They emerged safely from the hills, entering the denser mountain forest. Sang was able to retrace the path the two had carved through it before, and though it was cold the rest of the journey came with ease.

The only point where they stopped was when they encountered Abhinatha's previous body, now with a layer of snow atop it. The eyes were iced shut, and the tongue was frozen stiff. Sang was overcome with another wave of guilt, though he had been forgiven. Abhinatha herself looked deep in thought, touching its cold scales before she wished to continue.

Shirisha could not guess what Abhinatha thought about, but noticed how she always watched creatures when they passed. In particular, she watched the birds who had not yet flown from winter as they typically did. It made saddened Shirisha further to think that this was a winter they could not fly away from, not for a long time. Though eternally grateful that they were all safe, she thought of the future which was now close at hand. Inevitably there would be joy, which she anticipated greatly, but eventually there would be harsh adaptations as well as sorrowful goodbyes.

Though as they walked she said nothing, something did not sit well in Abhinatha's ancient mind.

What she had done to Sang had brought on such a powerful feeling, one of righteousness like she had never felt before. Now, she was going to live among humans for a time, before taking passage once more aided by one of their own. Something felt horribly unjust in her soul, despite the ones who saved her having such compliance in her wishes. In time they came to the second mountain from the village. Shirisha prattled off with excitement, giving her take on how all the individual people would react to them, showing a little too clearly how well she knew them.

Abhinatha thought hard, and knew her time to make a decision was nearing its end. So a decision she made, obeying the flow of her nature and opposing that of those around her.

She halted suddenly in her tracks. Sang and Shirisha continued several steps further before realizing what was amiss, and turned to face her.

"Are you alright?..." asked Shirisha.

Abhinatha did not respond, only looked upwards and pointed.

"Take me up the mountain."

"But... our village is on the next one over."

"I know. But I have something I must do. Please."

Shirisha was confused, but she and Sang complied willingly. Sang was familiar with the terrain, not only because of his travels, but because this was the mountain on which he constructed the force that slew Abhinatha's former body. Many of the trees and deviations in the land were gone, the upturned earth soft and smooth beneath the new snow. At their practiced pace, they reached the peak of the mountain in less than four hours.

It was early dusk, and the sight was beautiful. Shirisha could just make out the edges of the village in the apricity, though she saw no people. They were likely huddled inside, waiting on their return.

With her back to the sunlight, Abhinatha stood before them and spoke soundly. "I believe I am able to return the spring, and in only a day's time, but I will not be here to see it."

Shirisha felt struck by the idea, struggling to grasp the hope of such a thing.

"How?" She asked, Sang clearly with the same question in his mind.

Abhinatha let out a long breath, and spoke from her soul.

"When I healed Sang, I did not apply my power, I gave him a piece of it. A piece of myself. I never knew I could do such a thing, for I never engaged in a human's compassion. I believed it my duty to be the sole wielder, and the one to deliver this power into the world to the best of my ability.

"I see now that I was wrong. The moment I gave the power to you, I felt the truest serenity, a feeling not of this world. I see now that my purpose was never to be the one who carries, but the one who distributes this gift."

She turned toward the sun, and spread her arms wide.

"Sang, what you carry now will be passed on to your children, and to your children's children, breaking apart as it is carried downward like a stream through a cluster of rocks."

Shirisha saw Sang feel the piece of Abhinatha that resonated within him as she spoke, his face one of bittersweet melancholy.

"I will give this power in its entirety to the birds and traveling beasts of the world. Many hearts, that will gift every year this power to many more, flying north and south while carrying with them the flourish of spring. The power will return far faster in millions than in one single being, and this winter will be alleviated."

"But... what will happen to you?" asked Sang.

"I know as much about where I will go as you humans know about what happens after one's death. But what I do know, is that I must give all of it. Even if I were to keep a small piece, and keep my mind and body in this world, what would become of me? I do not die. I would watch all who I form bonds with wither and pass, to exist eternally with some part of me unfulfilled."

