A novella from the world of Strangewoven · The Keeper of Lost Friends
Chapter One — An Unexpected Arrival
The Keeper had learned that animals arrived in different ways.
Some came running.
Some appeared sleeping beneath the trees, waking as though from a particularly pleasant dream.
Others arrived frightened, confused, and searching for familiar faces.
Cats, naturally, tended to behave as though they had been there all along.
But this particular arrival was different.
It began with a noise.
Clang.
The Keeper looked up from the book resting on his knees.
Clang. Clang.
He glanced toward his lantern.
It hung undisturbed from the branch above him.
CLANG.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.”
He closed his book.
Something was making an extraordinary amount of noise near the stream.
The Keeper rose, brushed a few leaves from his coat, and followed the commotion.
He found the source standing ankle-deep in the water.
A donkey.
A very small donkey.
With an enormous bell around its neck.
The animal was gray, with a white muzzle, oversized ears, and the sort of expression suggesting that whatever trouble had occurred was entirely someone else’s responsibility.
The Keeper stopped.
The donkey stared.
The bell rang.
“Hello.”
The donkey snorted.
“You’re new.”
Another snort.
The Keeper approached.
“Do you have a name?”
The donkey turned away.
“Fair enough. We can work on that.”
He reached for the bell.
The donkey immediately stepped backward.
CLANG.
“Ah.”
The Keeper lowered his hand.
“Not touching the bell. Understood.”
The donkey walked out of the stream, shook itself thoroughly, and sprayed water across the Keeper’s trousers.
He looked down.
“Thank you.”
The donkey wandered toward the meadow.
The Keeper followed.
Most newcomers needed reassurance.
Some needed space.
A few needed several hours to understand that nobody was going to hurt them.
This donkey appeared to need absolutely nothing.
It marched directly toward the Keeper’s tree, inspected the grass, and began eating.
“Well,” said the Keeper, “make yourself comfortable.”
The donkey did.
Then it kicked over his empty watering can.
CLANG.
The Keeper stared at it.
The donkey chewed.
“I see we’re going to have an interesting relationship.”
By evening, the donkey had established itself as a problem.
It had chased three rabbits.
Not maliciously.
Apparently it had simply wanted to see whether they would run.
They did.
It had frightened a sleeping cat by braying directly into its ear.
It had stolen a mouthful of flowers from beside the Keeper’s lantern.
And it had attempted to follow a horse through a narrow opening in a fence despite there being perfectly good open pasture on either side.
The Keeper sat beneath his tree.
The donkey stood beside him.
“You’re a remarkable creature.”
The donkey flicked an ear.
“I don’t believe that was a compliment.”
The animal lowered its head and gently pushed its nose against the Keeper’s shoulder.
He looked at it.
“Oh.”
He scratched behind one enormous ear.
The donkey closed its eyes.
For the first time since arriving, the bell was silent.
“That’s better.”
The Keeper continued scratching.
“Someone must have loved you very much.”
The donkey leaned harder against him.
“Yes. I thought so.”
That night, the Keeper noticed something unusual.
The donkey wouldn’t sleep.
Every time the Keeper settled beneath his tree, the little animal wandered toward the bridge.
It would stop at the beginning of the path.
Look toward the light.
Wait.
Then return.
An hour later, it would do the same thing.
Eventually the Keeper followed.
The donkey stood motionless, ears pointed forward.
“Your person isn’t here yet,” he said gently.
The donkey didn’t move.
“I know it’s difficult.”
Still nothing.
The Keeper rested one skeletal hand against its neck.
“Sometimes the waiting is long.”
The donkey suddenly turned.
It looked directly at him.
Then it walked away from the bridge.
Not toward the meadow.
Not toward the tree.
Toward the darker, quieter part of the Keeper’s land.
The Keeper watched.
“Where are you going?”
The donkey stopped.
Looked back.
And rang its bell.
Clang.
The Keeper tilted his head.
“You want me to follow?”
The donkey rang the bell again.
The Keeper sighed.
“Of course you do.”
He retrieved his lantern.
And followed.
The donkey led him through a grove of silver-leaved trees.
Past a pond where several turtles slept beneath lily pads.
Across a meadow the Keeper seldom visited.
Finally, it stopped beside an old wooden gate.
