September 27th, 2011
|07:05 am - Far From Home, Part 6: Stonewoods and September|
Only one more short installment to go after this one (the rest of my week being a step away from hellish, really), and we persevere.
In yesterday's Part 5, we ended on Wood will show the way.
Before she goes out their front door, however, she stops by his side. He looks somehow more lost, his pain deeper – marked in crooked fingers, in the lines on his forehead, in the softest of moans issuing from between tightened lips.
His greenstone has fallen off his chest. She spares a moment to seek, to find, to place again on his chest. He stirs at that, and mutters more pain.
“Shhh, my heart, rest. I'll be back,” Alice says, drifting a fingertip kiss over his lips. He can't smile, but he tries.
When she walks out into the cold wind, unheeded tears dry on her cheeks. A Queen doesn't worry about such trifles at a time like this.
The oak tree Morgan planted when they first came to the town anchors the north of their land. It is protected by the hedge-fence, sheltered from the worst of storm.
It is the only oak in their wood, from the only acorn Morgan brought across the sea, and it often rustles with a breeze from their old country even when the day here is still. Morgan sometimes laughs that it is home and faraway from home at the same time, just as they are.
As Alice remembers this, her eyes narrow. Yes. That will do very well.
She raises her hands, palms up, and says simply, “For Morgan.” Leaves, red-gold treasure, rain down eagerly and nestle into the hollows of her hands.
The leaves are warm and water-dropped, smelling of another forest's rain.
She does not neglect a soft thanks before she turns and leaps up the path, fast as if she were off to battle. The wind runs with her, accompanying her inside.
This time she goes to her knees beside the sofa. This time she makes a pillow in Morgan's hand, red-gold leaf upon red-gold leaf warm and water-dropped, smelling of another forest's rain, and then she places the greenstone safe, and then she folds her hands around his.
Pain-darkened eyes open at once. He does not need to speak except with those wise, loving eyes. Do you know, my Queen?
I do. She smiles at him. I know so very much, Morgan.
And then she speaks the words that came to her when she gazed on the tree. “For those faraway from home, for those same safe at heart's home,” she incants, “heal the wound.”
Morgan's eyes clear. “The right three words,” he murmurs. “I did write them down, then. I worried I'd forgot.”
“You forgot, foolish Guild-man. But I do have magic of my own.” She brushes back the lock of grey hair that's fallen over his eyes, and then buries her face against him, and breathes him in.
When his arms come around her, she allows her tears to fall. They are warm, tasting of salt and another forest's rain.
May you find all your right answers today!
|Date:||September 27th, 2011 11:37 am (UTC)|| |
Thank you, L, thank you.
And a happy London Tuesday to you! :-)
so pretty. The oak is wonderful.
Thank you, S. Thank you twice. :-)
Hope the start of your new week (and all assorted newness) has been excellent, and happy Tuesday!
|Date:||September 27th, 2011 02:12 pm (UTC)|| |
awww, so nice :)
Thank you, T, thanks and thanks again.
Happy day after your birthday! :-)
Thank you, Head Rush! :-))
Thank you for reading, and I hope your middle of the week is wonderful.
|Date:||September 27th, 2011 07:42 pm (UTC)|| |
Yay! I love the red-gold leaves raining down.
Thank you thank you, Gwynne!
[sends hugs and Darjeeling for your Tuesday afternoon]
Thank you, Stevie, thank you.
Cheers and a happy Wednesday!
Thank you, ALH, thank you. :-)
So beautiful! I love the oak and the way he wakes.
Thank you, thank you. :-) I really appreciate your kind comments.