First of Last Tales:

SILENCE

Gnasha sighed heavily. Not a sigh of weariness- one indicative of previous staccato inhales and exhales of an elsewhere mind. A minor relief washed over her, as she released a thread from her clenched teeth, tying the final knot.

"You ought to be more caring."

She recited a short stanza, implying a full passage, but she hadn't time for that in the moment. All was that was cut was staunched, sealed, and now being wrapped. Eskisisk clapped his hands once loudly, tugging more bandage from the spool in Gnasha's hands.

"Thank you, tendover. Now, may I take this scragged body to its task? You haven't let me make the time yet."

Gnasha sighed, now a weary sigh. "Honored elder, though this laborsome task is a convenience and a kindness-"

The old rat scoffed loudly, spittle jetting to a corner. "'Elder'" he mocked, "Likely you mean 'Precious-Cadaver' or 'Soon-to-Tangle'. You take one small scratch as a chance to proselytize."

He lifted himself and pulled away from Gnasha, who, as deft as she was, could only cut the wrapping after he had made himself a long scarf of it. Eskisisk grabbed a pair of rather large shears from the table before cutting himself a couple pulls of wool from a sack. He looked upward with his starchy white eyes. "Just missed the peak of light, but we're firmly in the lunch hour."

Gnasha peered upward towards the hole in the ceiling. A slight lean, but she couldn't make the sky from here, which trouble her enough to move further. "With all-" she pinched her ear with a quick breath, restarting. "You nicked an artery, Eskisisk. I found you lain on the floor simply awaiting your own drain, holding the flow back with nought but your paw. In the names of the Tangle, your rump is going to be matted in your own dried blood! If I hadn't-"

Gnasha looked over to Eskisisk, who had apparently made quick work of stuffing his own hears. He began sliding over some knit sleeves on each, holding the wool in place. He looked over with his blank eyes and shouted, "UNLESS YOU WANT TO RID YOUR DEAD A SET OF EARS, I SUGGEST YOU LEAVE NOW."

He placed the shears on a table, open and pointing to himself, precariously balanced over the edge, solving the minor enigma in Gnasha's head. The priors usually send someone to check on the bell ringer once a week. By some twist of fate, it took him until now to injure himself nearly fatally. And on the day Gnasha was assigned to check on him, no less. She silently hoped no ill would befall him before next check-in, but more so she hoped she wouldn't be assigned to find out.

The tendover, prone to advice, closed her packs and exited the bell-antechamber, but not before securing the shears away from more possible arteries.

"BLESSINGS, TENDOVER." Eskisisk's voice echoed as she left.

The tunnel from the chamber was long, and she scurried from it. Considering Eskisisk's pause in duties, she was late, and her stitch-sisters would surely-

And then she was enveloped, the chime's vibrations shaking her as she stumbled. Gone with a short lingering echo through the ways, it was followed by a lengthier "eeeee" in Gnasha's ears. She picked back up with a look of displeasure, resuming the scurry but slower, her belly echoing the time-bell.

...

She smiled, but kept it under her snout as she looked down towards the peas and carrots in her soup. The hubbub of the canteen allowed her a chance to focus on something else but the distracting humor of her peers. She looked away for a moment of social relief, setting her gaze at the cauldron chef, who stirred what could only be a remaining puddle from atop his ladder. She gently waded into a pup memory, of the same cook being pulled out of the stew by his tail.

The two louder sisters of her coven laughed unbound, even Venvinde, who was enthralled with her own joke. She wiped the side of her mouth gently before turning to Gnasha. "Speaking of horses, when is the last time we've joined a caravan, sister?"

"Not long enough, Ven." Gnasha knuckled an ear lightly, turning back towards her table. She held back a shudder at the thought of the stagnant air above. "Besides, about a dozen elders have decided to walk willingly into the Tangle, and as you know that requires preparation and acclimation."

The other loud rat of the coven, Skitililly, sighed a bored sigh. Venvinde sneered. "I'd take a cave-in of 100 miners over 1 willingly elder any day." She dipped bread in her soup, sponging all of the remaining broth.

