Clover willow's Arc

Chapter 12 of 20

The buck carried Clover over the grove, and she saw at once that something was wrong. The forest had gone mad with growth. Where the blight once rotted the roots, life now surged too hard. Vines climbed and wrapped every trunk. Flowers burst open in colors that hurt her eyes. Below her, one willow spun wild, its branches wheeling in the air, leaves flashing pink and green like sparks. The cure had done its work. Now the grove could not stop itself. The buck set her down near the guardian's tree. She found him in the thick of it. He stood shirtless, his glowing wings half-open, his light brown hair damp with effort. His hands pressed against a swelling root, pushing it back into the soil. Sweat ran down his chest. He did not turn. He did not see her. He was too busy holding the grove together. "You came back," said a small voice. Flower dropped from the wild willow and hovered by Clover's cheek. The fairy's flower crown had come loose. "He hasn't slept. The growth won't quit. He can't tame it alone." Clover watched the guardian strain against a vine as thick as her arm. He shoved it down, and two more rose behind him. He was losing. And he still didn't know she stood ten feet away. She had come tired, with half her power gone. She had wanted him to see her, to praise her steadier hands again. Instead she saw a man drowning in his own forest, too busy to notice she existed. So she stopped waiting to be noticed. She knelt and pressed her palms to the ground. Her strength was thin. She did not have enough to force the whole grove calm. But she did not need to force it. She had healed this soil. She knew its pulse. She reached into the growth and did not push. She asked it to slow. The wild willow stopped spinning. Its branches settled. The flowers eased shut. Around the meadow, vines loosened and lay still. The grove breathed out. Clover swayed, empty again, but the madness had passed. The guardian stumbled as the root under his hands went quiet. He turned, chest heaving, and finally saw her. "You," he said. His baby-blue eyes went wide. "You calmed it. I couldn't. I've fought it since dawn." "You were pushing," Clover said. Her voice shook. "It didn't need a fight. It needed someone to ask." He crossed the settled grass and took her hands in his. They were both worn to nothing. He looked at her the way she had waited eleven years to be seen. "I called for help," he said. "No one came. Then you did." Flower buzzed above them, quiet now. The grove held still. But the guardian's hands trembled in Clover's, and she felt how much the fight had cost him. He was weaker than she had ever seen him. And she was empty too.