This is the very last bit of 'broken Wings' which I am posting as an epilogue. I already had this one in mind, but a Dear Reader's personal message helped clarify the structure--thanks.

I will add one small warning to it, which is a box-of-tissues alert.

EPILOGUE
The fair-weather cumulus clouds were scudding across the Carneddau, a warm wind from the South moving my hair around, the sun-warmed rock against my back bringing me memories of sitting outside Hexham railway station waiting to be picked up by Mam and Dad. Frank’s hand lay on my knee, a small comfort, but comfort it was, as the helicopter’s blades started to pick up speed. Rather than do their usual trick of touch, drop and go, they had used the level spot to our North to settle their machine while the Mountain Rescue Team doctor did his job.

There was a burst of noise above me, as a pair of ravens launched themselves at a buzzard before they all tumbled downslope towards Melynllyn, and then the chopper’s turbines were drowning it all out as the MRT headed for Bangor and Ysbyty Gwynedd. Kim was wrapped up in her man’s arms, the strength of the wind drying her tears almost as quickly as they fell, while Cathy and Nell busied themselves in the little hut, two stoves hissing away to make mugs of tea for those of us left on the summit. The police had confirmed that they would meet me at the campsite when I got down, but no hurry. Never any hurry, not now.

I heard a voice calling my name, and looked over towards Llywelyn, spotting a tall redhead striding across the broken ground with a smaller man. I squeezed Frank’s hand before standing to greet the new arrivals, and Steph’s hug was everything I could have expected.

“Word was out on the campsite, Debbie. Just wanted to see if there was anything you needed”

I waved vaguely at the crew around me, and she spotted the stoves working away out of the wind, nodding.

“Take time, they will, so my beloved and me have packed some flasks ready-brewed. You want a cuppa now, or wait for the fresh?”

I opted for the tea she had carried up from the Valley, looking round our group with just a touch of confusion, which she picked up.

“That tall girl of yours, and the older man, they’ve got the camp covered, and they’ve closed the tent up until the police have done their bit. Time to relax, love”

It had been a lovely evening walk, just the two of us, Frank had understood, as I packed stove and mug, bread and bacon, mat and bag, before we left the site for the grind up the CEGB road and the more pleasant stuff above. Past the top of Craig yr Ysfa to the summit of Llywelyn, everything gilded in the warm butter of the setting sun, before we ambled down the stony ground to the North. I had packed a couple of survival bags, just in case someone else had hatched the same plan, but we were in luck. As the sun kissed the top of Yr Elen, we took a supper of tea and bacon sandwiches, our bags spread side-by-side in the little shelter. Side-by-side actually meant squeezed together in the little space, but no matter.

Bacon sandwiches and tea; the first stars coming out on a clear night. Just the two of us, sitting on our folded orange bags until we had said all we wanted to, so much not needing to be put into words. Into our bags, spooned together for comfort and comforting, I had fallen asleep to her soft breathing, and woken in the first light of dawn to her silence.

Her body temperature left me in no doubt that any attempt at resuscitation was a non-starter, and so I simply made my way out of the shelter to get the stove running for my tea, and to dial 999.

“Emergency services. What service, please?”

“Police and Mountain Rescue. I need to report…”

I lost all of my class just then, the grief howling out of me in a shriek of resentment and loss, but the operator was patient. Deep breaths, Petrie.

“I need to report a death. Summit of Foel Grach in the Carneddau”

“I won’t ask for a street name, then. I assume that is a mountain. Do you have a grid reference or anything else that might help the team find you?”

“Um, hang on…”

I grabbed the paper map I always carried as a safety measure, and gave her the OS reference, along with my details. She was eerily calm.

“Could you please tell me the circumstances?”

“Nothing much to tell. A friend and I walked up here to spend the night. She was fine last night, then cold and unresponsive when I woke this morning”

“Did you make an attempt at resuscitation?”

Breathe.

“No. She was really cold. No pulse, no warmth to her at all”

“The deceased is female, then?”

“Yes. I think she was in her early eighties”

I gave her what details I could, and then she changed tack.

“Where are you staying?”

“Little Willy’s. I mean, Gwern y Gof Uchaf campsite, on the A5 next to Tryfan. Between Bethesda and Capel Curig”

“Thank you. Are there any other members of your party there?”

“Oh god, yes. Whole group of them. I tried calling them, but phone reception, top of mountain…”

“I understand, Miss Prosser. Could you let me know the name of a contact, and a vehicle registration number if you have one? We can have an Officer visit the site”

“My husband will be there. Frank Prosser. Please ask him to keep the rest down there. She was a good friend to all of them”

In the end, the policeman had opened the gate at the bottom of the CEGB road and driven five of mine up to the lake in his Land Rover, and just before I spotted the first figures stumbling down from the other summit, there was the roar of a helicopter overhead.

They were efficient, the MRT, obviously well-used to the shittier side of life in the mountains, and the doctor with them was gentle as he examined Pat before certifying her death or whatever the right term it was, and then he drew me slowly round the corner to the rest of my people.

“Couple of Police with us; they just need a quick check to confirm no suspicious aspects, and then we’ll take her down to the hospital. Do you know of her family? Next of kin, so on?”

“Didn’t have any, Doctor. She was a widow”

“Ah. Would it be fair to say you are acting as such right now? Family, in effect?”

I nodded, and he almost whispered his next question.

“How long have you known Pat?”

“Since I was sixteen”

“Then that works for me. Lucky woman, she was”

I looked at him, more than a little confused.

“Lucky?”

“To die peacefully, in a lovely place, next to someone who loved her. That would be my choice of the best way to go, Mrs Prosser”

In the end, we arranged her funeral ourselves, for there really had been nobody else. A simple ceremony and cremation, done through the Co-Op, nobody else there apart from a small group of my girls and their men. I waited for the right weather forecast, and Kim and I made that last pilgrimage with her.

I had sent Mam and Dad to fly free outside a soldier’s little place of comfort in a strange land, under huge skies and amid oceanic waves of grass. I did much the same for Pat, for we had our own little place of refuge, high and wild, where I knew she had made love with her man, where we had spent that last, sweet night.

Fly free, love.

A good life, lived well.