Gnasha closed her eyes, preparing recital. "To blaspheme in the loud is to find the Ancestors deaf." She looked towards the her surroundings, seeking a sister who could stay on track. She instead found the lunch crowd beginning to disperse around them. And then returned to Venvinde, who looked towards her with eyes half shut. No tendover found quoting scripture more sobering than her, a fact Gnasha knew well and clear.

Gnasha seized the opportunity. "So, we barely got to cold storage. I've taken inventory and culled a bit. You can find it all in the ledger-"

"Speaking of the Walk, sister," chimed in Venvinde, eyes closed and her intention fully cast in stone, "we should indeed consult a Prior on how many of us they'll have to pull. You've already done inventory, but I've only made a dent in stitchings this past week."

Skitililly's eyes widened, "In the Tangle! I've also so many stitchings, and I've barely done my community hours." She began piling her cup and utensils into her soup bowl, taking her sisters' bowls as well, ending the meal without consensus. "Darn this all, darn this all."

Venvinde smiled wryly, but for an instant, an instant that Gnasha caught. "We are indeed swamped. The oldest ancestors have been calling louder than the new lately." As if she had a sudden idea —as if— she looked to Gnasha. "Perhaps, Gnasha, you and Shildi could tend for the ceremonies? It would allow for Skeely and I to catch up on our quota."

Shildilaide had been silent and elsewhere, doodling in charcoal on some loose paper. Their head raised for a moment, nodding towards each of their sisters in turn, then returning to their scribbles.

"Well, cold storage is in order, but I too have stitchings to-" She was cut short, both of Gnasha's hands now firmly in Skitililly's grasp, who looked up at her.

"Please sister, the Abbess will see me lacking, and she'll send me layers down again, and you know how the flesh there sloughs off at the slightest prick." She rested Gnasha's paws on the top of her head, still holding them tightly. "If-if you take the Walk, I'll make you a twist you a twine for your wig!" She scurried to Gnasha's head, inspecting the old twine securing the hairpiece to her head. "It's frayed, sister! I can twist and knit it in tomorrow!"

As if by reflex, Gnasha reached up to the twine. It was indeed frayed. It felt as though she discovered a grease stain on her shirt. She sighed. Clearly the sisters had talked workload before her arrival, and clearly had Venvinde pre-planned the conversational beats before Gnasha's late arrival. Her social tact was almost as fine as her stitching. "Fine, I'll volunteer this Walk, again. But the next two are owed by you both, sisters."

"Oh blessings! Blessings, Sha-Sha." Skitililly embraced her sister, and then scampered away with the dishes. Her tail swung exuberantly behind her.

Venvinde followed suit, departing with, "A branch of the Tangle just for you, dear sister!"

Gnasha's mind raced to refigure her agenda. She glanced at her remaining sister, who was already looking at her. Their dark eyes were full of bemusement.

"Oh... I didn't start eating yet." Said Shildi.

...

The Ancestor writhed as Gnasha knit its laceration. It was blasphemy to emblazon any markings into any of the rats in the Tangle, but there is nothing in any scripture about styling. She pulled the thread, bit it loose from the spool, and tied it sealed. Her tail loosely mimicked her string as she stitched. The tendover gave herself a few seconds to admire her embroidery before a final stanza to complete the ritual. She took one of the ancestors paws in her own. It didn't resist, but wasn't completely limp either.

She said, quietly, "Sacred Its message, inscrutable Its design."

The Ancestor adhered above scratched its ear, and moments later delved into cleaning itself. White scratch marks adorned the area behind its ear, which was bald of any hair. Gnasha checked its wrist tag and noted a necessary nail-clipping for a future date.

"Ah, foolish." A previous unresolved note for nail-clipping was noted in this Ancestor's record, by a younger Gnasha no less. "Foolish baby."

She looked to the fidgeting Ancestor, noting claws grown fully to the shape of crescents. Further procrastination spelled a gnarly set of paws. Gnasha couldn't be described as squeamish by her peers, but even some tasks made her brush and lick her fur with a shiver. She found herself fishing for clippers.

Shildilaide appeared behind her. "I just finished 27 Ancestors."

Gnasha didn't need to be surprised, she had had many a workday with her sister. "Finished stitching them, Shildi. Respect the task with a full sentence." She released tension that had snuck into her shoulders. "None the less, better than the 24 yesterday before lunch."

