He woke in a dark room, that smelled of humans, under a sheaf of fabric; for a moment, he recalled his pain being trapped in a bag and flung against a tree, and flailed wildly, crying out.

Helna!

He threw the fabric to the side, trying to jump up, but his limbs were long and ungainly, not obeying him. When he tried to cry out, no voice came from his throat.

He had been embraced by Helna, and she had fallen from the sky-

A door opened, and one of the humans, an old woman, came in, bearing a basin of water. Did she presume to wash him? Sif would refuse- he was suspicious of being submerged in water, due to the beckoning hand.

" Lady Hélna, Lady Hélna, you've awoken! Let this old woman tend to you-" the old woman said, her hands shaking pitifully as she dipped a cloth in the water.

Sif looked around himself, for his lady, and saw no one. He was alone. The old woman took her damp cloth and wiped mud from Sif's face; Sif flinched away from her, even knowing her intentions to be kind. It didn't make sense.

Recalling that water could make pictures of what was in front of it, Sif seized the basin of water from her, realizing too late the fact that he could seize it at all meant the shape of his paws had changed.

He looked down at his reflection, warm and gold from the flickering candles.

The face there was not that of a proud little calico cat; it was Helna's face. It was Helna's face, but the hair was shock white, and the painted flowers that should have cascaded down her neck and collarbone were gone. Two cattish, furred ears stuck up from the sides of her head, and the eyes had slit pupils.

Sif was so shocked by this that he tried to cry out again, but no sound came out; he struck the bowl of water away, and felt something hot welling from his eyes, trailing down his face.

" Oh, my poor Lady Hélna! I'm so sorry!" the old woman exclaimed. " I'll fetch you another blanket, and clean clothes-"

She took the empty basin, and Sif looked down at his body, his understanding growing at the same rate as his distress.

When he looked down, the naked body of a woman greeted him, Helna's breasts, Helna's hands and arms, Helna's stomach, hips, legs. He was soaked wet from the water and shaking.

Why was he in this body? Helna's body, the one that had risen from the bog? The wrists and ankles still bore red marks from being tethered to the birch stake.

Had she meant to do this?

She knew, when she told Sif to pull out the stake, that it would kill her?

The agony he was in grew too much to bear; it was a grief that consumed him, guilt that he had been the one who facilitated it.

How could Helna do this? How could she leave him alone? How could she leave her own body behind, and trap him in it?

If he hadn't brought her body up, if she hadn't tried to save the humans of this village, then she would still be alive!

The door opened once more, and the old woman returned, bearing a grey-white gown embroidered with flowers; the one the priestesses always wore when they danced for the festival. She also carried a thinner blanket, and with this, she wiped Sif dry.

" Poor Hélna, are you weeping for your little cat?" she asked, voice tender. " I do not know the ways of gods, but should you not be proud he has given his life for you? I'm sure even now, he is being knighted in the land of Mû..."

How could she dare say so? Sif wanted to scream that it was Helna who had died, Helna who had saved these stupid people... The old woman pulled the dress over his head, and helped his arms through it, softly reassuring him all the while that Relnsif really was such a brave little cat, sacrificing himself for his master.

" Come, come, Lady Hélna, let the people see that you've descended, and let us all mourn your Relnsif," the old woman entreated. She helped Sif stand from the bed, and Sif held onto her, unfeeling and unseeing, as he stumbled, his mind uncertain as to how to walk on two legs.

They walked out from one of the larger houses, to see bonfires lit down the main avenue, the sky darkening. The people were all running around, but they stopped when they saw Sif, standing stock still like reverent mice.

" Lady Hélna!"

" Lady Hélna!"

" Lady Hélna!"

These people were jubilantly crying for someone who wasn't there.

The old woman led Sif to a hastily constructed wooden platform, and helped him sit. A few other humans rushed over, calling for his Helna. He felt dizzy and sick.

Plates of human food were sat before him, and he realized that they smelled good, but he had no appetite. He stared out blankly at Helna's worshippers.

What was he to do with them?

If not for their plight, his Helna wouldn't have perished. But she loved them so, and would be disappointed with him if he were to abandon them.

One of the men bowed in front of him, nearly laying on the ground.

" Lady Hélna, we thank you most ardently for answering our prayers, and saving us from the flood," he began. " Your little cat gave its life, and you have descended from the between, all in order to help us. Thanks to Lady Hélna, not a single villager perished. We will stay forever in your debt, and aid you tirelessly in regaining your divinity."

There was no divinity to regain. Sif was Sif, and Helna was Helna; when her soul left the world, it was only her body that was left behind, not her power. Sif did not know whether he had any power of his own at all; had it not all been borrowed from Helna?

Something itched at his memory that this was not true; he had met someone with a voice before Helna took him in, but it had been so long ago.

The man looked up at him expectantly, and he was uncertain as to what to do. The old woman surprised him by speaking in his stead.

" Coven Yrnhold, the tribulation Lady Hélna experienced has left her unable to speak," the old woman said. " Let us allow her to regain her strength."

Some of the people that were gathered below wailed, and some wept.

" Poor Lady Hélna, to have lost not only her voice, but Relnsif-"

" Lady Hélna has given up everything for us-"

In a way, Sif was glad to see them crying. Even if they misunderstood what had happened, at least they knew to be grateful that Helna had sacrificed so much.

The old woman turned to him, then, and spoke again.

" Lady Hélna, while you slept, the people have made an funeral dance for your Relnsif," she said. " Shall I bring them forward to show you?"

Not knowing what else to do, Sif nodded. He recognized the costumes the dancers wore when they came forward; so all the times he had seen them dressed like this before, it had been because one of their people had died? Sif felt a little sorry for them. He thought they had just been playing the same way he and Helna had.

He recognized, in this dance, some kind of story. One of the people held a paper sculpture of a scaled hand, and one of them held a paper sculpture of a calico cat; another bearing an effigy of Helna's head came forward, swooping between them.

Had these people thought that was how they met? Helna saving him from the beckoning hand? It was a little funny.

But watching them dance around quickly made his grief return, and soon he found tears welling in his eyes. He wanted to call for them to stop, but when he looked around, all the people were crying, too; the old woman beside him became wracked with sobs as the little paper cat was paraded around between each dancer, a twig held in its mouth.

And in the end, all the paper effigies were thrown into the fire at the center, burning up into nothing.

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