He wasn’t always this…beastly. He used to be a normal man just a few years before. But, that’s neither here nor there.

I brushed his huge palm off my shoulder with a playful swat. “Technically, I’m not an officially ordained priest just yet,” I reminded him. “So, I’m free to curse like a salty sailor all day long.”

“Pft, best not let the father hear you say that.” The pale orbs of his swiveled over to soak in my fruitless effort of moving Finn’s body. “Having a bit of trouble?”

Preparing to wave him away, the ache in my arms reminded me just how problematic this ordeal had proven. And the genuine concern in my friend’s eyes told me all I needed. I gave the wolven man a short nod, which he took as his immediate cue to lift up Finn and place him onto the pyre so easily, it looked like child’s play.

It was almost enviable.

Patting him on his shoulder, I thanked him for his help.

“Think nothing of it,” he replied. “So then,” he said, glancing around the square, “everything looks all set up.”

I bobbed my head. “Yes, it took a bit of time, but it’ll be all worth it once Finn’s been sent.” The scent of the warm night air filled my lungs as I took in a deep breath, letting it all out in a long sigh. “I pray this is the last funeral we do this year,” I mumbled.

Roderick made a noise somewhere between that of approval and questioning. He digested what I said for a moment, deciding his words. I could see his brows furrow as he contemplated. Finally, he spoke. “I’d say I’ll pray with you, but I don’t have that kind of faith to believe this will be the last one.”

“It’s alright,” I told him with a shrug. “Truth be told, I don’t really believe it will either.”

“Heh.” He shook his head at that, raising a hand in mock incredulity. “A priest lacking faith? Ain’t that a shame?”

Despite my best efforts, a small smile found its way upon my face. It was a bit of a funny thing, after all. Perhaps even a tad ironic. Even so, the sentiment behind my words stood firm. No matter how much I willed it, I knew it wouldn’t change the inevitability of death. I suppose I was just tired of losing people. The summer solstice was barely a month ago and Finn would be bringing our town’s deaths that year into the double digits.

“Mother Myrrah calls us when she needs us, I suppose.”

Roderick shrugged at my words and traced a ring in the air before him, aimed at the former living Finn, and then he murmured a prayer for our friend. He said it low, under his breath, and I wasn’t quite able to make out what was said. However, judging by the sad look in his eyes, I was able to figure out it was better left as a private matter.

When he had concluded his prayer, I decided to finally ask him a question that had been lingering since he arrived.

“By the by,” I said after a few silent moments had hung in the air between us, “what brought you out here? The funeral isn’t until nightfall.”

“Victoria,” he said, and instantly I understood without him needing to say anything further.

Victoria was Roderick’s sister.

She was also my fiancé.

“So, what does she need you to report on this time?”

A weak snort rose up from the wolf man before me. “She just wanted to know you were doing alright. Too busy at the store to come see herself.”

Before I had the chance to respond, Roderick’s twin ears both flickered twice quickly before he turned to look behind him. Following his gaze, I saw Father MacDonald slowly shuffling towards us. The father was moving carefully, each step chosen with the utmost thought behind it. As the older man headed our direction, Roderick and I both moved to meet the priest halfway.

I clicked my tongue at my teacher. “Honestly, Father, you shouldn’t be walking around like this without your cane.”

“I got here just fine without it,” he said like the cantankerous old fool he clearly was acting like. Even as he said this, he braced himself with one arm against one of the lampposts. Despite his stubbornness, it was plain as day the walk took a bit out of him.

As I was preparing to chide my own teacher, loud coughing and hacking came from the older man. Instantly, I was at his side, my sense of reproach ignored as worry took complete hold of me. I pulled forth a kerchief and the father graciously took it and wheezed into the cloth. When his fit had subsided, I made certain to check the rag, silently thanking Myrrah there was no blood this time.

As the priest righted himself and wiped at the corners of his mouth, he presented a soft upturning of his lips.

