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The Lamb’s heart wasn’t really in it as they approached the pulpit. Simply going through the motions as their loyal flock hung onto their every word. Ratau insisted they arrange a great feast in celebration of Leshy being slain, and the Lamb half-heartedly allowed it, if only so they had an opening to slip away unnoticed.
The grass crunched softly beneath their feet, the sounds of their followers’ celebration growing fainter as they ventured further into the forest that surrounded the commune. Their robe billowed behind them slightly, a biting cold settling into their bones as they reached the spot where the body laid, the inky black blood staining the flowers beneath it.
Her body.
They alone knew the significance of the clearing Nana had chosen to sacrifice herself in. The weight of it pressed against the Lamb’s side, nestled in among their wool. Her gift. Their first offering. Words from that Summer day drifted back to them as they allowed their eyes to land once more on the fatal wound in her chest. I never thanked you.
Funny, how they could’ve now said the same thing to her.
They closed their eyes as they kneeled on the ground next to her corpse. It had been a betrayal, like the duck had foretold. And yet, they harbored gratitude towards her sacrifice. Without it, they likely would have truly fallen at the hands of the Bishop of Chaos. The sting of it still remained though, its slimy tendrils digging into their soul. The Lamb found themself pulling the wooden doll she’d made out from their wool, idly running their fingers over the whittled likeness of them.
Something had to be done. Something to honor her. She deserved it.
She’d been heavier than expected. They eventually had to settle for simply dragging her towards the commune as they pondered how to best execute their plan. There was an open area near the temple, and despite the evening chill in the air, the ground was still soft.
The impromptu celebration of their victory had ended, and their flock had seen themselves to bed. They silently thanked Ratau, who had no doubt encouraged it to give them privacy as they processed.
They took their time with it all. They made sure the hole was deep enough to not allow her earthen covers to erode over time. Ensured her body seemed comfortable as they lowered her. Marked the spot so she’d be remembered. After it all, they laid on the dirt next to the stone, staring up at the stars.
In their youth, before they were constantly on the run, before their first brush with death, they’d found themself under the night sky many times. In the first days of their cult, they let themself return to that, with Nana by their side. As The Lamb slipped into the numbness of sleep, a final thought drifted to them.
I wish we could’ve escaped this together.