Clover willow's Arc

Chapter 1 of 20

Clover Willow had loved the forest guardian for eleven years, and she had never once said his name. She didn't know it. She only knew the shape of him at dusk, high in the branches of the great willow, his glowing wings folded like a lantern behind his back. Every evening she brought her basket to the grove and pretended to gather herbs. Every evening she watched him watch the trees. He never looked down at her. She had begun to think he never would. Tonight she came with an empty basket and a plan that frightened her. She would climb the slope where the willow grew and stand where he could not miss her. She rehearsed a greeting under her breath. Her rabbit ears twitched at every sound. Her heart beat so loud she thought the whole grove could hear it. Then the crying started. It came from the ferns near the stream. Clover pushed the fronds aside and found a small foxcat curled against a root. Its fur was pale pink, its long tail tipped in white, and its back leg bent the wrong way. Dark eyes stared up at her, wet and afraid. She reached out slowly. The creature let her lift it. It weighed almost nothing, and it shook against her chest. She knew who healed the wounded things of this forest. She had watched him do it from far away for years. Clover climbed the slope with the foxcat cradled in both arms. The willow's leaves shifted color as she passed beneath them, blue to violet to green. Light sparkled along the vines. At the base of the trunk she stopped and looked up. He was there, one hand resting on a glowing branch. This time he looked down. "Please," she said. Her voice cracked. "Its leg is broken. I didn't know where else to go." He dropped from the branch without a sound. His wings caught the air and set him softly on the ground before her. Up close he was taller than she had imagined. His pale hair held threads of green. His eyes were the color of ice under a winter sky, and they were not cold at all. "Let me see," he said. His voice was low and steady. Clover held out the foxcat. Their hands met beneath its small body. Neither of them pulled away. He pressed his fingers along the bent leg, and the creature stopped shaking. "You carried it a long way," he said. He glanced at her, then back at the animal. "Most people run from broken things." "I couldn't," Clover said. He was quiet a moment. Then he nodded toward the willow. "Come. This will take the night, and I'll need your hands." Clover followed him beneath the shifting leaves. She was no longer a stranger he watched from afar. She was standing beside him now, and the night had only begun.