All Dogs Go to Heaven – Sheryl, the Fae-Touched – 9.09.2020

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“In some ways you are giving Frankie the best gift you could ever give a dog,” Evelyn says, her eyes serious in her cherubic-like face as she speaks to Baine. “In other ways, he is going to endure more than he has ever done before. I just want you to make sure you know what you’re getting into and what you’re getting Frankie into.”

There is a lengthy pause as the half orc takes in what the celestial angel says to him. They were all watching, waiting – BB with her basket of roses; Pieni, surrounded by the horses of the valley; Ghesh adorned with his many weapons; Varis astride the majestic Tueval; and Sheryl mounted on the magnificent Astra. The perpetual dawn stretching over the valley is consistent and unending. Baine’s eyes are drawn to that burning orb on the horizon as he reflects, for what was probably the first time, on the ramifications of what he is about to do to the ever loyal dog that Sheryl has always known to be by the big man’s side.

After what could have been ten minutes, or what might have been mere seconds – it was hard to tell time in this part of Elysium, much like in the Feywild – Baine looked back to his friend and commander.

“Varis.”

“Yes.”

“How does he feel about it?” Baine asks with a nod to the white stag.

“About what?”

“About possibly dying and coming back to life and being killed over and over to hang out with you.”

There’s a slight pause, barely a breath.

“It is a sacrifice he is prepared to make,” Varis answers. Baine nods his head, but the pale warrior is not finished. “But Tuevel has always been a celestial spirit. He is not a creature that was awakened and transformed. The form of the stag is the form he chooses to take. He chooses to join me in battle rather than being summoned.”

Sheryl sees Baine nod, processing what Varis has said. She wants to tell him her thoughts but a shadow doubt holds her back. Astra is uniquely different from Tueval and despite her similarity to the pegasi in the valley, her companion was not like them. She was never something mundane like Frankie and thus is not an awakened being. Sheryl herself is not like the two soldiers, nor is she blessed with divine sorcery like BB or nature magic like Pieni. She has wondered how she learned to summon Astra but it was one of those things she could not explain. Sheryl had merely sung to the stars because the Lord of Unicorns and Pegasi told her to try.

“And I answered.”

Sheryl looks down at Astra as the winged unicorn glances back to her. The fae-bard is unable to read her companion’s expression.

“I have wondered…” Sheryl starts, but then shakes her head, holding the thought back from Astra at the last moment. “It does not matter.”

“I will be the wings that carry you, Merla,” Astra vows, looking back to Evelyn and Baine as the celestial finishes preparing the potion for Frankie. Evelyn then pours the concoction into a blow and Frankie starts lapping it up eagerly. “You can rely on me.”

Sheryl runs a hand down Astra’s neck, mesmerised by how her moonstone coloured hair glitters in the orange and pink light of the dawn.

She has been trying to prove to everyone she is strong for so long. But after the previous week, after her friends helped free her from the cloak’s grasp, it was like a veil had been lifted from her eyes.

“I know.”

As Evelyn’s beautiful wings flare out, catching the light of the perpetual dawn to refract it down onto Frankie, Sheryl feels a ghost of a twinge on her own back from the cursed scars. Flinching, a shadow drifts through her thoughts, and she shakes her head trying to banish it. The small fey female focuses on Frankie and Baine: this is their moment and she is honoured to witness it.

But the dull throbbing pain does not go away, despite how much time they spend in Amoria; regardless of how enthusiastically she tells Baine to cast the spell so he can finally speak to Frankie; no matter how genuine her smile is for the two of them as Frankie gives her a big slobbery lick when she gets too close after he has grown to be the size of a bear. There is always that shadow skirting thoughts, lingering, watching, waiting…