come away o' human child
to the waters and the wild
The Gates has been quieter than usual after the disaster. Perhaps it had gone to sleep, so that when it awoke, everything would be right again. Perhaps the mother tree was simply tired from all the healing it has done. Perhaps they were all tired from trying to heal. Time and time again. The were quiet and few in number, they were burned and beaten. Most of Beqanna thinks nothing of the Gates and it’s inhabitants. They are weak, they are prey. But I know better. I know just how strong we really are.
But still, I know that I too am tired. That Camelia and Fin are tired. My girl, soon to be a mother herself, has left for a while to give birth, to spend some time with her first born before coming back to rule again. And I find that the crown sits again on my head, though I don’t feel its weight like before. It’s not really mine anymore, and there’s something still freeing in that. And perhaps it’s simply because I don’t mind filling in for my daughter, letting her get some well needed rest. That’s what mothers are for, aren’t they?
I’ve been wandering the Gates lately. There’s not much to do anyway. Finnley is off taking care of his own business, Camelia is gone. Mast has been quiet, but that is often the case with Camelia. It’s been just me and my thoughts lately; thoughts that sometimes drift to perhaps finally having another child. All my children are grown now, even the adopted ones. Perhaps it’s time for more. I may not have been much of a queen, but I think I’ve made at least a decent mother.
But today, I’m interrupted by the sight of Fiasko at the Mother Tree. It’s hard sometimes to see the tree still, to remember the fires and the charred earth and bark that the fires left behind. But still, we fared better than others did. At least we had the tree. I make my way over with a nicker and a smile, always glad to see my quietest child. “Fiasko,” I say warmly, reaching down to give her a gentle touch on the neck. “How are you?”
But still, I know that I too am tired. That Camelia and Fin are tired. My girl, soon to be a mother herself, has left for a while to give birth, to spend some time with her first born before coming back to rule again. And I find that the crown sits again on my head, though I don’t feel its weight like before. It’s not really mine anymore, and there’s something still freeing in that. And perhaps it’s simply because I don’t mind filling in for my daughter, letting her get some well needed rest. That’s what mothers are for, aren’t they?
I’ve been wandering the Gates lately. There’s not much to do anyway. Finnley is off taking care of his own business, Camelia is gone. Mast has been quiet, but that is often the case with Camelia. It’s been just me and my thoughts lately; thoughts that sometimes drift to perhaps finally having another child. All my children are grown now, even the adopted ones. Perhaps it’s time for more. I may not have been much of a queen, but I think I’ve made at least a decent mother.
But today, I’m interrupted by the sight of Fiasko at the Mother Tree. It’s hard sometimes to see the tree still, to remember the fires and the charred earth and bark that the fires left behind. But still, we fared better than others did. At least we had the tree. I make my way over with a nicker and a smile, always glad to see my quietest child. “Fiasko,” I say warmly, reaching down to give her a gentle touch on the neck. “How are you?”
kaelie
with a faery hand in hand