Shildilaide continued, likely irrespective of Gnasha's comments, "I'm really getting goooooood, though." They hopped from one leg to another, tail firmly planted on the floor, letting them airily drop on each side. "Why're you spending so long on this one?"

Some prior in Gnasha's pup years encouraged three corrections before letting someone blaspheme unabated. Gnasha had chiseled that number down to one over her years practicing with Shildi. She pointed at the Ancestor, "Notice the claws. No other tendover wanted to come near those."

"Nah, I'm always doing claws, 2 of them had long claws just today. I'll do this one but it counts as mine."

"You know well no part of me wants to make this a competition." Retorted Gnasha. She finally found the clippers, returning her sights to a freshly-broken claw, from which something clear oozed slowly.

Her sister's eyes caught the ooze as well, and then they turned and looked at Gnasha blankly.

She succumbed, "Fine." Said the now meek tendover. "Take it. I think I've done 19 or 20 so far." She quickly corrected, "completed- NO, tended to 19 or 20. Ancestors." She pushed air through her teeth heavily, leaning back. "You've ruined me, in front of the Ancestors."

"28!" Shildilaide snatched the clippers, promptly climbing onto the Ancestor's back, who stared back at them with cloudy eyes.

Branches of the Tangle were composed of pairs of ratfolk. The Ancestors were connected, back to back, as if rotated 180 degrees. Together they formed a pair, and were connected to the knots behind and in front by their tails. Paws above and below let the Tangle easily navigate the twists and turns of the Burrows. Though followers of the Tangle believed in Its hyper-intelligence, interpretations of the text allowed for separation of the conglomerate mind and the mindless, shambling bodies.

Gnasha propped herself against the opposing tunnel wall, preparing to shield her ears from the intermittent crunches of her sister's task. "By the way, doesn't it bother you that our sisters pushed tomorrow's Walk entirely onto us? I mean, sometimes Ven just-"

The Ancestor interrupted Gnasha's gossip by flailing its free limbs. The rats behind and in front, as well as the one above, reverberated the frantic displeasure. Linked tails swung, claws scratched at ceiling and floor alike. However tumultuous, Shildi was unquelled in her task.

"3... 4. OK, next paw." The Tangle lashed, and some Ancestors began chittering, screeching, and echoing down the path. "Ohhh this one's quite rotten."

As if by Shildi's declaration, the Ancestors began finding their footing, paws slipping and scratching. The echo of footsteps emanated, louder and louder as they found unison. The branch was making its retreat.

Gnasha put a paw on the other tendover's back "I think it's time to go, we've tested their patience."

"I'm having to saw through." That pair of Ancestors began bucking, pushing back and forth, but they still held tightly onto the now squealing rat's fur.

And like that, this branch of the Tangle began to withdraw into the tunnel.

In that moment, the Tangle was the peril of a full-speed locomotive. Gnasha instinctively pulled back, tearing Shildi from the Ancestors. They crashed into the back wall, both rats holding each other, each embraced by the other's tail. Together, they braced from the crashing stampede.

Before long, the charge of Ancestors pulled away so far and Gnasha barely heard a pitter patter. It must have been at least 50 pairs of Ancestors that blasted by the both of them.

Gnasha's awe of the Tangle's divine unity juxtaposed with Its grumpy, stray-cat attitude, which left her simply with vestigial anxiety.

"Fuck. Shit." Shildilaide's paw held a broken set of nail clippers, covered in something akin to coffin liqueur. The other paw held firmly a clump of fur and flesh, previously her purchase in the upheaval.

Gnasha procured a rag, which she imbibed with clear alcohol from a flask. She grabbed her sisters arm and began scrubbing. Their post-adrenaline panting suddenly interrupted with several sniffs, before Shildilaide's hackles rose, and they began pulling from their sister's tight grasp.

They yelled, "Ahghgh IT SMELLS. What is that I can't breathe!!"

Gnasha's eyes watered as she squinted through her task, having firm purchase on her sister's limb. "We need to clean it off. Need to make sure there's no cuts." She held her breath from the pungent, nose-clogging aroma. "Does it sting, anywhere?"

Shildi coughed, retching and covering her nose with her free paw. "No!" Their nasally voice echoed, "I'll do it myself just stoppppp."

