Corpsebloom lifted her head to the light - there was still light, dim, but passing warm on her face. She stood; it was dusk - it was time to leave the cave.There was a seed within her, several seeds, passing warm, and growing. They would grow, and unfurl, from her, as she had unfurled from the dirt; from the dead.
She was dead, and they would grow from her: new life.
She was dead, she had always been - but when she had been with him, she had thrilled. She had lived, perhaps, it was hard to tell, for one who had always been dead. But she must have lived once, to unfurl from the dirt - perhaps she had lived; she had lived, perhaps, with him.
And now, the seeds within her, they thrilled, and would unfurl.
But she was dead, and so it was time to leave the cave; she'd heard a Legendary could help with that, being dead, with life.
The air was wet on the outside, wetter than the caves, and she took blind steps, following water. She'd heard there was a witch, a Swamp witch, who was many animals, and could cure ills, and loved the dead. So she followed water, which was everywhere, but there was a Swamp witch, so surely she lived where the water was most wet.
Corpsebloom had never done such a thing before. The dead did not often do.
*******
She had walked, she knew not how long, just that the light was no longer warm on her face, and no longer. She knew not where she was, nor how far out.
She knew there was a snake, slithering alongside her, because it slithered - sss-ss-ss-sss - across the grass, slick and wet with water, and it had slithered alongside her for some time now.When her steps slowed, it slithered no more, and then there was a bird, little wings beating.
The night is dark, she heard, not with her ears, but with her head, and the caimans are hungry.
They will not have me, she said, because I am dead.
The little wingbeats ceased, and then she felt the little prick of claws on her back.
What is one dead doing, wandering so far? she heard.
I am seeking the Swamp witch, she said, for the ones in me still live.
Surely there was never any harm answering a voice in your head.
Ah, yes, the little claws on her back hopped, a little, the Swamp Witch would help with that.
But the Swamp witch is far, and the night is very dark. Go home, dead one - go home, the little ones will be alright:
For you are dead, but still you dream,
and they too dream, alive.
This, she heard, like a song, and the little claws left her back, too, in a twitter of birdsong. And she followed the birdsong all the way back to the caves, and awoke the next morning, with the light passing warm on her back, and life, dreaming warm in her belly.
END