***Just a warning: This story is set in a (hopefully unnecessary) forseeable future, after the death of Cole Blackstar. If you aren’t feeling up to something sad, it might be best to stay away.***

Helmer sat underneath his old tree in the courtyard of Cloud mountain, dripping wet and shivering with cold in the frigid midnight rain. His fists were clenched at his side, his eyes squeezed shut, and he had long ago given up on trying to sleep.

He had tried to teach him to let go. He had tried, of course—and he had failed. Again. Picket had let the door to his heart swing back and forth with every little breeze, while he should have kept it closely guarded under lock and key. Helmer himself had failed at this so many years ago, when he had let Airen into his heart. Only to lose her for a long while to a destiny much worse than death.

Now, his young protégé was facing the same trial. The funeral had been beautiful, of course, and the speeches incredibly sweet. Cole Blackstar would not soon be forgotten. But was that really a blessing, or a curse? Picket had not left his graveside since the burial had ended.

His eyes sprang open. “Stupid rain,” he growled, getting to his feet. What was the use of sitting alone underneath a tree when he could be doing something to help him?

He found Picket crouched by Cole’s grave in an open, fragrant spot in the gardens. His right hand rested on the cold stone marker, and his left arm wrapped around him to keep out the cold. Helmer approached him from behind and laid a hand on his shoulder.

The inscription was truly poetic, penned by his sister, Heyna.

THE DAYS OF YORE NEVER SAW SUCH A HERO,

THE KINGS OF OLD NEVER HELD SUCH A JEWEL.

THE MIGHT OF LORDS NEVER CHALLENGED HIS HONOR,

TO THE MENDED WOOD ALONE HE WAS TRUE.

COLE BLACKSTAR, BELOVED BROTHER, SON, AND FRIEND.

Helmer found his throat was suddenly too thick to speak.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Picket said in a low voice after a few more minutes had passed. “It’s a monument for what we all stand for, really. What Cole would have wanted.” He drew a ragged breath. “I think…no, I know…he’s happy. So I am too.” He got to his feet and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “I want everyone to have a burial this amazing. There were dozens of rabbits here, Master, dozens, all saying he’d done wonderful things for them. You’ll have a beautiful funeral when your time comes. Heather, too. Probably all of us.” He looked up at Helmer, a fierce glint in his eye. “But there’s rabbits out there that won’t. Tons of them. We have to make sure that number’s as small as it can possibly be.”

Helmer stared at him. “Son, we can’t go around just attending funerals, we—”

“No.” Picket chuckled. “Not just attending funerals. That’s not all of it. I mean, being a friend to everyone. Keeping your heart open. You know?”

Helmer felt his eyebrows shoot up. There was no way Picket could have heard what he had been thinking a mere fifteen minutes before…was there? “I…yes.”

Picket smiled at him. “Come on, Master. Let’s get to bed.”

As they walked in silence back to Hallway Round together, Helmer couldn’t seem to dismiss what Picket had said. ‘Keeping your heart open. You know?’ He settled into a pensive stupor, mulling his words over.

Thus, it startled him when Picket next spoke. “Goodnight, Master.”

He looked at him. “G-goodnight.”

Picket smiled and walked off to his room. As Helmer watched him go, one thought swam through his mind.

I’ll try.

A small smile adorned his face as he walked off down the corridor to his room. He would never forget Cole Blackstar.

(Sorry it’s so depressing. Lol. I know, it’s amateur, but I was bored and wanted to write a theoretical scene.)

#alwaysHelmer