The summer was over. The earth was changing into its fall colors and already the forest leaves had begun to fall, unbeknownst to the large estate that dwelled nearby. Now, only the warm wind was left to bid farewell to the animals and people who cared to heed its parting. And for these there were only a few; the strong bear on his way to restful slumber, the finicky squirrel gathering that first nut, and the young girl with auburn hair, who had forgotten her own name.
But deep thoughts were running through the mind of Danielle De Barbarac, and she could only manage a painful cry to the passing breeze. She had lost her love, her life, and her land to the summer wind, and so was glad to see it go. Good riddance to the times that change so quickly, with no warning and no regard for the lonely or browbeaten. And she was lonely and she was browbeaten, so much so that it burned to even shed one tear.
She meant to go far, far away but the peace of the river reminded her of freedom and so drifting aimlessly into the water, Danielle cast herself into her own haven of protection. She did not want to face the world that hated, cursed and fled from her. In the water there were no chores, no commitments, no debts. She could be herself and no one would cry foul.
The cool stream brought relief to her swollen skin, and soon she forget her aches and wounds, both inside and out. She swam and she swam and she swam until all was soon but a dream in her far from fairy tale world. She even tried to forget his name, his smile, and his touch. She had to, because there could be no way for a fish to love a bird. A fish had no choice but to remain in the water, and that was where she was and that was where she wanted to be.
How foolish she had been this last fortnight! How childish, how dramatic, how ridiculous! Thinking she could overcome the centuries of tradition and heritage to love a man so detached from her place and stature! She was servant girl, now a slave girl, and nothing more, while he was the Prince of France, born to do great things, and crowned to achieve them all.
She had been happy, though, during those last days of rapture. A whirlwind of colors, tastes, feelings and emotions overwhelmed her suddenly as each memory presented itself, clear and crisp in the morning sun. She had been dazzled into thinking she could be something greater than what destiny delivered to her because was it not injustice that she, so hardworking and so passionate, should live a barren life? Did not she deserve the joy she had read about in books and the elation she knew possible? She had been flying—yes, truly flying!—during her days with his majesty, her Henry, but she did not realize that though her head was in the clouds, her feet were still attached firmly to the ground.
The sun, gaining confidence with each passing hour, now hung high above the tree tops. The day looked promising for the forest, so aged and antediluvian, that a few of the animals emerged from their habitat to warm themselves in the bright light. Danielle reached the edge of a minute isle the river enclosed and nearly collapsed on the soft, pleasant sand. She had not swam long, but the constant bleeding of her heart had finally taken its toll and drained her energy and being. The need to be far away was surpassed by the need to think, though thinking brought more pain.
A small bird landed in the sand next to Danielle, and she gave him a small smile as he looked upon her. The chaffinch's sharp scrutiny reminded her of someone, but she tried to forget who. He bobbed up and down lightly, his fine feathers ruffled by the wearisome wind. He was a rare shade of blue, so dark and polished that he looked royalty among the common swallows and jays.
He began to sing a lovely song, one he had learned from the elder birds, and one he did not know well. He tried, so very much, to stand out from the rest of the animals concertos, to try to win her attention. Danielle followed his movement with her eyes but forgot him in her head. He pranced slowly, steadily, and smoothly but when Danielle tried to catch him he flew from her, an indignant chirp sounding in her ears. Even the royal birds wanted nothing to do with her.
Although she had been cast aside as nothing, Danielle knew she was more. The favor of the king of France or the king of birds made no difference to her. She worked as she always had, and dreamed as she always dreamed. She continued to exist though society forgot her and it was her headstrong will that allowed her to wake each morning, revived and resilient.
My heart may have broken but my will lives on.
The world might despise her, the royal family and her own family may find her insufferable, but she was still Danielle De Barbarac. She ached from within, but there was no one to see it. There was no one to comfort her, to console her, because the one person who may have been able to was the one who had broken her heart.
The spirit of the forest was the very essence of life. The animals and the trees all lived together in harmony, and it was their living that made the forest an ancient house of nobility and grandeur. But the heart of the forest was something else. It was age and wisdom, it was pride and dignity, it was honor and courage. Danielle could not even feign these qualities, but she still had spirit because she was still alive.
This spirit, however, placed her in a great predicament. She was a slave to her own spirit and to another man, a man who had just caught her. The summer wind had betrayed her again.
Pierre Le Pieu called to her from a world far away, but Danielle heard his anger and with no choice, clamored into his boat and back to shore. The water understood her passing and made her trip manageable. Reaching the forest edge, the ground itself seemed to steady her until her spirit swelled and she could walk pass the trees, still strong, still wise but not whole.
Her prince had not rescued her from a dragon or from heartache, and so she was forced to continue as before, shaping her own ever after until then.