“How does it look?” asked the spriggan.
“Very festive,” said Alison.
The week before Winter Solstice offered Alison a welcome reprieve from the turmoil of wedding planning.
Having already sorted her Solstice gifts, she welcomed the chance to wrap them in peace while the others frantically completed preparations for the day.
“I’ve never had so much time to get things done before,” she told Willow as she wrapped a tiny bow around the small box that held Keir’s present. “I was never able to take more than a day or two off from number-crunching. It’s a busy time at year end. I was always the one rushing around the shops at the last minute, buying whatever they had left with little thought to how it would be received.”
“That sounds awful,” said Willow. She was lounging in a bed Alison had made from a wicker basket and a thick tartan blanket close enough to the fire to feel its warmth, but not so close as to singe her lovely fur.
“It was awful,” said Alison. “But it was the only way to get by.”
Keir still wasn’t back from checking in on his patients by the time she had finished, so she retrieved the poetry book and set about filling in some of the blank pages.
“I feel like I haven’t written enough about summer. What’s your favorite thing about summer, Willow?”
Willow scrunched her tabby brow, thinking hard. “Dragonflies,” she said, finally. “They’re the absolute best tochase. They often manage to bring a fish to the surface when they land in the water. It’s double the treats.”
Alison wasn’t sure about the relatability of fishing with live dragonflies as bait, but chasing insects in summer might do more generally. “Thanks.”
“Did you write anything about the wedding yet?”
Alison shook her head. “My poems aren’t that personal.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think my poems are good enough for all that.” Alison had written poetry inspired by events in her life, but nothing that intimate.
“Then you’re not going to write something for the wedding?”
Alison laughed. “The last thing I want to do at my wedding is force everyone to listen to something I wrote. We’re there to celebrate our marriage, not to listen to me ramble.”
“If you say so. But you’ve never written anything for Keir? Or about him?”
“I love him too much to do that to him.”
Willow hopped out of the basket and onto Alison’s desk. She sat in front of Alison, staring at her with big green eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t do that. Your poetry isn’t bad, you know.”
“You’re my worst critic! I don’t think I’ve ever written a line that you liked the first time.”
“That’s not true. I like plenty of your lines. And if anything, I’m your second worst critic.”
Alison was beginning to get annoyed with the cat. “How much poetry have you read anyway?”
Willow turned away from Alison. “Lady Willana liked poetry. She used to read it to Gwenla. So alright, I haven’t read any, but I’ve heard plenty.”
“Oh, Willow. I’m sorry,” said Alison. She was quite embarrassed at her outburst. “I just get a little sensitive aboutthe poetry. I didn’t mean to be rude.” She held out her hand, and Willow allowed her to give her conciliatory chin scratches.
“Well, all I was trying to say is that you don’t need to be so sensitive. You have a talent.”
“I appreciate that. It’s nice to hear it but harder to make myself believe it.”
“I didn’t mean to push you. I know you have a lot on your plate as it is with the wedding.”
With Rinka around to share some of the planning duties, Alison did have a bit of time back. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a terrible thing to write something for the wedding. Not a poem necessarily, that felt a bit trite. But something a bit more raw. Something she could share with Keir from the heart.
“You know what? You’re right,” said Alison, retrieving one of the blank pages. “I’ve never been fond of those stuffy old Unified Pantheon vows anyway. I’ll give it a go.”