The Keeper frowned.
He didn’t remember that gate.
Beyond it stretched a narrow path disappearing into mist.
The donkey pressed its nose against the latch.
Nothing happened.
It pushed harder.
The gate remained closed.
The Keeper approached.
“Now, where did you find this?”
The donkey looked at him.
For the first time, the animal seemed genuinely distressed.
It pawed the ground.
The bell rang.
Then it pressed its forehead against the gate.
The Keeper knelt beside it.
“Someone is on the other side?”
The donkey brayed.
Loudly.
The Keeper looked through the wooden slats.
There was nothing beyond them but mist.
Yet somewhere in that mist, faintly, he heard something.
A sound.
Not a voice.
Not quite.
A rhythmic tapping.
Three beats.
A pause.
Three more.
The donkey lifted its head.
Its ears stood straight.
The Keeper raised his lantern.
The flame changed.
Its familiar golden light grew pale and silvery.
He had never seen it do that before.
“Well,” he whispered.
The donkey pressed against his shoulder.
The Keeper studied the gate.
For as long as he could remember, his purpose had been simple.
He welcomed the friends who arrived.
He kept them safe.
And when their people came, he helped them find one another.
He had never needed to search for anyone.
Until now.
He placed his hand on the latch.
It opened.
Beyond the gate, the tapping stopped.
The donkey stepped forward.
The Keeper caught its bell gently.
“Wait.”
The donkey turned.
“Whatever is out there, we go together.”
He released the bell.
The donkey pressed its nose against his hand.
Then the two of them entered the mist.
And behind them, the gate quietly closed.
Chapter Two — The Sound Beyond the Gate
The gate closed behind them.
Not with a bang.
Not with a creak.
It simply closed.
The Keeper turned.
Where the wooden gate had stood a moment earlier, there was now a wall of pale mist.
He raised his lantern.
Its familiar golden flame had become silver.
“Well,” he said.
The donkey rang his bell.
Clang.
“Yes. I noticed.”
The donkey looked unimpressed.
The Keeper examined the ground.
There was no grass.
No soil.
No stone.
Only a narrow path that seemed to exist because someone had decided to walk upon it.
Beyond the path lay darkness.
Not the frightening sort.
The sort that existed in a room before someone opened the curtains.
The Keeper took one step.
The donkey followed.
Then another.
And another.
Behind them, the mist swallowed their footprints.
The Keeper glanced back.
“That seems unnecessarily dramatic.”
The donkey nudged his elbow.
“I’m walking.”
Another nudge.
“I’m walking faster.”
The bell rang.
“Your patience is inspiring.”
They continued.
Then the tapping came again.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
A pause.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The Keeper stopped.
The sound came from somewhere ahead.
He lifted the lantern.
“Hello?”
Nothing answered.
The donkey lowered his head.
His ears turned forward.
Then he brayed.
The noise echoed into the darkness.
Something answered.
Not a bray.
Not a bark.
A tiny, distant whimper.
The Keeper became still.
“Oh.”
He looked at the donkey.
“Someone’s here.”
The donkey started walking.
The Keeper followed.
The path eventually reached a clearing.
At its center stood a little wooden house.
Or perhaps it had once been a house.
Its roof sagged.
One shutter hung crookedly.
A small garden had grown wild around the doorstep.
There was no smoke from the chimney.
No light in the windows.
And beside the front door sat a dog.
A little white dog.
He was so old that his fur had thinned around his muzzle, and one ear folded permanently forward.
He sat with his back straight.
His eyes fixed upon the door.
The Keeper approached slowly.
“Hello, little friend.”
The dog didn’t turn.
The donkey walked past the Keeper.
He stopped beside the dog.
Lowered his head.
And gently touched the dog’s shoulder with his nose.
The dog looked up.
For the first time, his tail moved.
Just once.
The donkey rang his bell softly.
Clang.
The Keeper knelt.
“Have you been waiting here?”
The dog looked toward the door.
The Keeper followed his gaze.
“Someone inside?”
The dog whined.
The Keeper rose and tried the handle.
Locked.
He knocked.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
A pause.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The little dog barked.
The Keeper looked down.
“Oh.”
He examined the door more closely.
The tapping hadn’t come from someone trapped inside.
