A Transitory Peace
There were men in her forest. She did not know who they were yet—templars, bandits, settlers—but she was not about to stay and find out. The hawk had seen them first, pushing through the trees with confident strides. 'Twas no matter, they would be gone before they got close.
Dusk was creeping through their house, washing out the colors as the sounds of the birds grew faint and still. The little one watched her with curiosity as she packed.
"Where are we going, mama?" He sat on their bed, his legs crossed, as he summoned a wisp of magic to make his pinecone march across the rugged terrain of the blankets.
"Somewhere new. 'Twill be a grand adventure, just like in those silly stories you are so fond of." She chose his warmest clothes, leaving the ones that were becoming threadbare in the bottom of the drawer. Winter was not far off now. The shoreline of the nearby stream was outlined each morning in thin, crisp sheets of ice.
The pinecone climbed over the small hill of his foot and paused at the summit. "Will we go to a city? I should like to see a castle."
Morrigan stifled a chuckle, knowing how offended he became when he thought she was laughing at him. "No, little one. We will see a city some day, you have my promise, but, for now, we will find another forest to hide us." She tucked a spare set of robes and a small box into the middle of the rucksack.
"Why do we hide? The chevaliers in my book are very brave. I could be very brave, too." He sat up straighter, pushing out his chest.
"I know you are, but we need time." She stopped to look at him, her innocent boy with hair like a raven's wing, his father's eyes, and the soul of an old god thrumming deep within. "Your power is still mostly dormant. There will be plenty of time for you to be brave."
He sighed and toppled the pine cone with his finger. It rolled down to rest in front of him, inert once more. "I do not want to wait." His lower lip trembled and he began to crumble the pine cone into bits with his fingers.
Morrigan selected a handful of vials and poultices and wrapped them carefully in long strips of cloth. "I know." There was no reasoning with him in this mood. She watched his methodical destruction as she nestled each precious bundle into its proper place. The small room was growing darker and she lit the candle on the dresser with the tiniest whisper of her power. It flared to life, an orange beacon chasing away the shadows.
When she had finished, she sat down next to him on the bed. He didn't meet her eyes, but poked at the fragments that now littered the blankets. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, ignoring his resistance until he melted into her embrace with a muffled sigh. He inched back into her lap and she pulled him close, holding him like he was still a tiny babe, although his legs draped over hers now. His hair smelled like pine and wood smoke as she pressed a kiss to the top of his head.
"Mama?"
"Yes, little one?"
"Must we always run? Have we done something bad?" He toyed with the edge of her robe.
"No, we have done nothing wrong. Men fear that which they do not understand. 'Tis a weakness bred into them, but one that is easy to exploit."
The boy nodded, and then paused. "So, why do we not fight, drive them away?"
"We will when you are older, but you must have time to grow first. Then, they will bow before us and we will live as we please." He was getting sleepy, ever so slowly heavier in her arms as he relaxed.
Morrigan shifted him out of her lap and stood, ignoring his murmur of protest. She pulled the covers back—a tiny shower of destroyed pine cone scattering everywhere—and then tucked the blankets back in around him. She kissed his forehead.
"Hush now, little one. There is no need to fuss. Be still."
"Good night, mama." He watched her with slow blinks as she smoothed back a tendril of hair that had fallen across his face.
She let her magic flow into her fingertips and blew on them gently, letting a phosphorescent blue settle on the fragments that covered the top of the blankets. Twinkling like miniature azure fireflies, they drifted into the air on an unseen breeze, filling the room with stars. She blew out the candle and the boy smiled, reaching a hand into the glittering darkness.
"Good night, little one." Morrigan slung the half-filled pack over her shoulder. There was still packing to be done.
Someday, they would stop running. But, not today.