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Winter fell on the Lands of the Old Faith.
Before the dwellers in the Red Crown's cult could imagine, soft snowflakes started coming down from the gray sky, claiming earth for the following months. Keeping the crops healthy and edible was a challenge for the farmers, but fortunately they were prepared, and all the food they had previously stored was more than enough for the cult to last for all the season, even for additional celebrations to come. Tailors worked hard to provide the community with clothing thicc and warm enough to improve resistance to cold, immensely thanking their leader Lamb in personally helping on with their tailoring expertise, and with *some* of the materials provided. How generous their holy divinity was.
It was a matter of days that the green grass was completely covered with light layers of snow, and the children were excited for future snowball fights, making snowlambs and drawing shapes with sticks on the white ground.
And naturally, with cold weather, weekly visits to the healing bay also become the norm for the cultists. Flu and other diseases can start and spread within the settlement in a matter of hours, and that could be unpleasant for keeping up both the people's faith and wellbeing.
In other words: if not managed correctly, winter is a time in which chaos, famine, pestilence and dissenting could spread all over, testing harshly the leading skills of the newly appointed god of death and last of sheepkin.
And while most of the devotees were eager to follow the lead and follows the rules peacefully, the same cannot be said for the only other immortal being living within the cult.
With him living the closest to the temple and on Leader's strict watch, far away from the other dwellers, he was hardly considered a threat anymore. It seems after a long while living as a god no more, his burning anger was less of a raging arson and more of a nice, wood cracking fireplace in a chimney. Still, he was no foe to underestimate, as he was still a being with much more experience in godhood, and his physical strength was coming back, although slowly.
And yet, in plotting his next useless attempt on the Lamb's life, (just for the sake of game and not tarnish his pride more than it already was) he found himself as weak as ever. His throat and nose felt obstructed, ichor was coming out of his eyes, he would cough intensely and continuously as if he was going to spit out his own soul if he could. Worst of all, no matter how many bedsheets he was firmly tucking himself in, he would not stop trembling, feeling the darn cold deep within his bones.
Who could have thought that the former god of Death could catch a cold and fall ill so easily? Had he been taking care of eating and covering himself properly in the last days, this could have been avoided easily. But the fool was still too attached to his pride to provide himself with winter clothing like everyone else.
Completely covered ears to toebean by thicc bedsheets in an enormous nest, he growled in pain. Between the constant coughs and heavy breathing, Narinder cursed his weak, pathetic mortal body. He could barely see what was around him, his vision blurred until he could barely recognize shapes.
Damned winter, wretched cold, accursed Lamb.
He was trapped within the excruciating pain in his own mind, and with nothing else to do but suffer, he wondered what had led him to be on this path in the first place.
He was in constant pain, he felt utterly confused, and worst of all, he was alone.
In an ironic turn of events, after all this time, what he missed the most was the time passed with his siblings in youth. Was it really so wrong for him to change the rules of the world to change the natural course of his domain? Of course not. Bringing the dead back to the world of the living would have led the Old Faith to a better future. He would have achieved the change he so desperately desired, to make them proud. Never he would have expected to be feared for his powers and betrayed by his own godly kin.
Whether was ichor or tears, or a mix of both what was streaming down his face, he was not in the condition to care.
No longer he could rely on his disciples and blessed children. The kits he raised at such young age, only gift for him from the world of the living. His siblings were suffering eternal damnation by his hand, becoming unreachable after being usurped. They were gone. Everyone was gone. Only him remained.
Him and the usurper Lamb.
That damned beast.
The creature that took his victory against his siblings from him, stripped of divinity and forced him to live in mortal and weak flesh.
He could feel his insides boil with rage as his headache pressed increasingly like a hammer hitting the burning metal. Narinder sighed in frustration as he pressed a hand on the eyes and messily wiping out the ichor with the palm. Then another streak of coughs began again.
Narinder felt absolutely miserable.
Surely, he would rather be still dead in the afterlife than bearing this humiliation any longer than he already has.
The only thing left for Narinder was tucking himself to the point of suffocate himself, close his eyes and do what he did best.
Waiting for the cold embrace of death.
A firm knock on the door struck him out of his trance.
He blinked, only his eyes were looking at the door when the rest of his body laid motionless on the mattress.
"Narinder? Are you in there?" He recognized the voice as the Lamb's. Of course. If anyone could know of his condition with the power of omniscience, that would be that cursed god.
Who else could have been bold enough, if not Them?
He looked annoyed as his lack of response did not make them go away, but quite the opposite, coming through the door without his permission. Not that he would have given to them, or no one, anyway.
Narinder's body could not keep the coughs within his throat anymore and let out a flow of hoarse groaning sounds and heavy breathing coming out of his mouth.
"...I suppose you are." Was their only response. Due to the illness and the darkness around him, Narinder's vision could not make up correctly their shape, but it seemed holding something in their hands.
"I bought you some warm soup, medicine and a bucket of cold water." They said, his ears flinched when hearing a loud thunk noise besides his bed. Must have been said bucket being put on the ground.
