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Motherly Love


searose143
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1732, First Age.

 

9:26 A.M.

 

A gust of cool wind swept through the drying leaves of a particularly tall dark oak tree. Halfway up the trunk was a natural platform of sorts, interwoven branches and sticks creating a little haven safely above the ground. Old books lined each branch, cleverly set and stacked here and there, held tightly in place by rope and bent sticks. Battered spines showcased faded script, some in Elven - a delicate gold, a rigid silver, a blocky black against worn maroon. Homemade wooden figurines lay haphazardly around and upon the abundance of books. Mushrooms grew upon the side of some branches, soft moss on the side of others, flowers of delicate white, vibrant yellow, and deep violet sprinkled around. A tiny pillow rested between the makeshift shelves - the place where a young child felt most at home - especially as autumn ushered out the heat of the hazy summer.

 

Bright red locks swept into a 10-year-old Aedrie’s face as the wind blew through her library of sorts. One hand, devoid of tattoos and markings aside from a hastily painted crescent moon, lifted to shove the barrier of red out of her line of vision. She was studying, you see - her little nose was shoved into a book whose cover read, in a shining bronze: “SNAILS AND YOU.” A curious title, perhaps, but all the more reason for the young girl to investigate. She’d learned early on that peaceful moments were often difficult to come by, but this was one of them. The redhead’s lips pulled into a soft grin, and she leaned back against the trunk, relishing in the cool wind and the comfort of her very own library.

 

“Aedrie. Get down here.”

 

The girl’s grin dissipated. The moment of peace had melted quicker than she’d hoped. The golden paint on her hand shimmered dully as she reached out to pluck a reddened leaf and set it carefully within the pages of her precious book. She did love snails. How could one not?

 

“Il’kae.” The stern voice of her mother carried up into Aedrie’s favorite tree,  muffled, a little removed, as if the leaves of the tree had tried to block it from the girl’s ears. A voice that, as she would find, would never quite fade from her memory. With a nearly silent breath of defeat, Aedrie placed the book on her pillow to finish later, then crawled to the side and peered down to the early autumn ground.

 

One might have thought the figure waiting below was the girl’s twin sister, if they were born 20 years apart. Deep green eyes stared up at the young ‘ame like an owl might study its surroundings. Dark red hair fell just beyond her shoulders, a golden tattoo of a crescent moon upon her hip. Yellow-green fabric shifted slowly in the gentle breeze. She was beautiful in a warm way, but her expression was rather cold, lips pressed into a thin line.

 

“Haelun, I was only studying,” Aedrie explained quietly. She turned and grasped two branches tightly, then carefully descended the dark oak tree. She liked to jump down all the way - it wasn’t really that far of a jump, after all - but her mother always hated it. You’ll break your legs, Aedrie. Don’t be stupid. She was probably right. Somehow, she always managed to land on her feet. Like a cat, she had heard. The girl quickly turned to face the taller woman as soon as her two feet made contact with the cool ground, making sure to avoid a patch of thriving iris flowers at the tree’s base.

 

“Aedrie.” Her mother’s voice remained distant. She turned and began to take sweeping paces away from the tree, no gesture indicating whether her daughter should follow. Her head shook, gracefully, slightly. She knew what the girl wanted. “No amount of knowledge will help you, oem’ii. You’ll never be good enough to be a Druid.”

 

The words hung in the air like the bitter smell of burnt cookies. Spoken so matter-of-factly, so carelessly. Aedrie stared ahead at her departing mother, bright eyes fading, as if she were beginning to fall into a deep, dark void. Her lips parted slightly, weak words falling from them after a few more long moments. “No one will teach me?”

 

Her mother only kept walking. “Don’t be daft, Aedrie.” Thorns disguised as flowers were her words.

 

A heavy silence followed. The sun seemed to dim. The autumn breeze swept through the leaves a little more harshly than before. The buzz of the last cicadas clinging to the summer’s last rays faded into silence.

An empty tear seeped from the child’s eye. Her mother’s eye. Every part of her being was a reminder of her mother. Even a family friend had told the young girl that she reminded her mother of herself. According to him, she’d been a bookworm, too. Once upon a time.

 

A soft bird call shoved Aedrie out of her trance. She hurriedly wiped the tear from her cheek and looked straight up toward her little library haven. Upon a shelf perched an owl, its feathers a perfect white, brown dots and streaks on the tips of its wings and decorating its face. The girl stood transfixed by the beautiful bird for a long minute; it was unlike any owl she had seen before. A wave of peace washed over her, one of reassurance, one of silence and strength. 

 

The crack of a twig beneath her faraway mother’s foot pulled the young ‘ame back to earth. She whirled around, one foot in front of the other, a dull crunch with every step toward the woman.

 

“Not… not good enough.”

 

~
 

41, Second Age.

 

2:14 P.M.

 

Honk.

 

Aedrie jolted and sat up, heart racing. “Augh, Red,” she groaned quietly, voice small but warm, even despite her rough appearance. Charcoal eyeliner she had put on earlier for a ritual pooled under her eyes, mixed with salty water.  She took a moment to regain her breath, finding that she was safely within the home of the Sirame, her chosen family of which she was now the matriarch. The green eyes of her own mother flicked toward a carved figurine of an elephant beside the tea kettle in the corner.

 

You’ll never be good enough to be a Druid. A dark streak fell down the Druid’s cheek. Another. She squeezed her eyes shut. Another, another, another. Aedrie had proved her wrong years and years ago. The Rainbow Druid took her in as a student, and how she studied, every spare moment dedicated to learning about the duties of a Druid, the hardships, the benefits, no stone left unturned, so she thought. And years later, she was attuned, given a new name by the Aspects - the same name as those violet flowers surrounding her makeshift library she had spent so much time in as a child. Still, she was not enough.

 

A gray goose popped into her line of sight. HONK. With a sniffle, Aedrie broke into a weak smile, an inked hand fondly patting the bird’s feathers. Geese reminded her of her mother - her adoptive one, the one who loved her and made it clear. Kianna. I’ve always been fond of gooses, the Cardinal Druid had told the ‘ame one day in the Grove. Red seemed to like her, too.

 

Aedrie did love her biological mother. Really, she did. How graceful she was when she walked, when she wrote, when she spoke. Despite writing volumes upon volumes of poetry, she never quite understood the magnitude of her words. The wounds which she opened a hundred years ago upon the heart of her daughter hadn’t quite healed. But she was forever thankful for her new family, her new mother, who bandaged it with love.

 

The red-haired ‘ame stood and cleaned her face, then scooped up her beloved bird friend. “Let’s go find Haelun,” she murmured, climbing to the entrance of the Sirame home and pacing into the square. Golden ink on her hip shimmered a tad in the sunlight, ink which had been shaped into a crescent moon. Together, Aedrie and her goose friend walked to the Grove in search of the Cardinal Druid - her true mother.


 


 

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