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When Cyris had found a place to half-lay, half-collapse, the last thing they had been thinking of was the potential of waking up. They could still taste blood in their mouth from a hunt gone wrong, could still feel the way their lungs didn’t seem to be taking in enough air, could tell the way the edge of their vision blurred and darkened.

But they did. Not all at once- the first thing they’re aware of is the warmth against their fur, unlike the cold they had felt before. The second is the grass against their side, soft, warm with the weight of their body, too. And then they raise their head, and they realize-

nothing hurts.

When they inhale, there’s nothing like the pain that had come with it. There’s no pain at all, even when they begin to rise to their paws, slowly, blinking against the sunlight and trying to wrap their head around where they even were. The area is new- they’ve never been here in their life, as pleasant as it is.

Cyris finds themself pausing, standing there with the sun still against their back and the new land around them, and comes to a realization.

They’re dead, and this is some sort of afterlife. It has to be.