“A spirit, I thought,” I say quickly to put his fears to rest.
“Ah. A spirit of what?”
“I’m not sure. Something flighty. Bird? Bug? Wind? Perhaps… It was faintly there and disappeared without warning. Then reappeared…then gone again.” I dig out my grandmother’s threads, crossing to a nearby tree. The chase went on longer than I thought and my last marker is dangerously distant. As I tie a short length of gold around a lower branch, I let out a heavy sigh.
“We’ll find it again, I’m sure,” Evander offers optimistically.
The threads in my little folio continue to stare up at me. There’s still a good amount left…but they’ll run out eventually. I’ll have to make more, without Grandma.
“What is it?” Fallen twigs and leaves crunch under Evander’s foot as he takes a step closer.
I still don’t turn. A slightly sick feeling has lodged itself into my throat, making it difficult to speak. Evander approaches, but it’s not him I imagine drawing near. Instead, it’s a shapeless shadow of faceless gray. A mass that’s been haunting me for weeks now, sneaking up whenever I least expect it. Wrapping its tendrils around my throat and heart. Trying to pin my feet to the ground with roots that skewer through the meat between my toes. It’s heavy, and yet so ethereal that I can almost,almostforget it’s there. Especially when I insist all is well and keep my focus anywhere else.
“Faelyn?” He’s right behind me now. His hands rest on my shoulders, jarring me from the thoughts.
I shake my head, jostling myself back to the present. “Sorry, we should carry on.”
“No.” He doesn’t move, replacing his hands on my shoulders when I turn.
“No?” A frown tugs on my lips. I swallow. Somehow, his concerned expression has only made the knot in my throat worse.
“No,” he repeats again, gentler. “Tell me what has you so shaken?”
I sigh heavily, looking back at the folio that still rests in my hands. Open. Staring up at me. The thing that summoned that lurking shadow to the fore.
“I’ll have to make more threads—sooner rather than later—and it’ll be the first time I’m making them without Grandma,” I admit, surprised at how level I manage to keep my voice.
His brows lift briefly with surprise, and as they settle back into place, a slight smile rests on his lips. “You’ll do excellently, I’m sure.”
I run my fingertips over the threads. “There’s so much she never taught me. I had a lifetime with her, and it wasn’t enough time.”
“We could live two lifetimes with our elders and still feel there wasn’t time to gather their wisdom. By the time we have enough wisdom of our own to appreciate theirs, twilight has already settled upon them,” he says with a heavy tone. There’s a knowing sadness in those words.
He lost everyone he cared about, too. He knows this pain. If anyone could understand, it would be Evander, wouldn’t it? Yet, I can’t muster the strength to continue speaking.
He continues in my silence, “But I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”
“It’s not that I’m worried about doing it right…” I murmur.
“What is it, then?”
I close the sewing folio and slip it back into my bag. But I still can’t bring myself to look at him. Maybe a slow and steadying breath will help?
No. I still feel as jittery as before.
“Faelyn—”
“I’ll be doing it alone.” I jerk my face in his direction, feeling vulnerable the instant our eyes meet. I have given this man my body, and—dare I admit it?—pieces of my heart. But this is a part of me that isn’t lovely. That’s difficult and tender to touch. I’m afraid to offer this part of me to him for judgment. “She was always there; since the moment I took my first breath, she was there. She carried me into this world as I left my mother’s body. She held me when I mourned her loss. These are the first few weeks—months—that I have ever been without her.”
His arms tighten around my shoulders and he pulls me to him. Evander says nothing. The silence begs to be filled.
“I am no stranger to grief; my mother died when I was young. She went into the woods and never returned,” I say hastily, my breath catching on almost every other word. “I know she died—she wouldn’t have left us. Word was brought back of her passing. We mourned her together.”
“Together,” he echoes, emphasizing it for me more than him.
Together. The word continues to resonate in me. Louder and louder, rather than softer. “Yes…she was always there for me. And I knew she would leave. I knew the end was coming as it comes for us all… She would not want me to mourn—she told me as much—and I am trying so hard to be strong but…”
“You are strong,” he whispers in my ear. “Grief is not a simple or fast process. Every loss hits us differently.”
