Willow's End - Jera Skyspear
Elvish words/phrases linked to Glossary OR hover mouse to see translation.
Light on the Path

Jera Skyspear left the firehall after another enjoyable evening in Ashevathallion's company. She was still smiling as she stepped through the garden doors on this moonless night. The blue-black velvet was alive with stars. Jera knew it would be. She'd felt the skies clearing from an earlier threat of storm. In the dark of the moon tonight, the garden was mostly colorless with only a hint of light finding pale stone.

Jera stood in a small pool of light from the wall torches and stray light from the firehall windows. She extended her right hand, open and palm up, then cupped her hand and slowly swept it through the air. Within her palm, a glowing gathered and brightened. Her touch and concentration collected the light with as much ease and softness as catching the floating seeds of dandelions.

Now carrying her own torchlight of sorts, Jera proceeded through the garden. The soft glow hovering in her cupped hand wasn't very bright, but enough to see by, and Jera knew the way. Here and there she stopped to check the progress of Spring's new growth. The long-sleeping life always seemed to pop awake in so short a time and the renewal never ceased to give her joy.

Along the pathway, Jera knelt beside a new patch of night phlox. "Elenath," she whispered, as she gently touched the tiny white blooms resembling stars. When she stood up again, Jera looked from the phlox to the night sky and smiled. She felt a familiar warm rush of recognition, the essence of all things in union, reflecting from the heavens to the earth and back again, seamlessly. Every little reminder was welcome.

The path from Camelot's castle toward her own abode was so familiar that Jera invariably became lost in her thoughts. On her mind tonight was the mix of work to be done with Spring's return, orders for herbs to be filled, seedlings to tend, and so on. Interspersed between these thoughts were mental glimpses, bits of conversation, or the memory of companionable silences, all with Ashe. So long she had watched him only from a distance that it still seemed amazing to actually spend time with him.

Jera had been content to secretly observe Ashe with his nephew's family. Ashe certainly appeared to enjoy himself with them and Jera shared in that from the shadows. While she had often thought about stepping out to introduce herself, there never seemed to be a right time. It would have been an intrusion, she thought. She certainly had no wish to disrupt, so she attended with great stealth.

How few of her own kind she had even seen in many years, so few elven kind at all and even fewer of her own Sithryn ilk. Too long she had basically lived in isolation. So, on that day when she was gathering far afield of her usual grounds, she was quite surprised and even spellbound by the sight of one such as herself. He was sitting in a small clearing, telling a story to young children. She was very careful not to draw notice as she found a place within the woods to sit and listen.

Jera basked in every syllable of his voice, every gesture and expression, every nuance of his storytelling and his interaction with the younglings. Thereafter, she began to regularly search these woods for roots, herbs, berries and mushrooms, on the odd chance that she might see the other elf again. It took surprisingly few inquiries during her trading to find out who he was, Ashevathallion, kin to Camelot's Blackthorn.

Jera felt chills of memory and hope in Ashe's stories to the children. He reminded her of her own childhood and how she'd felt hearing such tales for the first time. He restored her by sharing the teachings with yet another generation. From Jera's way of seeing things, Ashe was part of the continuance, even the renewal, of their kind.

At last, Jera's reverie subsided as she came to a small pond backed by a rather large stone outcropping. Water trickled from invisible natural spouts in the upper rock and pooled in a water-hewn basin before spilling over to refresh the pond continually. Where the overflow traveled from there was known only to the will of water. Jera rounded to the right side of the pond and passed behind a curtain of willow branches. They were not yet burdened enough with leaves to weep over into the pond, but she knew they soon would be.

Hidden behind the huge old willow's curtain, was a wooden doorway wedged between this end of the watery rock formation and the earthen side of the full hillock. Being about half stone and half soil, the little hill made a fine sturdy dwelling. Jera thought of it as Willow's End, but it was just home.

Before going inside, Jera looked up once again, able to see small patches of starry velvet between the budding willow branches. She transferred the glowing light into her left hand then raised it to the sky and released it. The light dispersed, some swirling up like sparks from a stoked fire, while the rest just drifted apart enough to be no longer visible. The light she'd borrowed was unchanged, simply relocated.

Jera required no light to enter her home. She'd have to think back to know how many seasons upon seasons she'd lived at Willow's End, but right now, she was still smiling and thinking about an elf whose company she so enjoyed.

DHP © Apr 23 2002

NEXT in series
or Select From Menu