One

Ailís was surrounded by ghosts.

Not that she minded much– being a Bone Witch was likely to bring around all manner of, well, things that inhabited bones once. Of course, she didn’t exactly intend to create a living ossuary for said souls, they just followed her home. 

Her bones creaked against the cold, rainy morning, her feet made even more achy by the fact that she refused to wear shoes. She had never enjoyed wearing shoes, though, and figured she wouldn’t start now. 

“They say thirty is when the cailleach comes to live in witch bones,” her traveling companion wryly said, “the ache of Wintrix, even in Springfall. You’re nearly there! Perhaps she’s arrived early.”

Ailís flipped her massive mane of wild, dark hair, clearing her view of her friend Sylri. “Perhaps,” she began, her thick accent curling each word, “the hunters will soon find a halfling, strung upside down from a nearby tree.”

The ghosts of the place were chattering, and her mind was filled with too many conversations, setting her on edge. 

“Could you all BE QUIET?”

The clearing in the wood was already quiet, but Ailís’ mind calmed considerably. “Thank you, fer goddess’ sake.” 

She was almost to the new place, a sanctuary she was building for the myriad creatures following her about. Ailís genuinely loved them– no matter how grumpy a day she might be having, the spirits had been there for her since she was a child. A Chosen of the Bonemother, they said, someone who could see both the beings of the incorporeal persuasion, and the goddess herself. The Bonemother had appeared before her, a shrouded, naked woman, wearing nothing but a massive covering of a crow’s wings and head, its lower beak absent as the rest of its head hovered over the goddess’ own. 

It looked quite exotic to Ailís as a babe.

And such, her life was changed forever. Magic, spirits, space, time, all of it undeniably reformed. Hence the ghosts. 

“So, who are we laying today?” Sylri’s phrasing was a bit icky on purpose. Ailís rolled her eyes. 

“Laying t’ rest, Syl, good grief. And it’s Tabor, beloved dog of… hell, I don’t remember, but he’s a good boy.”

The ossuary was small so far, but there was room to expand it on every edge. It had wide, flat cairns for corners, and limbs from the local Bissa trees covered the top in a thick arch, their magenta flowers tumbling down in dramatic waves. Ailís knew that eventually, she might need a proper stone building, but she also favored the rustic scenery here in the clearing– there was nothing wrong with the natural cycle of things happening in nature. She picked out a small spot in a western corner, and arranged the little bones in a decorative spiral. 

Boof. Tabor seemed to approve. The spritely little dog circled the design, found a comfy position, and curled into a ball, and laid down to sleep. His spirit wavered in contentedness, turning from a cool blue to a warm green, and then disappeared.

It was a bit difficult, Ailís might admit, to let the little ones go– more difficult than people, she might also admit. She lingered in the cool dirt a while, before Sylri placed a hand on her shoulder. 

“Right,” she sniffed. “Tabor, you were well-loved and loved well. See you in the Bonemother’s embrace.”

“Ya know, the emperor isn’t going to like this, if he ever finds out.”

“Psh, as if I give a toss what the emperor thinks. I am not beholden to him. I’m not even in his jurisdiction out here.” Ailís tucked thick waves behind her ear, eyes still focused on Tabor’s resting place. 

“He’s expanding his reign all the time. Next thing you know, he’ll level the woods.” 

Ailís shot a glance in Sylri’s direction. “An’ if he ever threatens to do so, I better see you at the front line. The Treetops Shall Not Fall, an’ all that.” 

The motto of Sylri’s people caught the halfling off guard.

“Of course I would be! But I don’t want him targeting you.”

Ailís took a moment, feeling the breeze cross the naked skin between the strips of fabric that formed her makeshift top. She heard the somber voices outside the space, along with dozens of crickets chirping. The wood teemed with life, and unlife, and she would never let it go.

“He can try,” she said– or, something from within her said, as the voice came out strange and otherworldly.