"Leave." Was Narinder's only reply, followed by coughs and chocking sounds.
As if he was going to show any kind of weakness to them, even in this state.
Lamb replied with silence. What followed were only muffled noises, but the cat could only hear the table's chair being pushed next to his bed. They were not going to leave.
They proceeded to take seat, determined on not taking a 'no' as a response at all costs.
"Get out of this huge cocoon of sheets and let me check your body temperature." It wasn't a request, but rather a demand. He could hear them proceeding to pick up a soaked towel from the bucket and squish the hell out of it with little strength.
The cat hissed "Get lost, you wretched creature." Narinder replied with poisonous anger between his words.
Still, he could sense no change in Lamb's demeanor.
"If you keep refusing assistance, you will die." They said with a hint of softness, the noise of water flowing down accompanying their words.
The cat thought for a moment, as his coughs being increasingly loud, the only thing he could say was: "So be it."
Then, he tucked himself to the point of his head being no longer visible.
"Narinder-" the Lamb began again but was cut off by his muffled voice.
"You have the power to either leave me wander in the afterlife, or bring me back from the lands of death." Despite feeling weak to the bone, he still tried in vain to keep his voice composed and audible "Now leave me alone."
They huffed, annoyance was evident in their tone of voice "You just don't know when to stop acting like a selfish prick, do you?" Still, they sounded as indifferent as ever "I'm just trying to help you."
"GO AWAY!" that felt like the last straw for him. He didn't need their help; never would he ask for it "I COMMAND YOU TO LEAVE ME BE!"
He suddenly stood up, blankets and sheets flying. All the aching pain came all down to him, making him grunt and snarl to the point of tears. He began filling his lungs with air as he could no longer do so in those circumstances. The only thing he was able to hear was a painful whistle in his ears and his heavy breathing. He could not see their face no matter how much he focused his eyes on them.
Lamb was silent, painfully silent. Shocked, maybe, of his rapid act. Narinder felt observed with firm judgment.
And then he felt sudden cold hands on both his cheek and forehead. Narinder tensed up, petrified, all three eyes widened in surprise.
They were wet, icy cold. Such a contrast to his body emanating heat all around him.
And oh gods, that felt so damn good.
Could have been his mortal body acting for him, but without thinking twice, he closed his eyes and leaned into them, seeking that feeling so desperately. He could no longer help it, his breathing was replaced with a loud purring sound.
Their hands leaded him so he could rest his head on the pillow behind his back, so he could stand up in a sitting position and, at the same time, feeling comfortable enough.
"Just...leave me be..." Narinder whispered in pain, still lingering on what of his little pride was left "Please."
Lamb had still their hands on his face, looking intensely at him "If you let me feed you both food and medicine, I'll leave you be as much as you desire." Their voice was the softest he had ever heard them speak "I promise."
It felt long distant and familiar somehow.
And like that, for the first time in thousands of years in chains, both as a godly being and young aspiring deity, the One who Waits finally allowed himself to feel weak.
"...Very well." He simply responded, not another word was uttered.
He felt the coldness of their hand slipping away from them as he inadvertently whined, vocally complaining for a split second. He would have bitten the side of his tongue as to how pathetic he just sounded if Lamb hadn't lit up a match from the box on the nightstand near the bed, only for them to give light to the near candle, allowing Narinder to see his surroundings with a pale orange light. His attention was on them now.
That's when his eyes fell on the Lamb themself. They had same, expressionless face he had always seen on them, and yet, something was far different: their eyes were more tired looking, with dark, evident bags under their eyes, other than the messy and matted wool, the robes being misplaced on their body without a care in the world, the collar and bell was loose on the neck enough to see tiny, woolless spots on the neck.
With the weight and stress of tending the flock for the first weeks of winter on their back, Lamb was as tired as he was. And yet they was there with him, with a bowl of warm food and a bottle of bitter liquid to make him feel better.
That's when he sighed and allowed his body to relax for the time being.
Lamb took the bowl from the nightstand and mixed the broth a bit before taking a big, warm spoonful of it and leaning themself next to him. They closed off the distance and before Narinder knew it knew it, he opened his mouth and the soup flushed right down his sore throat.
He coughed in pain right after, but he couldn't say he did not appreciate the taste and how his throat stopped hurting after that first bite.
"Know that you're making a mockery out of me, Lamb." the cat whispered out to them "I assume you're satisfied now." said in huffs.
Lamb huffed likewise "I'm not mocking you, Narinder. I'm just taking care of you, the same as anyone else in this cult." their voice was still soft, although annoyed "You are my responsibility now."
"I... don't need your pity" he whispered again. His two eyes unable to look in their direction. The third one firmly shut.
That's when Narinder heard them sighing deeply.
As he turns his head to face them, expecting a complaint from the ovine, he stopped completely upon seeing a single, but evident tear streaming down their face, still tired eyes and expressionless.
No, not at all devoid of expression, he realized.
There was sadness, emptiness, uncaring towards their own self.
For a moment, Narinder thought to see a younger version of Lamb stand before him.
"It's not pity, Narinder." they finally replied.
