Yellowhair: An Elf Hollow Prequel

FOURTEEN | Yellowhair

Grief, when felt to the depth of its power, can tap itself out if fully explored. Strong souls require hearts to be clean, clear and free. One's grief may not help, if held and clutched hard. The sooner emotion has taken its rest, the less we must suffer—the more we are free to go on as need be.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Yellowhair

Unable to feel her hurt any more, Qello began to get anxious, instead. She needed to ready herself with more moving about. She attempted to hop, but then, abruptly, a deep sting came to remind her. Do not to get hurt! She went back to the ground and crawled unseen, after Krendal Offshaw out to the edge of the field to watch what he did. The only place she could reach on her knees was the softness of grass between the camp and the field. 

Each time Krendal came back, she'd see him return from far off and scuttle, fast, back to the mat, where he'd find her just sitting or lying and waiting. And when he went out, she'd follow again. Each time he went, he would go further, and so would she. Qello watched what he picked and how he worked, how he stood and how he put all that he found into his basket.

Sometimes, from the corner of her eye, Qello would glimpse a small flash of a red shirt from further up on the hill and remember again to check more for shadows. He's going to get hurt, Qello thought, anxious for the boy, but she saw no further signs that he was being hunted or followed. She only made out a far away dog and sometimes closer, she herself, scared an unaware rabbit, as she crawled on the ground in between plants.

She rested and stared at the sky, a vaster pale blue, as if the mountain wanted to feel itself open—the space in the world, up here at this height, was wider than home. She had to look further to find a new hawk, but nowhere in the great expanse of the world of high plains could she see one, in the beginning.

She searched for a while. It took her keen eyes. The hawk was far off. She didn't see buzzards. Are they still by the river or have they gone now? She swallowed. And what will that mean for Muma? The grass she was pulling sliced into her hand. "Mewoo!" She put the small cut to her mouth until the bleeding had stopped.

Perhaps the hawk had indeed drawn the buzzards away from her Mum! Maybe she's resting and waiting for me somewhere.

She picked some more plants.

"Oh, no. Be careful. That patch is not good—the ones where you are, there, right beside you!" Krendal Offshaw called from a small distance, over the field.

He's seen me! Qello panicked, unaware, until that moment, she had been spotted quite a bit earlier.

Krendal hurried to her. "They're not good ones, dear child. Don't touch those ones, ever. Be, be— ever— be careful."

I was learning more for survival, like you would too, Muma! She cried out inside, I only tried to do something of use.

Krendal drew closer. "You're getting most of them right. Look here, I'll show you how that one is different." He ambled towards her, wiping his brow.

Qello was tense, but nodded quickly, not sure what to expect. Is he angry?

Krendal was not looking at her. "You just gotta separate the plants some when they are not the clear healthy 'best of' choices. That way it's easy to be sure you are right."

He knows I was following him!—Or is he going to be mad I was picking his herbs?

Krendal, not pausing, plucked a plant with a tiny flower at the top. "See how the leaf joins down at the stem? Now, look at this one— It's not connected, right here. Can you see that?"