“That one only lasted half a minute. I’m getting better.”

“Yes, but you should still take it easy,” Roderick said, stealing the words directly from my mind.

The reminder of his steadily improving condition made me almost slap myself in the face. I’d allowed this sickly old man help my move an extremely heavy corpse. It was outright idiotic of me. Somehow, the illness had entirely slipped my thoughts, perhaps due to his last fit having not been for almost a full week, before…well, before Finn’s death.

“This is partly my fault.” My words came out shaky from my own guilt. I the admitted to my soon-to-be brother my misdeed from earlier.

“It’s not your fault,” Roderick reassured me. He then patted Father MacDonald on the back roughly twice, eliciting a dry cough from the man in the process. “It’s his! Old coot knows he ain’t well, and he goes and does a foolhardy as that. He should be praising Myrrah his frail bones didn’t snap under the weight.”

The priest reached up and smacked the wolf man’s hand away. “My bones are as sturdy as they’ve ever been, you overgrown pup.”

The overgrown pup flashed a toothy grin then. “Maybe as sturdy as a bird’s,” he chuckled.

“Bah! What would you know?”

“Apparently, enough to know you shouldn’t go and pick up a wolf.”

As I followed their back and forth arguing, I couldn’t help but laugh. When the two of them gave me funny looks, I explained, “If you’re this spirited enough to argue, then maybe you really are getting better.”

A sort of prideful smile lit up my mentor’s face, as if having his student’s acknowledgement of his recovery was a delight in and of itself.

My eye caught a sliver of sunlight, and I noticed the great flaming orb was almost completely sunken under the horizon. It was almost time for the funeral to begin. I informed the other two, leading to Roderick excusing himself to head home and collect his family.

“Right then,” the father exclaimed, “I hope you chose a fitting scripture passage.”

My head bowed in the affirmative. “I’ve used it before, but it was a few years ago.”

"...and may Mother Myrrah welcome our fallen brother into her waiting arms."

I then reached down and set the pyre alight, sending brother Finn's soul free of his earthly shell. With the flames slowly creeping up the wood bed, the funeral had been concluded. Thick, dark smoke billowed up from the burning logs and up into the night sky, mixing in with the melancholic gray shapeless balls of cotton above.

Looking out at the attendees assembled in the square, I could see the pained looks upon their faces. The eyes closed tight. Cheeks wet with tears. Mouths softly muttering prayers. Gazes downcast to the stones at our feet. These sorts of events effect people in different ways, but the outward appearances all typically seem familiar. Not a single soul among those in their mourning reds could probably even fake a smile in the moment. I certainly couldn’t, at least.

As the sickly-sweet scent of burning flesh wafted out, most of the mourners began to stray from the square. The odor had the added result of forcing me to relive the countless other funerals the father and I had performed over the years. Each and every one was a good friend, a dedicated son or daughter, a loving spouse or parent. And no matter who it happens to, it always feels like they’re taken too soon.

Slowly, the congregation dwindled further and further, until eventually it was just Father MacDonald and myself, left to watch over Finn as his shell burnt away. It took quite some time for the flesh to char and melt away from the bones. And for that entire time, after the last attendee had said their thanks for our service and disappeared into the night, the father and I kept close eyes on the pyre. We stood there observing in near total silence, our only accompaniment being the roars and crackles of the fire.

It took some time, but before long the fires had licked away most of Finn’s body, leaving naught behind but charred bones and chunks of blackened meat. My tutor then emptied two buckets of water over the pyre, dousing whatever flame still lingered, giving me the opportunity to collect the remains. The bones would make for some decent fertilizer for the farmers.

With our routine complete, and my bag of bones in hand, it was time to return to the church. Pulling down all the funeral items would wait until the morning.

“Wait, my boy,” my instructor called as I was departing the square. When I turned to him, he held our one long-fingered hand and said, “Let me take them back. You’ve done quite enough for today. Go home and rest.”

