Clover willow's Arc

Chapter 18 of 20

Clover lay in the guardian's arms beneath the bound willow. The tree held its bloom, quiet now, its colored leaves glowing steady. But the little white dragon that had saved her drooped on the bark. It had poured its light into the wood to spare her. Now its wings sagged. Its silver sparkle dimmed to almost nothing. It made a small sound, thin and tired. The guardian's head turned toward it. Clover felt him go stiff. "It gave too much," he said. He set her down against the roots, gentle but fast. "It's fading. I have to help it." His hands were already reaching for the dragon. Clover grabbed his sleeve. "Wait," she said. Her voice came weak. "I have nothing left to give it. And you—you can only heal wounds. It isn't wounded. It's spent, like I am." She knew that emptiness. No herb or root fixed it. "Water. The pond gave me back half. It might do the same for the dragon." The guardian looked from her to the dragon. She saw the old fear in his face. He hated to leave her side. "You can barely sit up," he said. "Then carry it, not me," she said. "Go. Please. It chose you. Don't let it fade because you stayed." A rush of wings answered before he moved. The great winged buck landed in the meadow, its pearl coat bright against the dusk. It had carried Clover to the pond once. It lowered its head to the guardian now, offering its back. The guardian scooped the dragon into his palm. He looked back at Clover one last time, torn. "Go," she said again. He climbed onto the buck. It rose on six white wings and carried him toward the pond. Clover watched them shrink into the trees. Then she was alone under the willow, empty and cold. Silver dust drifted down beside her. Lunaria Starwhisper settled on a low branch, her four wings folding. Blue flowers had bloomed in her long hair when the tree calmed. Now they closed again. "You sent him away," she said softly. "He'd have wasted his strength trying to fix what can't be fixed by fixing," Clover said. "I know that emptiness. Water is the only cure." Lunaria studied her. "You gave up the one time he could not leave you. For a creature that isn't yours." Clover pressed her hand to the warm bark. "It stayed for him when it didn't have to. I won't let it pay for that." The fairy nodded slowly. Golden butterflies drifted from the willow's flowers, their heart-shaped wings dusting pink light over the meadow. "Then wait," Lunaria said. "And hope the pond gives back enough." Clover waited. Night came down. Far off, wings beat the air. The buck returned, the guardian on its back. In his hands the little dragon stirred, its silver glow bright once more. It had come back. But the guardian's face was grim, and Clover knew the pond had cost him something to learn.