Her face was serene.

That was all Jisandra could focus on, as she watched the woven shrouds of moss and vines being wrapped gently, tenderly around the supine form of what was once her grandmother.

There was still warmth there – her body had not yet begun to cool. But the brief convalescence was one that always ended the same way among the Sylvankind. So, preparations had been made in her last days, for this very hour, when her soul would depart her physical form one final time. There was no thought wasted on other, unnatural traditions – no preservation infused to prevent her from decaying, no barbaric customs of removing organs or bestowing foolish ornamentation on a vessel that was already bereft of the spirit that made it her grandmother. No – the grave had been dug, the shrouds woven, the final goodbyes tearfully spoken in hushed tones. All moments had led to this one, where she would be recommitted to the earth, gradually renewing her physical union with the forest that they called home.

It was the way Jisandra hoped to go, one day, gods willing that she should live to see a ripe old age and die in peace, surrounded by those she loved.

All that was left was for the Gardeners to do their quiet, solemn work.

The family did not have to watch. It was unusual to do so, in fact, but not unheard of. Jisandra would rather have left, but the slightly shorter form at her side held her there, a nimbus of sun at the corner of her vision dimmed only a little by the drab green mourning robes that they had all donned when the inevitable had become clear.

Delindra had not asked her to stay – possibly did not want her there at all – but it was hardly the first time she would have done her sisterly duty despite the strange resistance Delindra had to such overtures. She only hoped the younger woman would understand their familial bond, eventually, despite the frequent months spent apart as Jisandra traveled with their parents’ troupe. But that resentment was for another time. So, she stayed, and waited, and hoped her presence was more support than imposition.

It was several minutes more before she decided that enough time had passed that she could turn her head and look at her sister directly. When she did, a jolt of surprise made her freeze, followed by a flood of concern.

Tears had been expected, at the end of such a long life filled with such love and Joy, and Delindra’s tears even moreso, given the closeness she had shared with their grandparents over the last few decades. When it had become clear that her spirit and talents were more suited to direct service to Cholen, rather than a life on the road, it was their grandparents who had sheltered her whenever her immediate family would depart for their seasonal circuit. It was their grandmother who had fostered her love of singing and the lute, tutoring her to the extent that her gnarled hands and aging voice still permitted. And so, it had been Delindra who had sat by her side in her final days, tending to her every need until she slipped peacefully into Gosaena’s embrace.
And so, having grown to expect the sight of tears glimmering in her sister’s clear blue eyes whenever she had come home each evening from her daily vigil, it was with worry that she regarded the small smile that played on her lips now.

“Delindra?” she asked softly, reaching out a hand to touch the younger Sylvan’s arm. “Are you alright?”

Delindra turned her head at the sound of her sister’s voice. While the younger woman’s eyes focused on her face, Jisandra could tell that there was still distance behind them, and her worry deepened. She did not think they were susceptible to madness among her family, but grief could drive people to strange things.

“I’m fine,” Delindra responded, her voice whispery, her face a serene echo of their grandmother’s. “Really, Jisa. I’m alright.”

“You’re worrying me, you know,” Jisandra murmured, examining her sister’s expression closely. “Far be it from me to tell you how to grieve, but… it’s strange to see you smiling like this, just… not even an hour…”

Delindra tilted her head to the side, her blond hair falling in a glimmering halo around her face. It was getting longer, Jisandra noted. Her own auburn hair hung barely past her shoulders, though they both shared the same loose curls, inherited from their mother’s side. Delindra’s was well past that length now, brushing the backs of her arms when she moved.

“I’m…” the younger woman paused, appearing to collect her thoughts before finishing her response. “Cherishing.”

Jisandra waited a moment, hoping for more, then frowned in confusion when nothing was forthcoming. “Cherishing?”

Her sister – her younger sister – looked back at her and, for a moment, the strange smile fled, replaced by an irritated frown. Her features – angular where Jisandra’s were soft, though still quite pretty, in their own way – contorted in an expression that suggested Jisandra was being intentionally obtuse.

“It is the way of Joy,” Delindra said quietly, her eyes going back to the rich brown earth that now obscured their grandmother’s body from view. The Gardeners were moving slowly, respectfully, spreading the soil with gestures reminiscent of tucking a blanket beneath the chin of a sleeping child. “I do not dwell in grief, Jisa. It… it has its place. Sorrow must be known, for Joy to be known. But… it is not somewhere to linger unnecessarily.”

Jisandra wanted to bite back with a wry retort, as was her way, anymore - perhaps a denigrating comment about pretentious acolytes quoting dusty scriptures to their elders. But something about Delindra’s tone stopped her short. These were not quotations, she realized. She knew the teachings of their order as well as anyone – besides the priests, of course – and while the words had the same tone and tenor, they did not have the resonance of something recited by rote. So she paused, letting silence lapse between them once more.

Selfishly, she found her thoughts turning to her own grief. It was a drawer she kept tightly locked, most times – life went on, after all, especially after so many years. But, lately, in the heat of several lonely summer nights, it was still there, goading her.

“But… what if…” she murmured, as if continuing a previous thought, before she could stop herself. It was stupid, asking her sister – her younger sister – for sage advice, but something compelled her to continue. “What if you get trapped there? In grief, I mean?”

