fic: A Different Friend [G]
Title: A Different Friend
Author: A Lanart
Rating: G
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Davis-Panzer Productions own this concept of immortality.
Siannon O'Niall however is mine.
No copyright infringement intended, no profit made
Written for consci_fan_mo Day 16. It also uses a prompt from my occhallenge table, which is here (Prompt: Spring). I'm sure they didn't mean this sort of spring, but hey, it's my OC and my interpretation!
~*~
The frost-rimed grass crunched underfoot as Siannon scrambled down the hill into a little pocket of history. The yew tree was old, far older than her, and the tiny spring it guarded was even more so. Yet they endured. Hidden from plain sight and so protected from the hustle and bustle of modern life, the ancient sentinel continued to do its job.
Someone had been here before her. The spring had been cleared of the detritus of autumn and early winter, the water welling up through stones uncluttered by windblown leaves and earth, clear and cold. On a flat rock nearby were the remnants of a burnt out candle and a circle of greenery, the holly and ivy still lustrous and bright. She smiled to herself; they were old traditions and she was always glad to see that they were remembered by someone other than herself. Not that she was surprised; the bones of this land were *old* and blood and bone never - quite - forgot. She bent and dipped a hand into the spring scooping up a palmful of icy water, took a sip and scattered the remaining drops over the wreath of winter greenery with a whispered blessing. Drying her hands on her coat she stepped back to take in the scraps of cloth tied to the old tree, some were faded now from their summer brightness but new ones had been added. People always had things they wanted to wish for, and this place protected and cared for those wishes much as it had when she first came here so many hundreds of years ago. Siannon wormed her way through the foliage until she reached the trunk of the ancient tree and climbed until she reached a branch that was a comfortable perch. Settling her back against the trunk she began to sing, telling the tree the story of the past year so the world didn’t entirely pass it by. The branches shivered softly around her as she finished, like murmuring voices discussing what she had told them. She leaned her head against the soft bark, and closed her eyes remembering other years and other songs, letting the gentle peace of nature sink into her heart and soul.
Eventually she had to leave. Winter took pity on no-one and she had to get back up the hill while there was still light to see. Though a fall wouldn’t kill her permanently, freezing to death would put her out of action for a while and she couldn’t afford that. She had too many responsibilities in the here and now and she could only forget for a short time. She slithered back down to the ground and patted the trunk fondly.
“I’ll be back soon,” she said and the branches seemed to whisper fondly in reply as if they were acknowledging the truth of that. With a last brush of her fingers over the smooth bark she left, one more piece of her soul now in its protection, held close in the embrace of another ancient being and safe for as long as the place endured; just a different sort of friend.
Author: A Lanart
Rating: G
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Davis-Panzer Productions own this concept of immortality.
Siannon O'Niall however is mine.
No copyright infringement intended, no profit made
Written for consci_fan_mo Day 16. It also uses a prompt from my occhallenge table, which is here (Prompt: Spring). I'm sure they didn't mean this sort of spring, but hey, it's my OC and my interpretation!
~*~
The frost-rimed grass crunched underfoot as Siannon scrambled down the hill into a little pocket of history. The yew tree was old, far older than her, and the tiny spring it guarded was even more so. Yet they endured. Hidden from plain sight and so protected from the hustle and bustle of modern life, the ancient sentinel continued to do its job.
Someone had been here before her. The spring had been cleared of the detritus of autumn and early winter, the water welling up through stones uncluttered by windblown leaves and earth, clear and cold. On a flat rock nearby were the remnants of a burnt out candle and a circle of greenery, the holly and ivy still lustrous and bright. She smiled to herself; they were old traditions and she was always glad to see that they were remembered by someone other than herself. Not that she was surprised; the bones of this land were *old* and blood and bone never - quite - forgot. She bent and dipped a hand into the spring scooping up a palmful of icy water, took a sip and scattered the remaining drops over the wreath of winter greenery with a whispered blessing. Drying her hands on her coat she stepped back to take in the scraps of cloth tied to the old tree, some were faded now from their summer brightness but new ones had been added. People always had things they wanted to wish for, and this place protected and cared for those wishes much as it had when she first came here so many hundreds of years ago. Siannon wormed her way through the foliage until she reached the trunk of the ancient tree and climbed until she reached a branch that was a comfortable perch. Settling her back against the trunk she began to sing, telling the tree the story of the past year so the world didn’t entirely pass it by. The branches shivered softly around her as she finished, like murmuring voices discussing what she had told them. She leaned her head against the soft bark, and closed her eyes remembering other years and other songs, letting the gentle peace of nature sink into her heart and soul.
Eventually she had to leave. Winter took pity on no-one and she had to get back up the hill while there was still light to see. Though a fall wouldn’t kill her permanently, freezing to death would put her out of action for a while and she couldn’t afford that. She had too many responsibilities in the here and now and she could only forget for a short time. She slithered back down to the ground and patted the trunk fondly.
“I’ll be back soon,” she said and the branches seemed to whisper fondly in reply as if they were acknowledging the truth of that. With a last brush of her fingers over the smooth bark she left, one more piece of her soul now in its protection, held close in the embrace of another ancient being and safe for as long as the place endured; just a different sort of friend.