(no subject)
He's been putting this off for a long time.
He's been to Milliways, of course, teaching the children of the House of Arch about telling stories and making pictures. But he hadn't been out to the forest much, and certainly not with his babies in tow.
Today, though, he has them--Keiran on his arm and Georgia holding his hand--and he walks out with them to a black stone surrounded by rosemary at the forest's edge. He kneels down and sets Keiran on his feet, and Georgia hangs onto his arm.
"My loves," he says quietly, "this is why Charlie doesn't come over to play anymore." Both the children look at him in confusion. "You see, mortals . . . they aren't like us. They're not even like trees. They're like . . . flowers. They don't go to sleep for a season and then come back. They bloom for a little while and then they're gone."
Realization dawning, Georgia's lower lip begins to tremble, and Keiran just looks confused.
"Whatever makes mortals live--whatever gives them their spark--it's gone from Charlie's body," Jack goes on gently, and Georgia begins to weep helplessly. Jack embraces her and holds her close, and Keiran, mostly because Georgia is crying, begins to sob too.
"Oh, darlings," Jack says and kisses them both. "It's all right. I promise it's all right. You don't have to say goodbye to him, my darlings--you can come out here and talk to him anytime you want. He just won't answer you anymore."
It's not helping, and Jack sighs, holding tight to his wailing babies. When Gil's course has run--he doesn't even want to think about that. But that's the trouble, isn't it--if you're a god of beginnings, you have to understand that everything ends, too.
So he holds his children and lets them cry.
He's been to Milliways, of course, teaching the children of the House of Arch about telling stories and making pictures. But he hadn't been out to the forest much, and certainly not with his babies in tow.
Today, though, he has them--Keiran on his arm and Georgia holding his hand--and he walks out with them to a black stone surrounded by rosemary at the forest's edge. He kneels down and sets Keiran on his feet, and Georgia hangs onto his arm.
"My loves," he says quietly, "this is why Charlie doesn't come over to play anymore." Both the children look at him in confusion. "You see, mortals . . . they aren't like us. They're not even like trees. They're like . . . flowers. They don't go to sleep for a season and then come back. They bloom for a little while and then they're gone."
Realization dawning, Georgia's lower lip begins to tremble, and Keiran just looks confused.
"Whatever makes mortals live--whatever gives them their spark--it's gone from Charlie's body," Jack goes on gently, and Georgia begins to weep helplessly. Jack embraces her and holds her close, and Keiran, mostly because Georgia is crying, begins to sob too.
"Oh, darlings," Jack says and kisses them both. "It's all right. I promise it's all right. You don't have to say goodbye to him, my darlings--you can come out here and talk to him anytime you want. He just won't answer you anymore."
It's not helping, and Jack sighs, holding tight to his wailing babies. When Gil's course has run--he doesn't even want to think about that. But that's the trouble, isn't it--if you're a god of beginnings, you have to understand that everything ends, too.
So he holds his children and lets them cry.