During slower parts, Serranai sings along to the melody, just vocalizations rather than words. There's a familiar hen settled beside her as she plays on.
The Mother of Land and Spring is an artist, music included. And she is a creature of beasts and plant life. And all these things flow together in perfect harmony, all the things of land perfectly understanding her heart through her art. And Radar is among them.
The song is one of longing, but of peace. John was struggling to cope with the horrors. They stacked upon his own--- mundane in the sense that they lacked an element of magic, but hardly average, as Radar would surely know. Constant weight built up onto his soul, existential and uncontrollable and nearly constant. It wasn't fair to ask him to stay. And so Mortanne called him to be with his Co, somewhere safe and comfortable, with the knowledge that his people would be well cared for.
He is missed, but his departure is one that was earned. And there is peace to be found in that. Peace that he was able to find Mortanne's embrace not through further bloodshed and gunfire, but in the deathless death of a ferry ride to the Beyond. A rare privilege. The trophy earned from a life well lived.
The song ends when the wordless tale is told, and the final note holds an air of relief. Serranai looks to Radar, and makes no comment on his tears, simply brushing fingertips still lightly dusted with garden dirt over the bits of hair that peek out from his hat. She speaks, softer than usual, her Glassighe accent thick as her hair. "Thought he could use a proper li'l memorial. Don't you agree, my darlin'?"
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The Mother of Land and Spring is an artist, music included. And she is a creature of beasts and plant life. And all these things flow together in perfect harmony, all the things of land perfectly understanding her heart through her art. And Radar is among them.
The song is one of longing, but of peace. John was struggling to cope with the horrors. They stacked upon his own--- mundane in the sense that they lacked an element of magic, but hardly average, as Radar would surely know. Constant weight built up onto his soul, existential and uncontrollable and nearly constant. It wasn't fair to ask him to stay. And so Mortanne called him to be with his Co, somewhere safe and comfortable, with the knowledge that his people would be well cared for.
He is missed, but his departure is one that was earned. And there is peace to be found in that. Peace that he was able to find Mortanne's embrace not through further bloodshed and gunfire, but in the deathless death of a ferry ride to the Beyond. A rare privilege. The trophy earned from a life well lived.
The song ends when the wordless tale is told, and the final note holds an air of relief. Serranai looks to Radar, and makes no comment on his tears, simply brushing fingertips still lightly dusted with garden dirt over the bits of hair that peek out from his hat. She speaks, softer than usual, her Glassighe accent thick as her hair. "Thought he could use a proper li'l memorial. Don't you agree, my darlin'?"