She let go. Shildi immediately sprawled out on the opposing wall, tucking her nose into the crook of her arm. Gnasha put away the now black rag, its previous odor becoming impotent.

"No cuts that I could find. You should go bathe." "What about the feretrum?" "I'll put the ledger back, don't worry." Gnasha picked up the book, which lay open, pages on the floor. Gingerly, she made sure nothing was wrinkled or dog-eared.

Expecting otherwise, she looked up to find Shildi's eyes where she had left them, staring back widely.

They both shared a short moment in silence.

Again, Gnasha succumbed, "...If someone asks, I'll mention the 27."
"28!"
"27, pray I don't make it 26."

...

Shadows danced in the feretrum, the circumference of the room glowing from candle light. A skeleton of a design existed for these candles, sconces of bronze fit amongst stonework. Overtime, however, more and more candles found themselves at any ledge apparent. Gnasha hypothesized that some Prior's must have grown tired of squinting.

A patchwork of wax glaze surrounded the reliquaries of the Tangle. Gnasha had been in the room so many times that pattern recognition was more efficient than sorting alphanumeric. She approach the reliquary of the branch she and her sister tended to today. With both paws, she gently slid the book into the recessed shelf.

A voice came from within the room. "Novice."

Her ears and nose betraying her, Gnasha's shoulders jumped up into a tense for a mere moment.

The Abbess stood tall behind her, silent and dead, but her eyes firmly locked into Gnasha's. Long robes adorned her like curtains, dark and without detail in the lighting of this room. Her ears were up, at full attention, detailing an intricate plaid of various skins. She looked down as still as a mantis might seconds before snapping its prey.

"Abbess Mother! I apologize I did not hear you.", said Gnasha.

The Abbess was an unmoving pillar in the wake of her apology. Finally, she blinked, and posed a question.

"Is it not so that you were here not four bells ago?"

3 bells. Gnasha did the math in her head. Most of the company she kept would just say "yesterday." She felt her hackles rise a little, as she had not seen the Abbess in much longer of a time.

"I- Yes I was here yesterday morning. I'm here today because-" "Because you have shrugged your community tending." "No- I mean yes, technically. But that's because-" "You struggle with social encounters."

She felt her stomach sink into a firm place, as if pressed snugly against her spine. On the one hand, both her and her sister had been tending to the Ancestors because of the double shift they'd be working on the morrow. On the other hand, the Abbess was correct. Tending to community with light proselytizing gave Gnasha awkward conniptions she fully had to suppress.

She could not imagine the Abbess would care about her arrangements under duress with Skitililly and Venvinde. Nor would she be called a snitch.

"I do feel my work suturing and stitching is the only way I'm truly useful. I feel connected to the Ancestors then, truly."

The Priors that raised her taught her well. Hiding a truth with another truth. The words left a profane taste in her mouth, using this tool on her own Abbess instead of pagans above.

The Abbess kneeled down, becoming eye-level with Gnasha, who decided it was her turn to be still.

"To tend the Tangle means to tend the living as well as the dead. In three bells," the math still fresh, Gnasha deduced tomorrow morning, "you will tend to the living. Then, you shall resume as scheduled."

The Abbess's intent was clear, Gnasha's anxiety proving correct over the whole matter. She swallowed dryly, knots forming in the unknown reaches of her internal anatomy.

"If you'd allow it, Abbess Mother, I could instead take the Walk all of tomorrow. I'm interested in learning the ritual more, and there's an aspect of community in it, is there not? I can trade a shift with my sisters and make all arrangements."

She played her cards as well as she could. If the Abbess said yes, none of her previous actions could be construed as dishonesty. The Abbess was never present at Walks anyways, as her duties were more cloistered. And if she said no... Shildilaide would be tending the Walk all by themself all day.

The Abbess knelt in silence. "Very well."

Gnasha's knots unwound, but her superior did not relent. "It is no substitute. If you are to hear the voices of the Ancestors, being well-known amongst the living is imperative for that."

"Thank you, Abbess Mother."

Gnasha turned to the reliquary and finished closing away the ledger into it. Just then, the calling bell chimed distantly. Gnasha looked back towards the Abbess, but she was alone in the candlelit room.

