Page 142 of To Trap a Soul

He didn’t seem to mind what size Weldir was.

“Down you go. I’m still annoyed with you,” Weldir stated, decreasing his size until he was about eight feet tall, which felt the most natural.

Nathair untwisted his body and pressed a loop of his tail to the ground to find purchase to rise to the height he preferred when leaning his torso back. He was taller than before, coming to Weldir’s sternum when he’d barely come to the bottom of his ribcage before. At this rate, his offspring was going to stand as tall as him. Even his torso appeared to be a little longer and bulkier than before.

“Iwasgoing to make you that lake and rock you wanted soon, but I don’t have the spare energy now,” Weldir told him.

“Blergh,”Nathair grumbled, tipping his entire body to the side until even his arms swung to the left. “But I want rock now. And sun is not warm.”

The sun would never be warm, as Weldir had no idea what hot and cold felt like and struggled to emulate it.

Weldir raised his hands up with a shrug. “Well, that’s what you get for eating them.”

Weldir was just lucky that when Nathair consumed a soul, although it had a deep impact on his mana, it didn’t destroy him like when Weldir inserted it into his own chest. Nathair didn’t seem to be burned by them, like the flames only ate away at Weldir’s mana and soul.

He figured it was his penance to pay for doing so, whereas his offspring was just doing what was natural to him. Or perhaps the plague of memories that tried to attach themselves to Nathair’s very soul were his punishment.

Hopefully he doesn’t do it again in the future. I don’t want there to be any lasting effects.

For now, though, they had nothing to worry about, as Weldir knew he’d removed the fragments entirely since they were fresh. He patted Nathair on the shoulder and then pulled him forward so they could travel together.

“Let’s see how much humanity those two souls gave you.”Then I must sleep to replenish what he has stolen.

It looked like more lessons were in their future.

In his own way, despite the drain, Weldir was actually pleased about this. The more Nathair understood, the easier their relationship might become.

He threw a disc to the side, letting the moving image appear of Lindiwe flying in her raven form after what looked like Odie, their otter-skulled offspring.

She’s still visiting them all.With Weldir’s aid, she’d been doing that for quite a few years now, greeting her children and seeing what she could teach them in the small amounts of time she allotted to them all. He couldn’t tell how many years it’d been, but he knew the Earth had rotated quite a number of times.

Each time she greeted their offspring again, they seemed to both be more wary of her, but also more receptive. She’d learned all the languages of the places they’d been placed so she could teach them what was relevant to their continent. Eyropea was difficult, as there were many complex languages for her to contend with and teach.

Thankfully, she had all the time in the world to learn them, with a little help from the translation spell she’d acquired from the Anzúli.

Nathair paused to look at the disc, tilting his head at it every time he made one appear – Weldir was always watchful of his mate, even though she never knew it.

“She flies again,” he stated, his voice not as deep or gruff as before, while pointing to his mother, without understanding that was what she was.

The complexity of parenthood was too much for Nathair to understand just yet. In due time, that would likely change.

Pressure spread across Weldir’s face, and he wondered if he’d smiled. “Yes. She’s in her raven form.”

His pretty female, and her feathery form.

My little raven mate.

December 26th, 1755

Despite how many years had passed, Lindi struggled with the loss she felt. It was still there, ever present to this day. It lingered in the back of her mind, in a broken part of her heart, in the memories and wishes she held onto.

At least knowing Nathair was alive in some way lessened that burden. He was somewhere else, living, and she’d take that blessing even if it meant she’d never be able to see, touch, or hear him again.

It was the only hope she had.

“Pryssia is beautiful this time of year,” she stated, leaning back on straightened arms to stare up at the thick canopy of branches above. White snowfall blanketed every surface available, bringing a startling yet mystical contrast to the otherwise evergreen conifers.

Most larch trees, although with similar needles to conifers, had lost their autumn orange foliage once winter truly gripped the world. But, unlike the birch trees, they had no meaning.

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