A more idyllic summer morning could not have been designed. The night had been nigh chilly, and the rising sun had set the air to a feel that was so perfectly soft and balmy, it was nearly absurd. Amorous birds sat in the boughs, freshly sprung with leaves over the Far Chetwood pond, and sang throaty, hopeful serenades, while shafts of pale gold light tilted through the canopy and made dappled, shifting patterns on the water.
She sat upon a large boulder, worn smooth under the passing of countless years and the gentle lapping of wind-stirred water. It was mostly submerged, with one end rising above the water line. Here, she laid her head, while the rest of her body from the neck downward, was dipped into the pond. From this perch she could observe the arching trees overhead, the cerulean sky beyond, and the lazily floating clouds.
This was her favorite place to forget. To stop thinking. To seek to grind those ever-churning gears in her mind to a reluctant halt, and have a moment of peace. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it did not. Today, her thoughts refused to be silent, though she found a measure of pliability that she fancied would help her sort out the tangled knot.
She'd told Nathan that a feeling of impending dread had been niggling at her gut. Not for herself, so much as for Bree-land. As if some shadow was on the horizon, waiting to lunge in and wreak some kind of havoc on her beloved home. A bewildering sensation that she could not make sense of, and it unnerved her.
There had been no glimpse of Ivan for a long while now. It was a sore spot on her heart, and she would not bring up his name in conversation, and prayed no one else brought it up, either. Perhaps he had decided that she was, in fact, too wild and unpredictable, too flighty and prone to weeks on end in the wilderness. But hadn't he known that about her from the start? It made her feel ill, to think how painfully she missed his gentle hands and soft voice. Better to steel her innards once more, to bite her teeth together and turn her heart to stone for a little while.
She hardly recognized herself sometimes. Once the loud and merry voice in any room, she was quieter now, more observant, more thoughtful. Less trustful of others. She found herself eyeing people, listening to the tones of their voices, watching their expressions. Looking for reasons not to believe that they were who they appeared to be.
On the sun-spattered rock in the water, she closed her eyes. Then swiftly opened them again. It was too easy to sink into her mind without the bright sun and swaying branches to keep her in the present. She moved her hands, spreading her fingers wide over the surface of the water. The tiny, sloshing sounds were pleasant and reassuring.
There was the man who called himself a bard. He reeked of kindness. His tongue was certainly poetic enough to shore up his claim about who he was. He was intriguing, and intrigue was worrisome. He was pale-ish and tall and apparently prone to nasty, summer colds. And there was the boy who was always hovering about him. Something felt odd about that guardianship, but she couldn't say what. She liked it when his eyes found her and when he'd speak to her and say her name. He used her name a lot. It felt tricky. Intentional.
Upon the boulder, her spine stiffened. Her torso arched up, breaching the water's surface, and she let out a throaty, ragged groan of vexation.
"You aren't working!" she muttered, glaring up at the perfect, pretty forest.
