I sit in my study.....a fire cooling to embers, but the warmth
holds as the coals of a family's heart do....a sudden chill blows
through the keep as a missive arrives at the door and is presented....
a review of the runes leaves numbed fingers that let the parchment
slide softly to the floor....Silently, I rise and make a way to the
anteroom, don my oldest, but favorite cloak and walk out into a
mist filled eve.....each step stirs a memory and a tear....from first
encounter, through the pleasure of acquaintance, to the cherished
link of friendship and finally the bond with one who shared a like
heart....
the conversations are replayed and the thoughts of souls shared....
I arrive at a place that is visited rarely....a placid valley lake, fed
by the surrounding mountains and ringed with oak trees that have
seen many moons and have witnessed the passage of lives in silent
reverence....I settle in the notch of the oldest member, its trunk
split by tumult-- yet still able to stand and nourish its canopy....
I reach into a small bag at my waist and draw forth a disk of the
finest mythril and toss it sidearm out on the placid canvas....the moon
and the stars glint on its surface as it skips with a melody and spreads
ripples from each touch....the throws are harder each time as the
glint captures Jacella's eyes,  the melody replays her voice and her
laugh with the ripples representing the lives she touched....
my arm works until my mind realizes that as long as these symbols
exist, so does the magic of a Sister....
I fold my arms across a heaving chest....let the tears fall and know
that the spirit of our reality has a new star to watch and to guide
our path. I take a single white rose, kiss it with the whisper
"Be well, Jacella'' and toss it to float in the eternity of unfading image.

Shumard Oakbow
"Jacie's Dutch Uncle''