This time, the blue eyes that met Jisandra’s hazel were full of compassion. It would have been impossible to look upon, if it had not been for one more odd thing – there was no pity there. Jisandra was so used to seeing it on everyone’s faces when they looked at her: pity and, lately, impatience, intermingled in a display that always made her embarrassed and ashamed. From Delindra, there was none of that. Rather, her gaze was full of acceptance, and understanding, and… love.

“It is an easy thing to do,” Delindra acknowledged gently. She reached over, then, a pale hand clasping Jisandra’s tanned one in her own. From anyone else, it would have been condescending. From Delindra, it simply was. “Grief is a maze. One you can get lost in. I know it, Jisa. And… it’s alright.”

Jisandra waited again, waited for the something more. When it again did not come, she started to pull her hand away, but Delindra held it fast, giving her a firm look.

“That’s it?” Jisandra asked, trying to keep her voice low and even to avoid disrupting the calm quiet of the Gardeners. “’It’s alright?’ That’s all you have for me? That it’s… alright, for me to… to just… be sad?”

Delindra turned to face her fully then, clutching her hand between both of her own to keep Jisandra from pulling away.

“I cannot stop you from being sad with just a few words,” the younger woman said, her voice soft. “There is no quote, story, or song that I know that can heal a broken heart, not the way you want it to. It’s a maze, Jisa, and you’re in it. You have been, for a long time, even with the good life you’ve built for yourself here. But… I don’t have the map for you.” She paused, her lips twisting in a wry expression. “But I do know a few things that don’t help.”

“And what are those?” Jisandra muttered, looking away from those earnest blue eyes again. Perhaps she had been wrong; perhaps they were worse than the pitying ones. At least she could escape the pity.

“Making you feel ashamed,” Delindra answered.

Jisandra tried not to flinch at the echo of her own thoughts, still looking away.

“Telling you to… to just get over him,” Delindra added.

Her skin prickled. Her sister was treading dangerously close to forbidden territory, and the girl knew it. Still, she stayed rooted to the spot.

“Trying to emphasize to you how much time has passed,” Delindra continued to recount. “Telling you that any sane person would have moved on by now. Trying to set you up with every eligible fellow in the village… even the ones barely old enough to hold a bow on their own.”

Despite herself, a laugh bubbled up and burst from Jisandra’s throat, punctuated by a tear trickling from one eye. She hastily used her free hand to wipe it away, finally daring to look at her sister’s face once more. The compassion was still there, along with a healthy dose of chiding, and an amused curve to one corner of her mouth.

“It has been ridiculous, hasn’t it?” Jisandra murmured, shaking her head. Their parents’ latest efforts had included a parade of potential suitors, each one more unsuitable than the last. The most recent one had been just old enough to be called a man, and his freckled face and pointed ears had turned a deep, splotchy red at the mere glimpse of her bare, tanned shoulders when she had swept her cloak back to enjoy a soft summer breeze. She could hardly blame him – it was a nice bodice, after all – but if he turned into a blathering idiot at just the hint of… well, it was no mind. She had let him down easy, as she had all the rest.

The shame crept up on her again, but this time it was easy to identify. Here she was, wallowing in her own age-old loss, standing at the grave of her grandmother with her sister by her side – a sister who was likely still grieving, no matter what she said. Delindra’s eyes had turned back to the grave as Jisandra had lost herself in her reverie, and the gentle smile was back. Despite the younger woman’s evasions, she still had to press, just a little. Just to be sure.

“If grieve is a maze,” she murmured into the renewed quiet, “then why don’t you ever get lost in it, like the rest of us?”

Delindra was silent long enough that Jisandra wondered if she had heard. Finally, she spoke again, in a slow, measured tone, clearly choosing her words carefully as she replied.

“I sit with grief, sometimes,” Delindra murmured. “The invitation to grieve is always there, and there are times when I accept it, just like everyone else. But I don’t fight it – not the way you do. I listen to what my grief tells me; and, I follow. If I’m careful, it leads me through the maze, and back out again. Not to the same place – sometimes, there are places we simply can’t ever go back to. But it takes me in the direction I need to go, the place I need to go for healing.”

“What about when it becomes too much, and you get lost?” Jisandra asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The grave was almost fully covered, now. Soon, they would scatter the seeds and help them start to take root, beginning the growth of the new plants and flowers and trees that would be the only markers for the final resting place of their grandmother.

“When it becomes too much…” Delindra mused, as if to herself. “I cherish. I… have places to dwell, that let me escape grief. There are things… places… experiences that I’ve had, that no one can take from me. They’re… like a gold ring, but one that can never be seized. So, when I need to go… I go to them. And, I know, if I hold on long enough, I will collect more. I don’t need a map to find them, not anymore. I know every line of our grandmother’s face, Jisandra. All the songs she could teach me are still there, whenever I need them. And that… that is enough, for me.”

Silence fell between them once more, but it was a comfortable silence. They watched as the earth was spread, and the seeds were scattered, and the words murmured to ensure the plants would take root before they could be taken by the local wildlife. As they made their way home, Jisandra turned her sister’s words over in her mind. Enough. What would be enough, for her? She was not sure she knew. But she was sure it was time to find out.