The following moments were passed all in silence. Lamb fed him another spoonful of soup. And then another. And another. Before they knew it, the substantial portion of broth had disappeared clean from the wooden bowl.
And maybe it was the fact his stomach was finally full, that Narinder felt tiredness taking a toll on him. Still, he needed to take the medicine. Lamb mixed some of the bitter liquid into a glass of water and made him drink it all up to the last drop. He couldn't help but stick his tongue out in disgust.
That's when the cat heard them speak again.
"I used to take care of my siblings like this once." they whispered in a weak voice "This is nothing new for me."
Lamb never talked about their family in his presence at the gateway. Well, they never talked, period. He was always the one rambling about his wants and needs and they was there, listening to him like a motionless doll. He was pleased at the time, to have a humble vessel like them at his service. Thinking about it now, he should have let Lamb speak more of their opinions.
His pupils widened, ichor dropping down his face (was it ichor?).
All of it was on him. His siblings' death, sheepkind's demise and his years of restless imprisonment.
He was alone because he had brought this upon himself.
And the Lamb.
The only thing they wanted to do was survive. And he played with their life like a toy to the point of breaking-
He felt the wet towel being pressed on his face and his attention was on them again. Lamb wiped out the dried ichor from his face much to his surprise, and in that moment, Narinder could no longer hear anything, or think straight for all that mattered.
Whatever he started rambling about, he could not hear it, but could feel streams of liquid down his face again, nullifying what work Lamb had just done. Not that they looked upset, more or like... surprised to say the least. Definitely not an expression he saw many times on Lamb's face.
He closed his eyes but could feel that his mouth was still going on an endless ramble of things he wasn't even aware of himself.
He felt tired and embarrassed about what even was going on with him.
And Lamb was there, listening to him in such a loud silence.
As it seemed like his body was calming down, he felt again the wet towel passing on his cheeks and forehead. His eyes faced them again and could see they were telling him something. Unable to hear them, Narinder was able to reading their lips, and understood.
"Rest now."
Lamb's hands guided him under the blankets, he nodded aimlessly a couple times, letting his head fall into the pillow. The wet towel was soaked in water again and folded on his forehead. He could feel himself cough for a while, but later then he felt purring coming from his throat.
He closed his eyes and let darkness engulf his vision, and in the void, he could only think:
"What only mercy could I have done to deserve a vessel such as you?"
As he was drifting into a deep slumber, he blinked in a moment of lucidity. Whether he only whispered these words or were just formed within his own mind, he was too tired to understand. It was too late now, for weakness was already claiming him and relieved stress were making it impossible for Narinder to stay awake any longer. What got in response was, of course, only an overwhelming silence, as he hoped that Lamb didn't hear that last sentence. Maybe he had just imagined saying it as he thought. And maybe, as sleep finally claimed him, he also imagined a pair of cold arms and hands wrapping around him in a surprisingly warming embrace, as Shamura used to do when he was still a kitten, not yet up to godhood. It felt so nice and comforting as he drifted for good into the land of dreams.
When he woke up groaning, his mind still dizzy, he couldn't move an inch at first, although e definitely didn't feel like he was about to die now, in fact he felt so much better than he ever felt in a really long time. As he slowly regained consciousness of his surroundings, he noticed the rising sun coming through the window's curtain, weak rays of light passing and hitting the floor and poorly illuminating the room. That's when the cat saw the once long candle on the nightstand being completely burned out wasted, lit no more. He wondered how much time has passed since he was awake. Must have been a matter of days. When mobility came back to him as well, he was able to get his head out the sheets in a tired expression, rising in a sitting position and passing his hands through the fur of his face.
Something was missing. He was pretty sure he remembered petting something softer and fluffier than his blankets during his sleep, but could not recall for the life of him what it even was in the first place.
Then his third eye fell on the side of the bed, his pupil widened.
There was the shape of a sort of hole dug up within the bedsheets and the mattress of his bed. It was pretty evident, with the sheets folded up in such a mess, that someone else took residence in the bed with him and left before he could wake up. He landed a hand upon it and it was not so warm, but not cold either.
Confused at first, it took surprisingly long for him to recollect the events of prior slumber and connecting the dots, which he eventually did.
Of course, the Lamb would take care of him in a even worse and delirious fever rambling. Of course they would check up on him, feed him and giving him medicine daily without uttering a word as they have always been. For both of them, silence meant more than any other conversation to keep, it seemed.
Was Lamb's reward being able to silently hear him blaming himself for his mistakes? To pat their hands on his fur and comfort him in his sleep for days?
Who else could have been bold enough, if not Them?
Even more surprising, when his confusion left, it was not replaced with burning anger as he had thought.
Narinder felt no anger at all. Only numbness.
Must have been still a side effect from recovering.
He took a long, deep breath, and sighed loudly, and as he remembered every detail of that night, he thought of many things. First off, he cursed himself for allowing vulnerability around them. Second, he cursed the Lamb for many other things.
Third, from now on he would take a different approach at things, he would observe more to understand how they way of thinking works.
And last, but not least above everything else: he may not be as alone as he thought to be after all.