❛in which they grow to love and learn❜
Briar Desilva hated. She hated the Cursebreaker and the High Lord of Spring. She hated her mind and she hated her body. She hated the memories that danced beyond her reach and the past that was and always has b...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"once upon a dream"
❀❀❀
LEATHER CLUNG TO HER SKIN, encapsulating her in muggy warmth, growing hot underneath the blazing sun. Briar had only just put them on a few minutes ago and already she was wondering why in the world the warriors of the Night Court wore them. She had practically become a hot rock the moment she stepped outside.
The mix of soil and grass she had been laying on was not doing her any favours, either - the dirt had become warm as well, a bed of heat beneath her back. Spring was unusually warm this year. Nevertheless, there was that ever-present tingling in her brain - the tingling that said hello. we are here. we are growing now.
To her left, tiny green seedlings had sprung from the soil, fresh and soft and lively. Below her was nothing - Elain was planning to transplant a bush or two to the area.
The female was shaping up to be quite the gardner. She was receptive to all of Briar's advice, even the tidbits that sounded far-fetched and she made a face at, and after requesting to hear about dryads, she had seemed to adore them just as much as Briar did.
In the far corner of the yard, there was a tall oak - a dormant dryad. Briar had only really realized just the other day. Dryads, when they want, are excellent are remaining unfound. You will find them when they allow you to. When you have peeked their interest, when you have shown yourself to be friend rather than foe, a nurturer of the earth.
They had an inclination for music. Ever since Briar had whispered the secret to Elain, the brunette had hummed and hummed throughout the garden until her voice sounded coarse. Maybe she would like to hear it, she had said.
The dryad was male and old ( it was always easy to tell, just based upon the feel of that tingle in her brain ), but Briar did not mention it. She had a feeling the old male was enjoying the company - lilting song just within his reach, fuzzy within his dormancy, a dream within his sleep, a distant song heard from underwater.
Elain was a plot away, now, barefooted and hauling a blue watering can from sapling to sapling, row to row. Inevitably, when she passed Briar on her way to the large barrel of water beside the townhouse, dirty water would splash from the can to Briar's face.
She wiped it off every time. Elain was too focused on her humming, anyways, no matter how off-key it was.
On the days that Briar felt particularly happy, she let her fingers brush against the leaves of the smaller saplings, eyeing them as they brightened and quirked up, a newer shade of green.
