The Watcher

It had been seven long hours since he alighted in the rafters of the cabin bedroom. He waited until the couple was asleep, not wanting to frighten them considering what was to be discovered upon waking. To witness the beginning of the end was sacred and he delighted in being in his natural form. The silky black feathers, the light bones, and the heightened sense of sight, smell, and prophesy. His presence in these woods in his fowl form yesterday had allowed him to observe the fatal cut, tipping him off to his duties tonight, even before the owl informed him.  

The process was slow.  

Memories of starting with the seer many decades ago, learning the intricacies of being a Watcher, bubbled up. Studying human reactions to injury, disease, aging, and expiry. This was a deep magic, forged long before even he flew this world. A magic deserving of veneration by all creatures, mortal and otherwise. To pass into the next world without the omen of a Watcher meant an eternity of suffering.  

It was touching, the way the couple slept in the small, quilted bed.  

Although he was here to watch the woman, he couldn’t help admiring the craftsmanship of the bed itself. Carved from the richest wood, and dried to perfection. The care taken to smooth and polish it was evident and for a moment he felt the emptiness the man would soon feel with no one to appreciate his hard work.  

The change was slow.  

He’d seen it before, starting on the surface and working its way to the core. The woman who fell asleep with white hair, wrinkles, a hunched back, shaking fingers, and shallow breaths was no longer the young and mature girl of her youth. In the first hour, he watched as the wrinkles in her face and hands seemed to steam themselves out. Any imperfections in the skin faded next until it was smooth and dark, only illuminated by tonight’s full moon. The hair followed, starting at the scalp and working towards the ends, it began to turn black and cloud-like with tight coils. Many young people kept their hair short for ease of care, this woman was no exception, but as the change took place, her hair lengthened into a thick halo around her head, at least twice as long as the traditional short style. Her bones were next, this part of the change was subtler, and only one whose duty it was to witness such events with trained senses would know it. She shifted in her sleep and her hunched back straightened out, her feet stretched to the edge of the bed and as her fingers poked out from under the warmth of the quilt, he observed they were no longer bent with arthritis. As the sun began to whisper its arrival, the final change began, and he was grateful for his keen hearing. He shifted his position, fluttering his wings out to his sides as he adjusted his position on the wooden beam. Her breathing was no longer shallow and difficult, but she breathed deep breaths into the corners of her lungs, and sighed them out with ease. He stayed for a few more minutes, listening to the peaceful breathing of the now beautiful woman before him, her back was to him now, but the man, he was facing this way. As the sun finally peeked over the tops of the trees, the man opened his eyes in time to catch a glimpse of the raven who seemed to nod in his direction before gracefully flying through the open window.  

Jones awoke to the sound of fluttering wings. For a moment, in that space between dreams and reality, it was his love, soaring above their forest, peaceful. When he opened his eyes, though, he saw the raven and bolted awake. By the time he sat up in bed, the bird had flown out the bedroom window and into the sunrise. Afraid for a moment at being jarred awake by this omen, he made himself take a few deep breaths before turning to the women sleeping peacefully at his side.  

Meklit was lying on her back, her brown eyes closed and her breathing even. She was still sleeping. But that is not what Jones noticed. With her face turned towards him, the dramatic change she had undergone in one night was on full display. Her once white hair was now a deep shade of brown-nearly black, and full. The skin of her face was clear of age-marks, a smooth light brown, as soft as the owl’s feathers. He noticed she slept easy, no wheezing in her lungs, and he knew if he laid his hand on her chest, he would feel the strong beat of her heart. Jones sat there for a moment, taking in all that this meant. And just as Meklit stirred, a single tear fell from his eye.  

She rolled onto her side, looked up at Jones, and smiled a smile he had imagined for the 15 years he had known her. He reached out to touch her face, and ran his thumb along her cheekbone and her newly supple skin. It was then that Meklit realized something was different. Her eyes widened and she held her breath. All Jones could do was nod. Meklit turned away from him. Untangling herself from the quilt, she walked over to the basin of water and the looking glass. Her hands explored her alluring new features. She touched her hair and watched it bounce back in tight curls. Her fingers inspected each non-wrinkle on her forehead and around her eyes. Flexing her fingers a few times to feel the smoothness of the joints, she moved her face closer to the glass to look into her clear brown eyes framed by thick lashes. All of a sudden, she turned around to face Jones, “I thought it was supposed to happen slowly?”  

“It usually does,” he answered, “but I saw the raven leaving just as I awoke. Something must have happened.” 

Meklit covered her gasp with her hand. Jones’ eyes grew wide. Meklit shook her head before slowly offering, “I thought it was nothing, while I was foraging near the stream yesterday, I cut my ankle on a branch. When I looked down to move it, it wasn’t a branch at all, but a piece of metal buried in the earth. Just a scrap was visible above the moss...” she trailed off before taking the few steps back to the bed. She placed her right foot on the bed and lifted her nightgown just enough to reveal a deep festering cut on her ankle. Despite knowing what this meant, Meklit couldn’t help her awe at how easily she moved despite this fatal injury. The sight of it seemed to snap something in Jones.  

“You’re still here, and moving around. There must be something we can do!” he started to get out of bed and pull on his work clothes as he continued to mumble ideas to himself.  

Meklit just sat on the bed and said slowly, “Jones.” 

He sat down next to her as he slid on his boots but didn’t respond.  

“Jones.” she said quietly as she gently placed one hand on his knee. With the other Meklit cupped his face, drawing his eyes to hers. “The process has already begun. We must accept it. I don’t have much time, don’t spend it trying to change things. Just be with me.” 

“But...” Jones began, “but. It just happened so fast. It supposed to be slow, we’re supposed to have a lifetime together, to grow beautiful together.” 

“I dreamt of the raven last night.” she said in response. Jones stilled, picturing the avian beast leaving their most intimate space just moments ago. “He came to me in my dreams, he offered me a peaceful passing. He granted me memories of our unsightly youth together, memories that brought joy to my soul. As a guide, he let me feel the day we first met, your proposal, the first night we slept in this house. Those are the days I treasure, my love.” Meklit paused, lost in her feelings. It was a moment before she continued, “Our whole lives we spend looking to the future, we can’t wait to age into our glamour. Let us not forget the joys of the journey, let us remember who has been by our side when we were merely plain.” Meklit rose and returned to the looking glass, but this time rotated it on its hinges so it was facing the wall. She walked back to Jones and kneeled, noticing the lack of cracking in her bones, facing him. Reaching her hands out to him, offering, she waited until he grabbed hers and looked into her eyes with lines of silver in his own.  

“Okay.” he said. “How would you like to spend your last day with me?” 

Meklit smiled.