I saw in my dream that even before Seeker, Beautiful, Wonderful, and Bright reached the gates of Vanity—walking slowly for Bright’s sake—rumors had already arrived in their place. The tale of thunder in the Valley, of lightning splaying across the sky, spread through the streets like a fever. By the time they drew near, fear had taken root in the hearts of many.
Mr. Envy was the first to give shape to the fear. “He draws lightning down upon us,” he muttered to anyone who would listen. “He brings giants to our very gates. His son drives beasts out of the hills! And how long before that Valley-ward turns and condemns us all?”
Lying took up the tale at once. “I heard he summoned the dragon,” he whispered to a knot of listeners. And a moment later, to another, “I heard he slew a dozen innocents.”
“We don’t want trouble,” said Mr. Inconsiderate. “People like that ruin neighborhoods. One family shouldn’t endanger the rest.”
As they walked through the streets, shutters slammed shut and whispers rose behind them like rustling leaves. When they reached their home, a small crowd barred the way.
A low growl rumbled from Seeker’s chest, his fingers curling instinctively around the hilt of his sword. Beautiful laid her hand over his.
“That’s not what that’s for,” she whispered.
Still, the crowd stepped back, opening a narrow path toward their door. Mr. Envy moved to the front, chin lifted just enough to show he wasn’t afraid—only eager.
“It would be best,” he said, “if you… moved along.”
***
Beautiful let out a long trembling breath the moment the door closed behind them. The muffled rumble of the crowd finally faded, leaving only the sound of her own pulse hammering in her ear. She stood for a moment in the quiet, her hand on the latch, as though making sure the door would hold.
Wonderful guided Bright to his bed, moving with the steady competence she’d learned from Mr. Skill.
Seeker all but collapsed onto the couch, the exhaustion of battle settling over him like a heavy cloak. He pressed his palms to his face.
“What now?” he asked, voice thick, frayed at the edges.
Her dream. Beautiful straightened, heart giving a small jolt. In everything that happened—the journey, the mob, Bright’s injuries—she had completely forgotten. She hurried into the bedroom. There on the bed lay the scroll, right where she had dropped it in her haste.
She lifted it and loosened the silver thread with trembling fingers. Inside, etched in shimmering silver letters, was a deed—the very cottage the Shining One had shown her by the River of Life. Beautiful drew in a sharp breath. It bore the seal of the King.
She hurried back into the main room, the deed raised in her hand. Seeker looked up, astonishment breaking through his exhaustion.
“A Shining One—Gabriel, I think—gave this to me,” she said breathless, the words tumbling out. “He said it was prepared for us.”
Seeker blinked, taken aback. Then a tired laugh escaped him.
“Slow down, Beautiful. Start from the beginning.”
Beautiful told him—halting at first, then with growing clarity—how the Shining One had appeared in her dream, how he had led her to the cottage beside the River of Life, its fruit-laden trees shimmering in the light. She told him how he had sent her and Wonderful to them, and how she had woken with the scroll pressed to her heart.
Then she placed the deed into Seeker’s hands.
He traced the silver letters with his fingertips, reverent, almost unbelieving.
“The King provides,” he said softly.
Beautiful lifted her chin. “We leave as soon as Bright is well enough to walk.”
“And not a minute before,” Seeker said with a wry grin, his gaze flickering toward the sword propped by the door—as if daring the world to argue otherwise.
She swatted his hand lightly, a small laugh escaping despite everything. “Oh, stop that.”
***
Preparations came together quickly. Seeker had no burden now, and Beautiful insisted they pack only what they needed for the journey—food, water, and little else.
Bright’s strength returned faster than Seeker expected. Wonderful tended him with quiet determination, mixing herbs, checking wounds, and reprimanding him gently whenever he tried to stand too soon.
Before they left, she visited Mr. Skill to bid him farewell. Seeker watched from a distance as she hugged the healer, promising she would return to finish her training.
It was the same Vanity they entered years before—yet not the same at all. Merchants still cried out beneath their bright banners, fabric snapping in the breeze. But as Seeker and his family stepped onto the Narrow Way, the air shifted. Glares followed them. Voices fell to murmurs. People drew back as though their very shadows carried danger.
