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The young mother smiled down at the tiny figure in her arms. It wrinkled its little face, the sparkling green eyes shining as it wiggled. She tickled its nose with a red, velvety rose, taking care not to scratch her baby with the thorns.
"I'm so lucky to have you," she whispered, feeling the truth in those words wringing her heart out like a washrag. Almost on reflex, her shadowed eyes moved and gazed softly on the empty chair next to the bed. This little one was something to remember her husband by, something she could keep even if he was gone.
Her breath quickened as memory bloomed in her mind. Colloren, smiling cheerfully, before the great pale bird had decended and swept him in its wings. It had left in its wake a single smooth feather...and Colloren was gone. She had never, could never tell a single soul about that moment. After all, who would believe her?
Sighing, for she sorely missed his gentle laughter, his warm tenor voice gliding through the cottage, she brushed the wispy hair away from her daughter's face. Standing almost fiercely, determined to live her life, she lovingly placed the child in the carved cradle.
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"Mother!" the girl cried.
The woman, now older by sixteen years, looked up from her washing. "Yes, Lianah?" Her slender hands, though worked red through hard living, paused over the soapsuds.
Excitedly, the girl bounded through the doorway. "Oh, Mother! The villagers say there's a beautiful bird flying above the great oak! All silky and pearly, they say!" Her smile was brilliant as Lianah imagined the sight. "Johnlin says its maybe as long as my hair!" She smiled at the thought, fingering her knee length, flame colored braid.
Her emerald eyes darkened with worry as her mother leaned hard against the heavy basin, fear lining her elegant face. "Mother?"
The woman, her blue eyes murky with pain and half-forgotton sadness, bit her lip. Was she crazy? There was absolutely nothing wrong...nothing at all. After all these years, surely memory had played tricks on her aging mind. She could not even be certain there was a bird in the woods that day, not anymore.
Thus she felt no more worry as she waved her daughter on, towards the village and the unknown danger.
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copyright sorka robinton 2001