Her tortured empty stomach whined, accompanied by a twinge of guilt, what with having forgotten to laud her sister's record.

...

Gnasha took a sit break, wrapping her tail around her lap and situating on a small inset ledge. By the age of the wall carving, an inert, long-dead corpse likely was immured there. It mattered not to her, as common tendover practice rids one of the fear of the undead quite quickly.

The congregation of priors, willing-walkers, and tendovers began to make its way to the next branch. They slowly all disappeared in the depths of the catacombic tunnels. She began to pick wax off of her ritual tabbard, each piece leaving a yellowish-brown stain.

Shildilaide skittered over to Gnasha. Her face, as usual, made her thoughts indecipherable. The sisters shared an awkward moment of silence. Shildi finally spoke.

"Soooooooo...?"

Gnasha continued to busy her hands with her tabbard. "So... what?" She already knew what Shildi was going to ask, but she also didn't want to get them used to the idea of conversational shorthands. They would always ask the same question after every Walk or rite.

"Did they talk to you?"
"No."
"Oh... I'm sorry"
"Why are you sorry?"
"Your body language. You look sad and defeated."

As if by involuntary reflex, she sat up a bit straighter. "When have you started trying to read body language? Besides, I'm not sad and defeated. I'm tired and accomplished."

Shildi inspected their sister's face, and looked her up and down rapidly. They released a squint, and then shrugged.

Though she already knew the answer, considering it wasn't the first conversational beat, she asked anyways: "And how about you, Shildi? Seen or heard anything new?"

"Nope. Silence."

"Well... maybe next time for the both of us." Gnasha moved her wig hair away from her eyes, taking the chance to reposition the new band Skitililly had made for her. "How many more walkers are there?"

"5. We've done 9 so far."
"Oh, shouldn't we have stopped at 7?"
"Don't know. Do you think it's called a Walk because there's so much walking?"

She couldn't help a smile. She leaned forward and held her sister's head, using the other paw to finger-brush a small patch of matted fur. Shildi winced and grimaced at the ordeal. "I wonder how the Tangle will react to all your questions. You may be the only tendover It'll regret inoculating." They pulled away from Gnasha's cleansing, quickly disheveling the fur on their forehead.

"I'm not worried. Old people always love me."

Gnasha stood up, deciding to finish fussing with her tabard and wash it later. With immediate onset, she felt a sucking void inside of her, which brought forth a bout of nausea. Shildi looked down at Gnasha's stomach, the fanfare reaching their ears.

"I could eat." Said Shildi, scratching their belly.

"Perhaps our absent sisters saved you a bowl. Go! I'll join soon."

Shildilaide needed no second command. They scurried off in the direction to the canteen. Gnasha gathered herself. The nausea subsided for now, but she still felt unease. A sinking feeling found her needing reassurance, and unlike hunger, she couldn't ignore it.

...

Gnasha leaned on the passageway into the bell-antechamber, panting loudly. Her duties in the Burrows made for long travel, but scarcely would she ever encounter the need to sprint. She ignored the signals of her body and scanned the room. "Elder... Bell ringer" she huffed between breaths, "are you... are you well?"

The antechamber consisted of workshop-style tables, racks laden with tools, and a thin coating of new and old parts. Gnasha was vigilant, but not enough to tell the difference between the mess from days past and the piles before her now.

To her relief, there was no need for her to play at forensics. Eskisisk entered in through the bell-chamber, apparently continuing some work at one of the tables. Gnasha, mouth slightly ajar and slowly ending her panting, piped up. "Eskisisk!"

He looked over his shoulder, "TENDOVER! Come to spoil me with more threads and needles?"

Gnasha approached the bell ringer. "You didn't ring in the lunch hour." Gnasha's relief began to wash over her, tempering her adrenaline.

Eskisisk shot her a cold look with his white eyes. "You wound me, tendover. Can you heal wounds on the inside like that?" He turned his back to the tendover, who's breath steadied. She found herself a stool and leaned over a table, her head facing the ceiling.

With her eyes closed, she thought once more on her hunger, interrupted by the sound of Eskisisk meddling with tools and bits. She opened her eyes and they naturally drifted towards the sky light in the ceiling. Had it always been so wide? It appeared as if someone could easily...