Not a single soul approached them—not a farewell, not a word of blessing—not until the city lay behind them and the noise faded into the wind.
The Narrow Way stretched ahead of them—smooth, straight and washed clean by the morning. Wild grasses swayed in the cool breeze; their blades beaded with a clinging silver mist. Hares and rabbits darted through the tall stems, flashes of brown and gray before vanishing back into the green.
Amidst the tall grasses, wildflowers swayed in scattered bursts—bluebells nodding in the shade, buttercups gleaming in the sun, poppies trembling whenever the breeze touched them. Herbs grew in gentle clusters along the way: the feathery fronds of yarrow, chamomile with its small pale blossoms, and the sweet drifting scent of meadowsweet carried on the wind.
Seeker and Beautiful walked hand in hand, their steps falling into a familiar rhythm. Bright leaned on his staff, chattering as they went. Every so often Wonderful stopped to study a plant—snipping a bud here, a leaf there—and slipped each one into her pack before hurrying forward again.
Merry walked at their side. He was old now—moving slower, no longer trotting ahead the way he used to. When they neared a wild cherry tree—its branches heavy with blossoms like pale clouds—he stumbled, then eased himself down onto the path and would not rise again.
“Good boy,” Wonderful murmured, leaning down to pat his head. “Come on, Merry. Let’s keep going.” He didn’t move. He only lay there, sides trembling, and let out a soft, pitiful whimper.
“You want me to carry you?” Wonderful whispered as she knelt beside him. She eased her arms under his ribs and lifted him gently. A frail wheeze slipped from him—more breath than sound—his body sinking weakly against her.
“Let’s rest awhile,” Beautiful said gently. She spread a cloth beneath the cherry tree, the blossoms drifting down like pale snow, and laid out the sandwiches she had prepared that morning. But no one moved toward them. The food sat untouched—every eye kept drifting back to Merry.
Wonderful took a small bottle from her satchel and poured several drops into a tiny spoon. When she tried to feed Merry, he turned his head away. She offered him a treat instead. He snapped it up eagerly. But when she held out a second one, he only looked at it—bright eyes dimming, as though the effort had slipped from him.
Merry lay cradled in Seeker’s arms. Seeker drew him close, trying to gather every moment, to fix each small detail—how soft his fur was, how warm his little body felt—into memory before it slipped away. He remembered how Merry used to lick his fingers without stopping, and he lifted one now, offering it. Merry only rested his head against his palm, too tired for even that.
Bright sat with Beautiful, speaking softly. Seeker brought Merry to him. Merry’s eyes brightened when he saw Bright, and his tongue flicked out, giving Bright’s cheek a small lick.
Concern flickered across Beautiful’s face. Bright was too weak for this—not now, not like this. She looked from Merry to Seeker, their eyes meeting, grief quietly passing between them. She slipped her hand around Bright’s arm and guided him away, walking with him across the Plain.
Seeker eased Merry into Wonderful’s arms. She nestled her head against Merry’s and whispered something into his ear. Seeker leaned heavily against the tree trunk, and Wonderful gently placed Merry back into his arms.
His heart ached so badly. Worse than the Slough. Worse than the Valley of the Shadow of Death. He listened to Merry’s ragged breaths, willing every second to slow—willing it to last a little longer.
Merry closed his eyes for the last time. Silence settled over them. Seeker’s chest tightened—his own heartbeat faltered, as if it, too, had forgotten how to go on.
Then Seeker dug a small, deep grave beneath the cherry tree and laid Merry gently inside. He covered him with earth, pressing each handful down with trembling hands. And there, in the quiet shade, Seeker sang a low, broken lament:
Merry, true and loyal,
Constant companion of Wonderful,
Source of joy and inspiration to Bright,
And faithful friend to our whole family.
As he pressed the last handful of earth into place, something inside him broke. Seeker began to sob—loud, unguarded, like a child who no longer knew how to hold anything in.
Wonderful wrapped her arms around him and held him steady, standing firm and brave. “Merry will always be with you, Daddy,” she whispered.
Overhead, a skylark lifted its trembling song into the air—soft, mournful, promising they would keep watch over his dear friend, and that Merry would never be forgotten in their songs.
