"Momma, look! What a pretty tree," a little girl cooed, pulling gently on her mother's sleeve as they walked around the local stores.
"Yes, love. It's beautiful. It's called a weeping willow," the mother replied, looking through delicate eyes at the tree her daughter pointed to.
"Weeping willow? But... why 'weeping'?"
"Look at it again, love," the mother said, crouching down to the little girl's height, "See how the branches droop and sway in the most gentle of breezes? Do you see the fragile silver leaves that turn their faces toward the ground?"
The little girl studied the tree and found what her mother said to be true. The silver leaves hung limply from the grey-toned branches that reached to the frozen earth. Beneath the branch cover, the ground was plain dirt and frost, the tree roots that stretched deep also supplied an almost bench-shaped seat. "Yes, Momma, I see."
"Well, the leaves fall like a trail of tears when you cry. And if you ever cry, you can hide under a willow tree, love. It's said that they comfort you. That's why they're called weeping willows."
"...That's so sad." The little girl held a small frown as she looked at the beautiful tree once again. A sad beauty, it was. That description fit it perfect, she thought. Her vibrant green eyes looked up at her mother as the woman let out a sigh.
"Yes, love. I suppose it is a bit sad."
The mother stood again, taking a hold of her daughter's hand to continue walking. Her own mother had told her, many years ago, that the willow tree was a place to find solace, a place of shelter and peace. As a child, she had imagined fairy-like creatures circling the branches and carrying crystals fit for a crown with them. Now, as an adult and parent, she knew that her mother had told her that for a reason. If ever she were to run away crying, her childish heart would take her to the willow tree, a place her mother was sure to always find her.
And now she had said the same to her own child, in hopes of offering a secret meeting place should her daughter ever lose her way.
The whole time they talked, the two were unaware of the silent pair of silver eyes watching them from between the branches. Her hair blended with the grey wood as she watched the mother and daughter walk away.
She'd heard their conversation and had studied them from her tree until they left.
Their conversation remained on her mind, replaying.
They'd said her name.
That was two years ago.
Two years felt like such a short time in comparison to hundreds of years. People had always said her name, but never once, in the five hundred years she'd spent as a spirit, had anyone truly believed in her.
And that was about to change.