“I’m not sure if it’s wise to let you take the walk alone.”

He grumbled out rather adamantly, “I made it here by myself, didn’t I? I won’t have you thinking I’m some invalid. Now let me do my duty, and you go home to your wife.”

“Not my wife just yet,” I corrected him.

He bit back with, “She may as well be.” He took the bag from me and continued on, “Now go home and have a pleasant meal for once. A little birdie told me a certain girl may or may not have procured some fine Gavlan Ale the other day.”

I could feel a slight twitch at the mention of my favorite drink. The old priest knew exactly what he had done, as the smile in his eyes said it all. I wished him a fond, yet swift farewell for the night and set about my route home. Before we went our separate ways, however, I did pause to watch how slowly my mentor was making his way back to the church. I was tempted to nag him about not bringing his cane again, but figured he probably didn’t need the reminder.

As I walked, my eyes roamed around the mixture of brick and wooden homes and shops lining the sides of the roads. They gave Blackthorne a certain charm to it. They made the town seem a bit older, more rustic and pleasant. Homey, I suppose one could call it. Granted, I’d be biased, seeing as this was my home, after all. Still though, there wasn’t any other way I’d describe it.

I meandered by the tavern, and had a quick look through one of the large windows. Inside was the usual sort, drinking and gambling and sharing stories. But I could see the usuals were joined by a number of the funeral attendees, their red robes draping on the backs of chairs. It didn’t take a genius to know the sorts of tales they’d tell tonight. They’d all have a good laugh with some cards or dice, all the while swapping memories of their times with Finn. The good, the bad, the sad, and everything else, all to help keep him alive within their hearts. I spied Finn’s father among the crowd, happily raising a toast and throwing back a mug of beer before slapping down a winning hand in a game of poker.

I suppose we all cope in our own ways.

I said a silent prayer to Mother Myrrah, hoping that they’d all be able to find their peace with this tremendous loss.

Through the roads I kept on, my destination nearly in sight. It was only after turning three more corners that my humble abode poked its way into my field of view. A rustic little structure, crafted mostly out of hard oak, standing betwixt another home much the same as itself and a proud example of the type of tree its walls had been made from. A faint flicker of candleflame alerted me to a silhouette poised near the window, and I knew my love was waiting for me.

Best not keep her waiting, I told myself.

In a moment, I was inside, and was met with almost complete darkness. The silvery moonlight peering its way through the windows was all that was available. Not even that candleflame I spied moments before could be seen.

And just then, a pair of snakes slithered their way around my waist as a familiar, powerful scent overwhelmed me.

Honeysuckle.

I reached downwards for the snakes clasping me, finding a woman’s smooth skin instead of rough scales. Behind me, the sound of hushed breaths danced into my ears. Along the center of my spine, I could feel the slow subtle drumbeat of the woman’s heart as she pressed herself against me.

In a lilting sing-song voice, she spoke. “Welcome home, love.” Even though I couldn’t see her face at the moment, I knew she had a contented look about her.

Without removing myself from her grasp, I reached a hand up and spoke an incantation. In the center of my outstretched fingers, a tiny spark of white fire came to life in my palm. The glow if the miniature flame lit up the interior of my home. I could see the den before me; the reading chairs positioned beside the bookshelves, the currently cold cobblestone fireplace with partially burned logs from the previous night, the small desk littered with papers and envelopes.

The arms crossing my midsection released their hold on me, and the air moved as Victoria got around to my front. She was a tiny thing, as short as her brother was tall, with the top of her head barely reaching up to my chin. Waterfalling from her scalp was a beautiful river of the darkest black hair. She had a cute button nose with slight freckles spotted along the tip and sides, branching out along her cheeks. Small thin lips were splayed out into the most tempting of smiles, the kind of smile that any man could fall for.

I then leaned down and snatched those lips in a sweet kiss. “It’s good to be back, love,” I said when I pulled back, staring into her eyes, the same dull green as dried grass.