(A/N: Thanks for all the feedback! Sorry for the length of this chapter. Also the chapters should be more eventful from now on. Sorry for the really long beginning, and thanks to those who are still reading!)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I eventually fall asleep sometime during the night, and I have just the slightest feeling I was drawing, because there is a pencil near my right hand, and a now crumpled sheet of parchment in the other.
The bright sun streams through the windows, blinding my eyes as I emerge from under the sheets. I glance drowsily at the clock and decide it might just be too early to be up, so, like any other person would, I close my eyes once more.
The next time I wake, it is not because of a sharp pointed pencil jabbing my side (that malevolent writing utensil!), but only my mother gently shaking me. My eyelids flutter open just as I hear her whisper, "Happy birthday, Willow." I shoot up so quickly, that I almost fall off the bed for the second time in two days.
"Thanks!" I say with zeal. My mother's presence can only mean one thing – we are going to the woods!
I rapidly jump up from my matress and get dressed. As I finish, my mother is laughing. "That was record speed." she says. I nod, a little surprised myself. I unlock the chest at the foot of my bed and retrieve my bow from it's home
Once the weapon is safe in my hands, we wordlessly walk downstairs and out the door.
The temperature outside is perfect, right in between hot and cold. I try my best to enjoy it, keeping in mind that such a thing won't last for long.
The meadow is especially beautiful this morning. Flowers dot the field, emerging up here and there between the numerous tufts of grass. Everything is also doused in dew soaking all clothing from my knee down by the time we reach the edge of the woods.
As we enter the shady refuge of tree branches, small animals quickly scuttle out of our way, frightened by us humans. I begin to make my way towards the lake – the place in which we usually go – when my mother abruptly stops me. "We are going somewhere different today." she informs while gesturing for me to follow her down a path entirely foreign to my eyes.
It seems as though we walk for ages until, finally, we come to a small clearing surrounded by blackberry bushes and over looking a jaw-dropping scene of the valley. We take a seat in the soft grass, our backs up against a large boulder.
I am gathering a small handful of blackberries, when I hear my mother begin to sing:
"Down in the valley, the valley so low,
Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.
Hear the wind blow dear, hear the wind blow.
Hang your head over, and hear the wind blow."
She pauses for a moment and that's when we hear it, – the voice behind us, "Hello Catnip."