She felt a little young, listening to his words. Young and inexperienced, not knowing what she had and wishing for what she can't. It was like sitting at her father's feet, listening to his stories of her mother's adventures. Slow, and to the point, he would languidly tell her tales of hunts and mishaps, of rogues and wild chases.
And she, the young child she was, would always get up to the end and pretend to fight with her cousins, an imaginary sword in each hand. He'd look at her then, eyes tired and a weary smile decorating his face. A small ruffle of her hair and sending her off to bed.
Maybe she had to be an adult to understand the look on her father's face, the tone of the ghost's voice. Though she couldn't make out his face clearly and his words were just as muffled, the meaning behind them was clear as day behind them.
And that meaning was something she couldn't really understand. Her face, she knew, must be coloured with her confusion. Her father once told her, You never know how important something is till you've lost it.
The sun, though less bright and cooler, was still above, colouring the sky and earth infinitely around her. Her skin was warm, her heart strong. Just what did she have to fear?
Many things. Nothing. Maybe she would be an adult when she understood fear, not the childish misgiving of an object, but the true fear of losing something. Of having lost something.
"A ghost killed you?" That sounded both humourous and morbid at the same time. "Ghosts can kill people?" Incredulous, she stared at him. Calmer and more defined, he seemed no threat at the moment. Hesitantly, she approached him, turning her head this way and that as she took in his appearance.
This smoke-and-mirrors creature could kill her. He had been solid enough when he carried the bird, but not stable. "Could I touch you?" Was he cold? Hot?
Staring at the ground around her, she stared at the lone tree on the grassy hill. Had he died at this exact spot, making him wait for that one season that the city moved here, or did he die in the city?
All these questions popped up and her face coloured when she realized she had not thought of him at all. Stupid, stupid, no wonder her father always gave her that look when she brought someone home. Remembering her manners, she sheepishly added, "I hope you find him. Her. Though...if a ghost killed you, what can you do to the ghost? It's already dead."