Clover willow's Arc

Chapter 15 of 20

The wall was gone. But the guardian's hands would not settle. He rose from the rose arch and paced. The luminous rabbit stayed under the glowing blooms, calm as before. Clover watched him circle it. He had let himself believe she would stay. Now the belief pressed on him like a weight. He kept glancing at the rabbit, then away, as if it might vanish the moment he trusted it. "It's still here," he said. His voice cracked. "It won't leave. So what do I do with it?" "You let it stay," Clover said. "That's all." "I don't know how." He stopped pacing. "Every creature I ever mended walked out that grove. I learned to expect it. Staying is the thing I can't fix." A soft chime cut the air. Luna Silkwing drifted down through the vines, lime-green wings catching the morning light. The moth-sprite had helped Clover tend hurt things before, always gentle, always slow. Luna landed on the arch and folded her wings. "You're waiting for it to hurt," she said to the guardian. "So you can send it off healed. But it isn't hurt." Behind Luna came Pip Fuzzleton, tumbling out of the leaves on two short legs. The little creature's fur shifted pink to green as it moved. Pip climbed the rose vine and sat beside the rabbit, close enough to touch. It did not run. It leaned against the glowing fur and yawned. "See?" Clover said. "Pip stayed too. They all stay when the door is open." The guardian knelt slowly. He reached toward the rabbit. His hand shook. He was not reaching to heal. There was nothing to heal. He was reaching only to touch something he might lose. The rabbit pressed its head into his palm. Sparks lifted around his fingers. Something small burst from the roses. A tiny white dragon, no bigger than a bird, trailing sparkles as it flew. It circled the guardian's head twice, then landed on his shoulder and curled there. Uninvited. Unwounded. It simply chose him. The guardian went still. His breath caught. For eleven years he had touched only the broken. Now four creatures sat near him, whole, choosing to stay. And he did not fix a single one. "I want to keep it," he said. He looked at Clover. "Not because it needs me. Because I want it here." "Then say that to me," Clover said. "Not the rabbit." He took her hand. His grip was firm now, not shaking. "Stay," he said. "Not to help me. Not to heal anything. I want you here because I want you." It was the first time he had asked for something. Clover felt the change land in her chest like a stone dropping into still water. She had taught him to accept staying. He had learned. But now he had asked her to stay for good, out loud, and she had to answer with her whole life.