It had come from the dog.
Three scratches.
A pause.
Three more.
The sound of a little animal asking to be let home.
The Keeper rested his skeletal hand against the wood.
“Who are you waiting for?”
The dog pressed his nose against the bottom of the door.
The donkey stood beside him.
Neither moved.
The Keeper tried the handle again.
Still locked.
He looked at his lantern.
The silver flame flickered.
Then, for the briefest moment, it became gold.
A familiar warmth spread through the clearing.
The Keeper understood something important.
This wasn’t an ordinary house.
And this wasn’t an ordinary door.
It was a memory.
A place the little dog had refused to leave.
The Keeper sat upon the doorstep.
“Very well.”
The donkey settled beside him.
The Keeper looked at the dog.
“I suppose we’ll wait together.”
The dog rested his chin against the door.
And somewhere inside the house, a floorboard creaked.
Chapter Three — The House That Remembered
The Keeper had encountered memories before.
They were everywhere in his meadow.
A favorite blanket might appear beneath a sleeping cat.
An old dog might discover the familiar scent of a kitchen floor.
A horse might find an apple tree growing exactly where one had stood beside its pasture.
The Keeper’s realm was generous that way.
But memories did not usually lock doors.
He studied the house.
“Interesting.”
The donkey chewed a weed.
“Not to you, apparently.”
The little dog scratched the door.
Three times.
Waited.
Three times again.
The Keeper placed his hand against the wood.
“May I?”
The dog looked at him.
Then stepped aside.
The Keeper knocked.
“Hello? Is anyone home?”
The house remained silent.
He tried something different.
He sat beside the dog and spoke quietly.
“Tell me about your person.”
The dog couldn’t answer in words.
He didn’t need to.
The lantern brightened.
And the house began to remember.
A warm kitchen appeared beyond the window.
A young woman stood at a sink.
Sunlight fell across her shoulders.
A little white puppy bounded across the floor.
The woman laughed.
“Oliver!”
The dog beside the Keeper raised his head.
“Oliver,” the Keeper repeated.
The tail moved.
Inside the memory, the woman crouched and opened her arms.
The puppy ran to her.
The scene faded.
The Keeper watched the empty window.
“Oliver.”
The dog pressed against his knee.
“That’s your name.”
The donkey rang his bell.
“Yes, I believe we’ve established that.”
Another memory appeared.
A small boy sitting on the floor.
Oliver, older now, patiently enduring a blanket draped across his back.
The boy announced that he was a horse.
Oliver looked deeply unconvinced.
The Keeper chuckled.
“I’m familiar with that expression.”
The donkey stared at him.
“Not you.”
Another scene.
A birthday party.
Children laughing.
Oliver under the table, collecting crumbs.
Another.
A winter evening.
The woman from the kitchen, older now, sitting beside a window.
Oliver slept at her feet.
Another.
An empty chair.
A darkened room.
Oliver waiting.
The Keeper’s amusement faded.
The memories slowed.
The woman had grown old.
Then one day she had gone away.
Oliver had waited at the door.
And waited.
And waited.
But she hadn’t returned.
The Keeper knew that kind of waiting.
He saw it every day.
Yet something was different here.
He turned toward Oliver.
“Your person died before you.”
Oliver stared at the door.
The Keeper understood.
“And you never knew where she went.”
The donkey lowered his head.
Oliver rested against him.
The Keeper looked toward the house.
Then at the silver lantern.
There was a reason Oliver hadn’t arrived in the meadow.
He hadn’t believed there was anywhere else to go.
The last thing he remembered was waiting at this door.
And when his own life ended, he had remained where his heart insisted he belonged.
The Keeper stood.
“Oliver.”
The dog looked up.
“Your person isn’t inside.”
Oliver whined.
“I know.”
The Keeper knelt again.
“But I know where she might be.”
He held out his hand.
Oliver looked at it.
Then at the door.
Then back at the hand.
For one hopeful moment, he stepped forward.
A floorboard creaked inside.
Oliver spun around.
He ran back to the door and scratched.
Three times.
Waited.
Three times.
The Keeper lowered his hand.
The donkey sighed.
The Keeper looked at him.
“Yes.”
He sat on the doorstep again.
“I see the problem.”
Oliver would not leave.
