The second sunrise is tauntingly bright as it comes and goes.
The spell does not work.
Later, the day molts into night as the sun sets. A dejected Merida lingers in the clearing, still in denial and unable to tear herself away.
After several hours of still darkness, a guard is sent to ensure the Princess's return to the castle.
Merida is not certain whether to consider the stony walls home anymore.
It has been three months when Merida visits her mother in the forest for the first time. Her mourning gown is black as the gnarled trees, which stand hard and unrelenting as she rides Angus through the trodden paths.
She finds the clearing based only on an internal feeling.
"How are ye doin', Mum?" she asks the bear halfheartedly as she dismounts, not truly expecting a reply.
The answering silence still hurts.
Back at the castle, her brothers wander about. They are often unhappy, but they are human. Why was it only her mum's soul that was snuffed out, to be lost among other unfulfilled fates?
The surrounding leaves whisper with wind as summer gasps its last feeble breath, making way for the oranges and reds of autumn. It is the girl's favorite time of year, usually—the transitional period intrigues her.
But now, Merida wants nothing more but to hear her mother's voice above the sighing breeze.
"I miss you," she sniffs.
The bear looks at her without a trace of hostility in its face. But there is no semblance of Elinor, either.
Merida rises from her cross-legged position on the boulder, and leaves the clearing with a heavy heart.
The next time the she finds the clearing, it is springtime and she is on foot. The air is light and alive as the woodland animals sing and chatter their approval at the mild weather. Once upon a time, she might have explored a ways from the path, eager to discover hidden flora.
But Merida no longer believes in the promise of a new day, and her walk is purposeful.
"Hi, Mum. Ye had a good winter?"
The bear is drowsy from the season, having only just come out of hibernation.
The budding trees cast rosy shadows over the dewy grass, but lately the Princess has ignored the beauty of nature.
"I'll be taking a husband next week," Merida says quietly. The bear surveys her before blinking once. It gives a sort of melancholy sigh, before meandering towards the rushing stream to hunt.
The small river glitters in the gentle morning light, and the whoosh of the water tortures Merida with memories from their day of catching salmon.
For the thousandth time, she swallows at the unfairness of her life. The chains of regret tighten around her, squeezing more guilt into her heart.
The Princess bids farewell. "Have a good day, then," she calls across the creek towards the bear.
She is past adolescence now; almost nineteen in years. But age is merely a number. Most days she feels older than the earth beneath her feet.
Soon, her pattering footsteps fade as Merida takes the forest path back to the castle.
Winter's blizzards are frequent and furious in the Highlands. It is some time before Merida reaches the patch of bare land, where the sparkling snow has amassed in drifts. Her hair escapes from her thick hood, the vibrant red tendrils brilliantly contrasting against the white powder.
The bear is absent from the area, and Merida remembers the habits of animals during the cold. She wonders briefly at her own sense of self-preservation, but here she is.
She roams the woods for a short time and comes across a nearby cave. The furry animal slumbers inside, and the Princess settles into a crouch several feet away.
"'Afternoon," she murmurs.
She has no intentions of waking the cavern's inhabitant, but it offers a comforting presence as she waits for the blustering winds to calm somewhat.
Her next words are spoken quietly.
"I became Queen today."
But her statement falls upon unconscious ears as the furry mass rumbles with sleep.
Merida feels goose bumps rise along her neck as a cold draft blows through. Before long, she pulls her cloak impossibly tighter, feeling the hardness of the crown atop her head, and ventures back into the elements.
She almost makes it out of the cave before the tears begin to freeze against her cheeks.
Months roll by, because life goes on.
The dead leaves crunch under Angus's hooves as Merida races the trail once more, her thick braid bouncing behind her in a flash of bright orange. The tall pines give way to the meadow and she carefully dismounts her trusted steed.
The bear stands on all fours, waiting. The animal allows Merida to pet its head.
The crisp autumn breeze stirs the folds of the woman's cloak, exposing her torso. Through her silken dress, the slight protrusion of her belly is apparent.
Today she says nothing for a long while.
A dull clenching sensation fills her chest that has nothing to do with her physical condition. Eventually, she thinks of something to say.
"It'll be a girl; I can feel it," she tells the bear.
As always, it gives no reply. Merida, however, clings to the hope that somewhere her mother's ghost observes their visits. Sure, she knows that she should let go of the past. It is the only way to shed the overwhelming ache of loss.
And yet she feels she cannot.
The young Queen bows her head. "She'll be named Elinor," she says softly.
The leaves are russet and golden as they fall through the air, gently twirling in the breeze to land on the browning grass. The trees they fall from look more and more like skeletons every day.
The chill wind promises harsh winters ahead.
Still, the daughter mourns.