A loud clang interrupted the clamor of Eskisisk's fiddling. She looked over, finding only a pile of tools strewn on a table. "Eskisisk?"

"IN THE BELL-CHAMBER, TENDOVER. BRING ME THE SMALL AND MIDDLING HAMMERS. I'M GOING TO MISS TIME."

She looked over towards the bell-chamber. She marveled at the acoustics of the room, almost as if the elder rat's voice was right behind her. She contemplated, what time... lunch? It's been hours since then. None the less, she obliged and followed the directions.

The bell-chamber appeared spherical. A small walkway led to the time keeper itself: a huge bell of brass, intimidatingly looking down on her, instantly calling into question the integrity of what held it above ground. She looked around the room, noting the many small holes in the wall, as porous as a sponge. All of her kin were taught as pups about the bell-chamber, and all its expansive tunnels that led to nearly every spot in the Burrows. Gnasha recalled stories from her pup years, of small spies of the Tangle that observed and noted the behavior of all Burrow dwellers. Being a tendover for nearly 5 years, she had never seen lesser rats do the Ancestors' bidding.

Gnasha placed the hammers down on a bench. She peered around the bell, but Eskisisk was not to be found. Her search was quickly cut short by another crash. This time, unmistakably something breaking.

In the bell-antechamber, some sort of plate lay in infinitesimal pieces all over the floor. It looked as if the same material as the walls, and among the pieces hid a broken latch.

She peered upwards once more. The skylight looked back at her, shining a light anachronistic with her perceived time of day.

...

The tunnel upwards was shoddy, clearly a much newer dig than the chambers below it. As Gnasha climbed, she only found purchase through the narrowness of the passageway. If the path at all widened, the only solution would be climbing gear. Clearly whoever dug this skyway found that as tiresome an idea as she did.

Quite the opposite, as she began to reach the source of the light above, the passage narrowed. "If I get stuck in here and some Prior finds me..." Her thought trailed off, as she wasn't exactly sure what would happen if she was discovered in this hole. Is it so bad to follow a mysterious path? Is it so blasphemous to follow the light that beckons so?

The thoughts felt alien and natural at the same time. Gnasha shook her head. She tried to find her own voice "The bell ringer. The loathsome elder. That's why I'm here." She reassured herself vocally, but the thoughts grew louder.

I NEED TO MAKE SURE I SEE IT ONE LAST TIME. TIME'S ALL I'VE BEEN FOR THESE MANY YEARS, SO TIME OWES THIS SCRAGGED BODY ONE MORE-

...

Gnasha pushed her head through the light at the end, instantly filling all of her sensory organs with atmosphere. Grey skies loomed above, dead trees framing them with stale air in between. It was the unmistakable feeling of the Land of the Dead.

Every trip by caravan she'd taken to the lands above unsettled her. Though the Tangle and Its creed were necromancy by necessity, it never stopped her from feeling the unwelcomeness almost designed for mortals like her. The Abbess had assured her and many before her that this was a natural feeling. All the same, her hackles wanted her to return to the Burrows.

As she stood herself up, she acclimated herself to her surroundings. She was in a clearing- a circle of dead trees drawing the border of a dark, dead forest she couldn't even begin to peer into. There was no need to look any further, however.

Her heart hammered once at the sight of the rat, face up in the dirt, hand clutching his chest.

Gnasha was immediately on all fours and at Eskisisk's side. She felt him, trying to find a pulse, but he was already as stiff as a board. His white eyes stared upwards, with his mouth slightly ajar.

Tendover! Did you bring the hammers? The elder's voice still echoed in her delusional mind. Both the hunger and wanton physical activity were pulling at every fold of her worn brain.

She looked towards the corpse. "If you had installed rungs in the tunnel, I could have maybe carried more than just the bag on my side." She clung unto certainty that she would be well soon after a meal. Maybe Shildilaide's mysterious kindness would manifest in a bowl of food saved just for her.

She started with a stanza, "Honored Ancestor, before judgement in joining," and she fully intended the full passage.

"Judgement? Joining? Again you talk to me as if I'm fodder to your corpse pile."