Not while there was even the smallest chance that someone might come home.
Chapter Four — The Friend Who Stayed
The Keeper had never forced an animal to follow him.
He wasn’t about to begin.
So he stayed.
The silver lantern hung from a crooked fence post.
The donkey slept beneath the window.
Oliver remained at the door.
Hours passed.
Or perhaps days.
Time was difficult to measure in a place made of memory.
Eventually the Keeper stood.
“Oliver, would you like to go for a walk?”
The dog ignored him.
The donkey stood immediately.
“Not you.”
The donkey walked toward the path.
“Of course you may come.”
The donkey stopped.
Turned around.
And returned to Oliver.
He nudged the little dog.
Oliver looked up.
The donkey nudged him again.
Oliver rose.
The Keeper watched.
“Now that’s interesting.”
The donkey took three steps.
Oliver followed.
The donkey stopped.
Oliver stopped.
The donkey turned toward the house.
Oliver hurried back to the door.
The Keeper sighed.
“Almost.”
The donkey rang his bell.
“Your optimism is admirable.”
They tried again.
And again.
Each time, Oliver followed a little farther.
Each time, he returned.
Until one evening, the donkey led him all the way to the edge of the clearing.
The Keeper waited.
Oliver looked back.
The little house stood in the mist.
The door was closed.
The windows were dark.
Oliver trembled.
The Keeper crouched.
“You think leaving means forgetting.”
Oliver looked at him.
The Keeper lowered his lantern.
Its silver light illuminated the dog’s small face.
“I promise you something.”
The donkey stood quietly beside them.
“You don’t have to stop loving someone just because you walk away from the place where you last saw them.”
Oliver stared toward the house.
The Keeper waited.
A long time passed.
Then Oliver turned.
He took one step toward the Keeper.
Then another.
Then he stopped.
The house creaked.
Oliver looked back.
And the Keeper finally understood what was missing.
Oliver didn’t need permission to leave.
He needed to know someone had remembered him.
The Keeper turned toward the donkey.
“That’s why you came.”
The donkey blinked.
“You knew he was here.”
The bell rang softly.
“You came looking for him.”
The donkey walked to Oliver and pressed his forehead against the little dog’s shoulder.
The Keeper watched them.
Then he looked more closely at the donkey’s old bell.
There were words scratched into the metal.
They had been almost invisible beneath the tarnish.
He lifted the lantern.
And read them.
OLIVER’S FRIEND — BENNY
The Keeper looked at the donkey.
“Benny?”
The donkey raised his head.
The Keeper laughed softly.
“Oh, you clever creature.”
He looked at Oliver.
“You weren’t waiting alone.”
The memories changed.
The little house brightened.
A new scene appeared.
A pasture beyond the garden.
A young donkey standing beside the fence.
Oliver, much younger, racing through the grass.
The two chased one another beneath the afternoon sun.
The woman laughed from the porch.
“Benny! Oliver! Behave yourselves!”
The donkey brayed.
The Keeper smiled.
“You lived here together.”
Another memory.
Oliver curled against Benny’s legs in the barn.
Another.
The two drinking from the same trough.
Another.
Benny standing beside Oliver after the woman disappeared.
The Keeper looked from one to the other.
Benny had died first.
Oliver had remained.
And when Oliver finally arrived in the realm beyond life, he had become trapped inside his last memory.
But Benny had found his way to the Keeper.
He hadn’t come asking for his person.
He had come asking for his friend.
The Keeper touched the donkey’s bell.
“You weren’t trying to leave my meadow.”
Benny leaned against him.
“You were trying to bring me here.”
The Keeper chuckled.
“And you weren’t going to stop until I listened.”
Benny rang his bell.
Loudly.
“Quite.”
Oliver pressed against Benny.
For the first time, he turned his back on the house.
The Keeper held out his hand.
“Shall we go home?”
Oliver looked at the mist.
Then at Benny.
And began to walk.
Chapter Five — The One Who Wouldn’t Leave
The gate appeared when they reached the end of the path.
The Keeper hadn’t noticed it before.
Perhaps it hadn’t been there.
He had stopped questioning such things long ago.
Benny approached first.
His bell rang.
Oliver followed.
The Keeper lifted his lantern.
The silver flame slowly turned gold.
