Isa

Oh sweet memories, these visions, these echoes of long past. They flicker before your eyes like rain, where each crystalline drop holds a certain image, a feeling, a sound, a smell, or everything all at once. Some come and go quick as a flash of lightning, while others linger in your view for what feels like eternity.

I envied Waelden for his ability to sleep. My mind was still more active than I wished as the small hours approached, but he slept as if he hadn’t a care. That was not true. After speaking with him of Isa, he had much to ponder.

I am tired. I grow frailer by the day.

Not devastatingly so. Nay, the weakening moves in small steps. But something I find normal one day, may be more exhausting the next; may be undoable the following week. 

“There is no rule that troubles only come to us one at a time,” I heard Northgyth say. “Indeed, we have troubles aplenty now. But Yllfa, ah, I must try and unravel the threads that seek to bind her if she is to emerge as the woman she needs to be.”

The trees were so tall and menacing, the undergrowth so heavy and dark that they had been something of a hindrance even for the silver furred she-wolf, and her small ‘magic’. Threatening, foreboding, presenting a nigh impenetrable shield-wall against any ‘outsider’, there was such bitterness in the air, that even Isa had to think twice before continuing. 

(Continued from Book of Days:Book of Days: Reading an Entry )
 

“I want to write something for you, Ethel. A sort of secret between you, your papa and me. I know you and I have joked about it in the past. But I have to tell you …

Music