It will be good, he thinks to himself, walking alongside Graveling. It will be good for the girl to come along to the Dale. He’s glad she agreed to it. What else was he supposed to do with her anyway? In truth, himself being amenable to Gail’s request hadn’t had any thought behind it. He hadn’t considered what he’d do with a walking, immature corpse-child once he returned them both to the land of the living. He had accepted the idea on instinct. Yes, had been a quick syllable only a heartbeat after the black anchor had voiced her request. Ramiel thinks it will always be that way where Gail is concerned; he will do anything to put a temporary salve on his ever-burning guilt at leaving her behind.
So he’s more than glad when Graveling takes him up on his, admittedly, only idea. It will be good, he thinks again, the phrase becoming a mantra to ward against his own misgivings. Because the skin is too thin as it stretches across her body. Because he can see her tendons pulling and snapping back into place when her legs carry her ahead of him along the trail. What will the others think of this undead addition to their already-motley crew? He doesn’t much care what they will think of him, their gilded-haired, son-of-an-angel king bringing back a zombie to haunt their hills from his latest journey. He does care how they will react to Graveling. He wonders if he will have to balance the disgust of his people with the safe, wholesome childhood of his charge – what will he do if someone protests too loudly in front of her?
The greying stallion shakes his head, spins his mantra to account for these new worries: It will be good because I will make it so.
The Dale opens up on the duo all too quickly. His golden eyes find the river first, as they always do. He can see the other horses spread out in varying distances from it, most likely taking their midday meals in the bright sunlight falling across the valley. It must be a strange sight for an almost-ghost from a vastly different place. Different plane, even. Ramiel looks back at her, smiling gently, encouragingly at her nervousness. There will be nerves for a while, he is sure, but he thinks she will come to enjoy being alive.
It’s better than the alternative, anyway.
But before he can give his reassurance a voice, they are joined by another. It’s a young filly (similar in age to Graveling, perhaps, though he’s not good at discerning these things). He doesn’t know her, and her unusual coloring makes him think he wouldn’t forget if he’d seen her before. There is something about her face, though, something familiar in the lines of it. He is reminded of Aunt Ely and Josc – but the connection stops there. The grey is happily surprised when Graveling introduces him to the other girl, negating his need to; maybe it will not take so long for her to integrate as he thought. He’s even happier that Lirren doesn’t seem to notice any strangeness about the dead girl. “Hello Lirren. Are you new here, too?”
Once again, Gail’s daughter calls him magic. He looks at her, faux-exasperated, but then an idea comes to him. He rolls his shoulders. This time, surrounded by children - who he assumes that all of them appreciate fantastical things, no matter if they were dead once upon a time – he decides to play the part. Ramiel fades into his ghostly form, slowly disappearing into nothingness. As he does so, he pulls some of the leaf litter into the air around him. It takes a lot of concentration to do so, but the young stallion swirls the leaves around his nearly faded form as an autumnal vortex. After a moment, he sends them towards the fillies so that they rain down upon the two. If anything, he hopes it will flood Lirren with strangeness. If his showy appearance will stick with her more than Graveling’s rotting flesh, he will consider it a job well done. If nothing else, he hopes he’s entertained the children with his little ‘magic’ trick.
Ramiel
ghost king of the dale