Her mind soars freely, like a wild bird. It seems a lovely idea, and for the most part, she is happy, but as age wraps its soft tendrils around her, parts of her mind fly too far, lost to her.

I fear the inevitable. Today, she forgets her hat, as has become the norm. Tomorrow, will she forget me? Will I be greeted with screams of fright one morning when I peek through the kitchen window?

I’m not sure if it is possible for her to forget me. She is a part of me, as I am a part of her, joined by something other than physical presence. In our long years nothing has yet separated us. We’ve fought monsters, cured the sick, saved the land from the twisted will of foul hearts.

It would be tragic indeed if her biggest battle was with her own mind.