Gnasha, eyes closed tightly, felt muscles on her face tense. "If just for a SECOND you'd let me talk. You don't even have to listen, it's just ceremonial. I'm pretty sure you'll get joined regardless of my presence. This is mostly a formality. If you'd even heeded one word of my prior warnings you may have avoided- AND WHEN EVEN did you get the time to dig a tunnel like this without anyone knowing?"

"Such accusations! The tunnel's always been there. I had intended to make it more climbable, but where ever was the time?"

The tendover opened her eyes, immediately stumbling backwards and crawling several paces. Eskisisk stood tall, tail whipping at a healthy pace, all while his corpse lay still next to her.

"And I didn't get many visitors, on account of being in the highest hole of all of the Burrows." He looked upwards, stroking his chin as if reminiscing. "I even remember my predecessor telling me it's a lonesome task."

YOUR EFFORTS, FOR ALL THE RATS IN THE BURROWS, ARE NEVER RUNG BACK.

To say that that voice was loud in that moment would not fully convey Gnasha's experience. There were many voices, a cacophony, as if she were at a gathering and Eskisisk stood closer to her than the others.

"I know that you are but a tendover, but perhaps you're mighty with a shovel?" Eskisisk kicked some rocks, which did not react to his action. "I planned to rest finally under the sky, since my heart gave out on me so suddenly, but since you're here, you might dignify my body by burying it."

Gnasha pushed herself up, hastily patting the dirt off ever which way. She swallowed, dryly.

Looking around her, fully taking in her surroundings, she began to feel mortal. The thickets at the edge of a dark and imperceivable forest kept her heart racing. Every pulse was a scream here. Inside the walls of a necropolis, she could at least be assured some protection. You wouldn't butcher someone's pet as you would livestock after all. These woods offered no such social pressure for respectability.

She mentally scratched out the idea of reading passages. Gnasha's breath steadied, her words became whispers.

"Elder, you know I'm a tendover and you know we don't do burial rites." She looked towards his cadaver, still clutching at its chest. "The options are you help me move your body, or it'll move itself wherever it pleases in the next few hours."

The apparition of Eskisisk looked upwards. "I wouldn't find it so terrible. Since you refuse my last request, I could simply travel with it wherever it chooses to wander."

Stubborn. Gnasha felt his tone, and she had a feeling he was just trying to torment her. Her limited interactions with him made it all guesswork. He could just as easily be sincere, and his desire for an afterlife of solitude might be genuine.

If he was genuine, if he was willingly accepting the unlife of a spirit for the rest of eternity, he was making a mistake. She had read enough surveys about specters and their miserable existence looming over mortal loose ends. Gnasha's hackles raised at the thought of him haunting her, coming to her months or years later, demanding a place in the Tangle without a body to offer.

She began to chew on her inner cheek. Her thoughts raced, seeking any application of her long studies of necromancy and ritual to her situation. For a moment, she wondered if she could let Eskisisk go on his float-about post-mortem journey and simply secure the corpse. She could almost feel the judging look of the priors as she would hand them a soulless corpse. It wouldn't do. It would likely just be sent to cold storage as parts. She couldn't muster up anything wise or witty to tell him. She was frozen in indecision.

"I can't say i'm sad to leave the Burrows, but I thank you-"

THIS IS MY FINAL CHIME. WITH IT, MY ROLE PASSES TO YOU.

Gnasha could not hear the rest of the bell ringer's sentence. This louder voice echoed from elsewhere, each reverberation a similar phrase, structured slightly differently. Desperate, she repeated,

THIS IS MY FINAL CHIME. WITH IT, MY ROLE PASSES TO YOU.

Strong winds blew from every direction, the dark woods shuffling madly at the edge of the clearing. Somehow, even Eskisisk's ghostly clothes flailed like sheets in a storm. After a short moment of silence, he spoke.

"...Really... Father?"

What. The bell ringer looked bewildered before her, the first time she caught focus from his eyes. She thought both she and him stood eye-to-eye, but he looked much smaller now.

She looked behind her, and every inclination made her hair want to stand on end. However strangely, she was calm as she looked at the myriad spirits forming a long queue, lining back all the way into the Burrows hole. They all held the next rat's shoulders, just as the last ghost held hers. The queue wagged slowly like a tail, holding her up at a hover a few feet off of the ground.