They both knew all of this to be true. Shirisha stepped forward.

"Thank you. On behalf of my people, and the rest of the world, for all the joy you have brought to us."

Abhinatha smiled. "Thank you, for showing me the beauty of human compassion, and what I was meant to do."

With these words, her body began to glow. Just like before, but this time it grew into a deeper, brilliant radiance, shining from the inner core of her being. Beams of her golden light shone into the sky and across the land, illuminating the mountains in a light as strong as the summer sun. Sang and Shirisha covered their faces from the intense gleam, but they both heard the clarity of her beautiful, ethereal voice.

"Goodbye."

Thousands upon thousands of white flower petals drifted into the air as the light faded to contain itself within them. Sang and Shirisha watched as the cloud spread, floating unhindered to all horizons, until the last had disappeared from view.

They took their time walking back down the mountain, appreciating the world around them and ruminating deeply on the events of the past several days. By the time they reached the bottom, it was already just a bit warmer. The air felt lighter, and the wind blew easier. Snow still fell, but in calm, subtle flakes. They reached the bottom of their own mountain as the sun set. It was very large among the range, and covering its face were many difficult features and formations.

They decided to set up camp at the foot, finding what food they could and waiting for the next day to begin their ascent. Sang still carried the bagha pelt, and busied himself with cleaning it so it would become a blanket suitable for the two of them.

The sun did not shine meekly the following morning, but in confident brilliance.

As they began their final climb, they noticed the wind had become a favorable breeze. The snow had begun to melt, revealing the ground and freeing branches from burden. Their suffocated world had begun to breathe again.

It was not long after that they found the end of the central path, and Shirisha breathed a sigh of relief when she planted her two feet on it, feeling the connection to her spirit.

They entered the village, weary and filthy, Sang's blade at his hip and the pelt wrapped around his arm. A child was the first to see them, the same child that had accompanied Shirisha, and he yelled for joy. Others emerged and did the same, and it was not long after the entire village was present and in uproar. Hundreds of questions were asked, and many gasps of astonishment were made at the bagha pelt, some at Sang himself.

Shirisha embraced with Bhavaroopa, who chuckled heartily. Her parents held her for what seemed like forever in their embrace, and she returned it to them. Bibek could do nothing but smile, and the hunters came to greet Sang. Abhiral apologized severely, and Sang forgave him. Milan brought his mother, who had already begun to recover, both thanking Shirisha.

The crowd cleared, and the elders stood together, some more serious than others.

Knowing judgements that may come, Shirisha stood with deep conviction and told the entire story. All were amazed and completely enraptured in her words, many saying that they had seen the brilliant flash of light from the day before.

When all was finished, Sang knelt before the elders and apologized, then apologized to all the people for his deeds.

But he did not need to sway anyone.

Udgam and the others opened their hearts to him, in a way that was both relieved and joyful.

Only a few days afterward, Udgam anointed Sang to be the new chieftain. Shirisha recalled that Sang collapsed cried for several minutes from the honor of the gesture, and what it meant to him. As was his vow, he brought prosperity, as well as new traditions. Winters came, but they were never nearly as harsh. Nilgai flooded back into the land, and their farms were bountiful.

A rule was put into place that the people of the village would not harm any bird, and would rededicate their yearly tradition to them to celebrate Abhinatha's gift to the world. A new kindling arm was carved, engraved with the pattern of a serpent with birds flying from its mouth, surrounded by blooming flowers.

Sang would wear the skin of his father's bane across his shoulders for the rest of his life; the source of his trials, as a powerful mark of his own redemption.

Later in life he and Shirisha wed, bearing three children: two daughters, Baijanthi and Chenba, and a son, Drupadh.

Even after Sang would pass they carried down the fragment of Abhinatha's power, spawning a line of honest and dedicated rulers that brought only peaceful prosperity to their home for the rest of time.

The End.