Epilogue: Teto I: "Someday"

.:. fluttering .:.

/ like a leaf in the breeze \

～aimlessly～

– small wishes. –

A weathered old man bends over a flat, wide branch with a knife, whittling it to sharp perfection. The creases in his sun-browned skin signal the passing of time. His olive eyes, and light, bleached blonde hair contrasts greatly with the rest of his body. Veins, deeply apparent, run the length from his fingertips to his elbows. His knuckles are knotted and lumpy. His hands are rough and calloused. Even in his stooped position, I can see the muscles rippling along his back, a sign of his hard work over the years.

I sneak up to him, trying to surprise him, but before I get more than a step forward, he smiles.

"Come here, Teto."

I give up my position and walk over to him. This old man is my grandfather. I wait beside him, as I watch Grandfather take his time. Chips of wood fall to the grass under our feet, until it is finely coated with sawdust. Finally, Grandfather pats the space on the grass next to him. "Sit, Teto."

When you're with Grandfather, you have to remember to be patient. Sometimes, you don't even need to remember to be. It's something about him, something in the air around him, that immediately makes you relax, watch him. It blocks questions out. For a few minutes, you just sit there, thinking, thinking of the things you can't yet grasp but are so near.

It's almost midday. We're on a hill, and in the distance I can see the remains of the house of a brother and sister. Montem Decus stands, still regal, still majestic, a green-and-brown smudge against the ragged blue sky. We're almost a mile away from Grandfather's home, the house where Mother grew up in, but Grandfather seems to like this spot. It's where the sun warms the grass pleasantly, not too hot or too cold. Goats like it here too, for he brought his two goats with him, and they're standing around grazing, keeping their distance. Goats don't like to be right next to humans.

"Grandfather," I finally venture. "Can you tell me the story of how Mother and Father met?"

"Ah, that story." His olive-green eyes cloud over, and I could almost see him being whisked back fifteen years. "Yes, that story, how they met and married, and had you and your brother six years later."

"No, it's…not that. It's another story, but they're still in it." I look hopefully at Grandfather. "Mother and Father speak of it sometimes. Sometimes they sound sad, sometimes they sound relieved, and sometimes they just seem like they're daydreaming. It was what they call The Period of Great Change…you know, in the books."

Grandfather nods. "So they taught you to read." He begins to carve on the wood.

"Yes," I say, wondering why everyone is so elusive about this subject. I'm eight. I'm old enough to know. "Is it…was it bad? But it couldn't have been bad, right? Mother and Father met through that."

"Teto, it was bad," Grandfather says softly. "It was terrible."

"But how could it have been terrible if they met and were brought together?"

"Sometimes, terrible things can birth a new thing, something rare, but precious." Grandfather skillfully makes intricate designs on the branch with his knife. "Your grandmother, for instance. You were still in your mother's stomach when your grandmother died. I was almost consumed by sadness until your parents reminded me of what happened, and what could have happened. These terrible happenings make our presence wise, Teto."

"Yes," I say.

"Teto, these happenings…they didn't not occur at a price." Grandfather gestures toward the ruins of the house. "The people who lived in this house, they were strong, likable people. They were caught in the happenings, just like your mother and father were. However, the sister died at the hands of a woman of corruption, and the brother was driven mad by it. It all relies on decisions, and these decisions rely on us. It is not only until one experiences it does one finally realize how fragile everyone is."

"But…Grandfather," I say. The seed of impatience forms a sprout. "How does that relate to the story?"

"Much as you hate this, you truly are not old enough to understand," Grandfather replies quietly. I look over at his carving, and I could see a girl with long ringlets begin to take shape, sitting next to an old man under a sunny sky. A lot of other images crowd the one I notice…A dream cloud with a girl and boy reaching out to each other, holding hands, the same girl holding a dagger and running her fingers along the length of it, a boy leaning on the girl, as if he had just learned to walk. There are a lot more that aren't finished, blurry and undefined. Grandfather turns sharply, as if suddenly noticing me, and smiles, giving me the carving. "A load of memories, my life is. This is just a start. Finish it for me, Teto."

"But Grandfather," I protest. "I don't know what's going on."

"That's why you'll have to keep it on your shelf until you hear the story. Your mother and father are getting ready to tell you, Teto," and gently, he brushes a dark pink ringlet out of my face. "Someday, you will know."

"Someday," I repeat. The word sounds so distant, and yet so warm and welcoming. "Someday."

"Yes, someday." His old olive eyes caress my face. "That day, I will teach you how to carve, and you will have a story on the stick itself."

I stay silent, not sure how to respond. A hawk soars and dives for the unfortunate lamb. Pine trees wave in the always recurring breeze, and a spicy smell wafts in. Deep in the shadows of the caves far away, mountain cats prowl. Below us, the landscape of the seven towns are spread out like a map, but even though they have such grandeur, those towns are only mere pinpricks on the ground to us. At least to me. Faraway. Heedless of the grass stains on my long skirt, I arch my back, palms pressing into the sod, gazing at the sky. A cloud floats by, shaped like the white kitty that Mother used to have, named Iana.

Then Mother's call for me reverberates over the landscape, and suddenly the moment is broken. Grandfather pats me gently on the back. "Now run along, Teto. Keep it in mind…someday."

I leap over the grass, clutching the branch to my chest, my skirt billowing out behind me.

Someday…someday, the wind seems to whisper.

The wood in my hands almost seems to be breathing—like a baby that has not yet been born. Once I hear, once I know the story, I will make it come alive.

"I promise, Grandfather," I say aloud softly.

I decided to update a week early...

Well, now that's done. ); I'm not a big fan of endings, but the story has to come to a conclusion.

I'm working on a GakuLuka story. Also a MikuKai one. It'll get published, depends on my mood to see which one comes first.
Keep watching～

Thank you for reading/reviewing!

~Unyielding Wish