Clover willow's Arc

Chapter 13 of 20

The grove held still. The wild growth had settled. But the guardian still gripped Clover's hands, and his knees buckled. He caught himself on a low root. Clover led him to sit at the base of the great willow, the one that had spun mad an hour before. Its branches trailed down around them like a curtain. Its leaves glowed soft blue and pink, calm now. For the first time, neither of them had a wound to fix or a crisis to stop. And Clover had no idea what to do. She had faced blight and overgrowth. She had healed a fawn and calmed a whole forest. But she had never just sat with him. She knew how to be needed. She did not know how to be wanted. Her hands, so steady over hurt creatures, now sat empty in her lap. The guardian leaned back against the trunk and closed his eyes. His wings drooped, dull with exhaustion. He said nothing. The quiet stretched long. Clover's heart pounded. She wanted to say something clever, something warm. Every word she tried felt wrong. So she stopped reaching for words. She did what she knew. She looked at him the way she looked at a tired creature. He was worn thin. His shoulders sagged. He had fought alone since dawn. Clover reached up and pulled a glowing leaf from the willow. She pressed it to his forehead, where sweat had dried. "Hold still," she said softly. "You're the one hurt now." He opened one eye. "I don't get hurt." "You do," she said. "You just don't let anyone see." His mouth twitched. Not a laugh. Almost. She wiped his brow with the cool leaf. Then she settled beside him, close, her shoulder against his arm. She did not push for more. She only stayed. The guardian let out a slow breath. His head tipped sideways and came to rest against her hair. His floppy ear brushed her cheek. He did not pull away. Neither did she. "I have watched over this grove for longer than I can count," he said. His voice was low and rough. "No one ever sat with me after. They come when they're bleeding. They leave when they're mended." "I'm not bleeding," Clover said. "No." He turned his head. His baby-blue eyes were near enough that she could see herself in them. "You're just here." They sat under the willow while the light faded. No task pulled at them. No danger loomed. Clover felt his breathing slow into sleep against her. She stayed awake and let him rest. She had learned the one thing she never knew. She did not have to earn him with a rescue. She only had to stay close and let the quiet be enough. And in the still grove, with his weight warm against her, she knew he had learned it too.