Walk the field to the hollow and follow it down.
(artwork and inspiration by Jenna Barton)
Death comes in many forms. It is different for each and every person on what they see death as. It could be the chilling first wind of winter to the plucking of a flower from its stem to the deer on the roadside, its legs twisted in awkward directions. To most religions, it has a face. Whether it be a reaper be in a flowing black cloak as thick as seaside fog and as dark as the inky black sky or the transparent image of a friend lost and ready to guide them to the other side, it was still Death. Perhaps that is why people fear death so much for it is so unexpected, something which can come in any form and take any of those which someone knows. To me, death is a lonely being residing deep in the untouched woods of Earth.
The cabin was nondescript, blending in with the woods around it with its worn pine walls. Behind was a red brick well with a hand crank; a metal banded wood bucket hung from the fraying rope. The cool breeze of the night swung it with a creak. From the woods looking in, the fog nearly ate up all but a singular oil light burning inside the cabin. Accompanying the light inside the cabin was an equally nondescript being. They had many names but if someone were to provide the one most knew them by, it would be Death.
Death's brunette hair spilled over her shoulder onto the desk as she scribbled away at a browning parchment. Pauses only came to dip the feather pen into the jar of ink. After a few seconds more, Death put the feather into its holder with a faint tink against the metal. With pursed, vermillion red lips, Death blew soft air onto the drying ink. After, she folded it into thirds so she to tuck it away into the confines of an envelope. The address on the corner of the later was to a faraway land, much beyond the limits of the woods. The chair screeched backward, away from Death as they stood. It only took steps for Death to make their way across the single room cabin to the sturdy front door.
Death opened the door to reveal the monstrous head of an ivory white wolf. The wolf was so white that the moonlight working its way through the fog reflected off of its thick fur. A slender hand reached out to caress alongside the side of the wolf's head and under its chin with a fond scratch. Death lifted the letter, offering the letter to its maw.
"Away with you," Death said with a fond smile, waving their hand.
The wolf its tail, trotting off into the thickest of the woods in pure silence. From the harrowing darkness, a pair of glowing yellow eyes stared back at death. Death felt a pull deep in her chest, awakening an ancient feeling. It brought a bittersweet smile to her full lips. The wolves were waiting.
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