She was with the Tangle, yet she was still alive. She was the literal figurehead; the mortal representative of her god. Her anxious feelings of unpreparedness prevailed over any fear of the dead.

She could see all of their mouths moving, and she heard them all in loud cacophony, each as loud as the next. This branch was here for Eskisisk, and he was to join their ranks.

Gnasha closed her eyes, she tried to focus on the voices individually. The collective noise was loud, but nothing louder than she had heard in the canteen. She found a voice, and she focused as hard as she could to discern it. Then, it came out of her own mouth

MY HIDE HAS GROWN DRY AND PATCHY, I DESIRE SO TO SCRATCH IT.

With the words, her own fur demanded attention. She ignored the bodily urge and focused once more.

MY DAUGHTER, FIND MY DAUGHTER, SHE SHOULD BE DEAD BY NOW, WHERE IS SHE?

This time, tears rolled out of her eyes. Eskisisk stared at her, listening to each plea come out of her mouth.

"What." Eskisisk said, echoing her one original thought. Despite the myriad Ancestors filling her mind and ears, somewhere she imagined a second heart attack for the elder.

MY SON NEEDS HIS INHERITANCE, HE HAS NOTHING AND CAN GAIN NOTHING. HE IS A FAILURE. FIND MY STASH.

Suddenly, a jolt. She was whipped from her hovering state, thrown across the sky. The queue was flailing, thrashing violently.

I SO STRONGLY DESIRE THE FLAVOR OF BURROWS PORRIDGE.

Between pleas, she could only scream, desperately hoping she wouldn't crash into the ground. I too wish a tendover could help me right now, or even the Abbess.

I WANT A NEW PLACEMENT. THE BASTARD ON MY BACK MAKES MY FUR LOOK SCUFFED IN COMPARISON. NO CHANCE HE'S OF MY ILK.

Or anyone.

...

Minutes passed, Gnasha became weak from the centrifugal force she was experiencing in waves. Every few seconds, another Ancestor used Gnasha's voice. Every plea took all her concentration from her. She could only imagine this is what drowning was like.

The Ancestor behind clawed deeply into her, onto her very soul. There was no escape until the Tangle grew bored or until It accidentally joined her by force.

"If you're trying to scare me, tendover..." He stammered, his ghostly expression betraying fear and confusion. "I simply wanted some assistance digging a hole."

TENDOVER, NO ONE HAS SCRUBBED MY TEETH IN OH SO LONG. PLEASE ASSIST ME, TENDOVER.

Assistance, oh in the Tan- I'm such an idiot! This branch must have seen her vestments and thought her a more experienced, smarter tendover. She was the problem. All the Ancestors behind her were staring at her, demanding chores from her, from their discontents in undeath. She excited them, so she needed to disappear. She tried her best to quiet her own mind. She took a deep breath and tried her hardest not to think, not to worry, and not to hear.

...

Her eyes opened, or so she thought. To her own surprise, she suddenly was elsewhere. It was a tunnel somewhere during a walk with Shildilaide. They were both silent. Everything was silent. It must have been some time after finishing some stitchings, or perhaps they were off to lunch. Gnasha looked at her sister. Their mind was elsewhere. Shildi eventually caught their sister's glance. For a moment, they both looked into each others eyes, which didn't make Shildi any more scrutable.

Gnasha wondered what she herself would have been stressing about back then. It was a useless endeavor, as there could be so many different specifics to fret over that it was impossible to pin anything down. The world played out before her as a memory she had never before contemplated. It was a silence she had taken for granted. For a moment, she wondered what Shildi was thinking, what she wanted to do next, but the wonder faded. If Shildi had something to say, Gnasha knew they would say it.

...

And she had succeeded. She had been elsewhere so long that she returned to her body in bell-antechamber. Eskisisk's corpse stood behind her, animated yet pacified. She was groggy —the cost of stowing away her consciousness— but she was still dutiful.

"Right this way, Honor-" She stopped, then cleared her throat. "Eskisisk the Bell Ringer."

As she exited, a memory returned. It was the loud, pervasive voice of the branch of the Tangle, but somehow quieter in her mind. All of it sounded like a distant and dissonant choir of voices to be heard but not understood. There was one phrase she could make out from the crowd.

YOU NEVER NEED TO BE ALONE AGAIN.