Freya's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The rain stopped by morning. Freya stood outside her willow tree, ready to search the forest again. But she stopped at the door and looked at her hands. Yesterday the sparrow had shivered the whole flight home. She had held it against her chest, and still its wing had jostled with every beat of her wings. She could carry one small bird. She could not carry a fox, or a deer, or anything that fought against her grip. Any animal she found today might arrive home worse than she left it. Her black cat slipped out through the door. Its long coat shone where the light touched it. The cat walked a few steps, stopped, and looked back at her. It wanted her to follow. "I can't just carry them in my arms," she said. "I need something to hold them steady." The cat led her to a wide patch of lavender near the roots. The purple blossoms stood tall on their slender stems. The cat pawed at the base, then bit a stem and pulled. It tore loose in a long, tough strip. Freya knelt. She pulled a stem herself. It held her weight when she tugged. She understood then. She could weave the stems into something. A basket. A soft bed she could carry. She gathered an armful and sat cross-legged in the wet grass. Her small purple dragon fluttered down from the branches and landed beside her. It watched her fingers with bright blue eyes. Freya bent the stems and looped them over and under. Her first tries fell apart. The strands slipped free and sprang loose in her lap. She started again. This time she soaked the stems in a puddle first, and they turned soft and easy to bend. She wove a flat base, then curved the sides up. The little dragon breathed a thread of warmth across the weave, and the stems dried tight in place. By afternoon she held a shallow basket lined with soft lavender heads. She pressed her palm into it. The bottom did not give. Freya cradled the basket to her chest and beat her wings. It rode against her without slipping. Inside, a wounded animal would lie still and cushioned, walled from the wind. She landed and set it down, breathing hard, grinning. "Now I can bring them home," she said. The cat sniffed the basket and turned away, satisfied. Freya tied a strap of woven stems across her shoulders so her hands stayed free. She looked toward the trees. The forest was wide, and she did not know where the hurt ones hid. She had a way to carry them now. She still had to find them. She stepped past the last of the lavender and into the shadow of the wildwood, the empty basket ready on her back.