He opened the gate.
On the other side lay his meadow.
Warm sunlight spread across the grass.
Birds called from the trees.
A dog barked in the distance.
Oliver stopped.
His ears rose.
He sniffed the air.
Then he took one step through.
The grass felt soft beneath his paws.
He looked toward the bridge.
The Keeper watched him.
“Welcome, Oliver.”
Benny followed.
The gate closed.
And disappeared.
The Keeper stood in silence.
Then he looked at Benny.
“You could have made this considerably easier.”
Benny attempted to eat a leaf from his cloak.
“Yes. I suppose not.”
Oliver ran across the meadow.
Not because he was frightened.
Because he could.
He chased a butterfly.
Sniffed a flower.
Rolled in the grass.
Then returned to Benny and curled beside his legs.
The Keeper sat beneath his tree.
For the first time since the donkey’s arrival, the bell was quiet.
That lasted approximately twelve seconds.
CLANG.
The Keeper closed his eyes.
“Benny.”
The donkey looked innocent.
“You have made your point.”
Benny wandered toward a patch of particularly attractive flowers.
The Keeper watched him.
Then the lantern flickered.
Not silver.
Gold.
Bright, beautiful gold.
Oliver lifted his head.
Benny stopped chewing.
The Keeper looked toward the bridge.
“Oh.”
A woman stood within the light.
She was elderly.
Her hair was white.
She wore a faded blue dress.
And she looked very confused.
The Keeper rose.
“Oliver.”
The little dog stared toward the bridge.
Then his tail began to move.
Slowly at first.
Then faster.
The woman looked across the meadow.
A small white dog was running toward her.
Her hands flew to her mouth.
“Oliver?”
Oliver barked.
She dropped to her knees.
“Oh, my darling boy!”
Oliver leapt into her arms.
She held him tightly.
The Keeper watched.
Then came a tremendous bray.
The woman looked up.
A gray donkey was trotting toward her, his enormous bell swinging beneath his neck.
Her eyes widened.
“Benny?”
Benny rang his bell.
The woman laughed through her tears.
“Oh, Benny!”
She embraced his neck.
Oliver danced around them.
For a long while, the three remained together.
Then the woman noticed the Keeper.
She approached with Oliver in her arms and Benny walking beside her.
“Did you look after them?”
The Keeper glanced at Benny.
“One of them looked after the other.”
The woman smiled.
“That sounds familiar.”
She scratched Benny between the ears.
“He never would leave Oliver alone.”
The Keeper tilted his head.
“Never?”
“Not when they were young. Not when they were old. Not even when Oliver wanted to sleep.”
Benny looked pleased with himself.
The woman laughed.
“He was always the stubborn one.”
The Keeper looked at the donkey.
“Yes.”
He paused.
“I had noticed.”
The woman looked toward the bridge.
“Are they coming with me?”
“Both of them.”
She held Oliver closer.
“And you?”
The Keeper shook his head.
“There are others waiting.”
The woman nodded.
She seemed to understand.
She turned toward the light.
Oliver rested in her arms.
Benny followed beside her.
At the entrance to the bridge, the donkey stopped.
He looked back.
The Keeper raised one hand.
“Goodbye, Benny.”
The bell rang once.
Softly.
Then the donkey turned and followed his family into the light.
The Keeper watched until they disappeared.
The meadow grew quiet.
He returned to his tree.
Placed his lantern beside him.
And sat.
For a little while, he did nothing.
Then he chuckled.
“A donkey.”
He shook his head.
“Of all the creatures in this realm…”
A small rabbit approached and settled beside his boot.
The Keeper scratched its ears.
“I suppose I should have expected it.”
He looked toward the place where the gate had stood.
He had spent so many years helping animals wait for their people.
He had almost forgotten something important.
Sometimes an animal wasn’t waiting for a person.
Sometimes a friend was waiting for another friend.
And sometimes—
sometimes a friend refused to leave until everyone they loved was safe.
The Keeper looked down at his lantern.
Its flame burned steadily.
Golden again.
He smiled.
“Every friend,” he whispered.
The rabbit settled against his boot.
“Every one.”
And beyond the bridge, a little white dog slept peacefully beside a gray donkey whose bell, for once, made no sound.
The End
