Menolyrical; Final Friday Fiction

As the company watched, Rinkyr placed her feet into the slippers. There was an audible murmuration around the hall as it was seen that they fit her exactly. They felt so light on her feet - they felt like new, as never used. The Moderator spoke into the hush.

"I'll keep it short Rinkyr. You either follow in the footsteps of Myyr. Or you don't. Neither path will be easy."

Rinkyr swallowed. She'd heard that when in a difficult decision situation one's mouth would dry and the eye's would seem unable to blink. A part of her brain observed her body and found that this was true. Not that it helped to have this knowledge.

Myyr had been such a huge influence on the Order of Walklings. He had left big shoes to fill. Metaphorically speaking, of course, for clearly the feet of the Master had actually not been so large at all. Or her own had grown... She had definitely grown within her being. Was this the same thing?

Could she follow in his footsteps? Could she walk in his shoes?

There was no imperative. The decision would be entirely her own. The Order would find another by drawing lots should she opt out. She alone was the chosen to slip on the footwear; chosen by Myyr himself. It was the tradition that the most gifted student according to the passing Master would have this right. If that student opted to walk a separate path, then they had to leave the Order. This is why it too would not be an easy path. To take up the slippers would mean adopting all that had been set in place by the Master and adding one's own prints.

Rinkyr turned and looked each and very one of the Order in the eye. All one hundred and seven. She turned to Meru, the Moderator.

"As the hundred and eighth, to follow is the only path."

There. Time to begin again. Fresh life. New shoes.