Beannacht
"It's your gift," she says as we sit among the branches of the oak I know as He Who Guards Me. She's not a woman, but a crow. A black stain among the verdant leaves. "Your blessing, if that's what you want to call it. I wouldn't say you're blessed because none of us are passing out good luck here and there. But it serves you well, so far."
As I often am when in the Otherworld, I'm dressed in my leathers with my sword at my side. I look down at my boots, scuffed from the rocks in the ground, the bark on the tree and the coarse grains of sand on the beaches. "My gift is being a bossy little brat?"
"Management," she says, though a smile comes across her mouth. One that makes my heart stutter. "Control. Anger restrained into work. Problem solving. I could go on, really, but being a bossy little bint does you a lot of good."
"I guess my mean personality adds in to that mix. You sure you didn't gift me with that, Crow Queen?" I swing my legs back and forth, careful not to hit any branches or leaves. I wouldn't want to hurt Him.
"I didn't give you that. You made that on your own. Maybe you gleaned it from your family. What I gave you is far more valuable." She leans forward and catches one of the bugs crawling up the side of the tree. She'd been watching it for a time.
"And that was?"
"A stubborn refusal to quit. The tenacity to keep going when the world is against you. You don't break down, you don't collapse and you never give in." The beady eye looks over at me, keeping me in place with a single twinkle of mischief. "You are the type who will fight until your death for those who you love, to keep them safe and to give them a better life. You're generosity isn't monetary; it's your life. You're willing to give from yourself to benefit others. That's your purpose. And, I suppose, your foolish blessing."
"So, I can help the good guys?" I catch a bug in my palm before she can get to it. She doesn't seem very amused.
"There are no 'good' guys. I thought you learned that years ago. There's only those who see things your way and those who don't. Morality is relative." She pecks at my hand and I drop my catch. The blood that flows over my fingers stains the leather gauntlets. "There certainly is evil in the world, though. And I don't think you'll be joining that group any time soon. Fomoire and their ilk. I don't even like the Fir Bolgs, and you're not about to be one of them."
"Lady," I say, glancing over with a smile, "you forget. My family's from Connacht."
---
For those that don't know, the Fir Bolgs, when they were forced to move to one province of Ireland, chose Connacht. This happened just a few days ago, when I got back from a conference in DC where I'd been watching 15 students. Talk about having to be bossy. And I was ruminating in His branches about how being bossy was certainly not getting me anywhere in life. She came to prove me wrong. And when I reflected upon it, I knew that yes, being bossy is definitely not the best trait but for where I am and what I do, nothing could help me more.
As I often am when in the Otherworld, I'm dressed in my leathers with my sword at my side. I look down at my boots, scuffed from the rocks in the ground, the bark on the tree and the coarse grains of sand on the beaches. "My gift is being a bossy little brat?"
"Management," she says, though a smile comes across her mouth. One that makes my heart stutter. "Control. Anger restrained into work. Problem solving. I could go on, really, but being a bossy little bint does you a lot of good."
"I guess my mean personality adds in to that mix. You sure you didn't gift me with that, Crow Queen?" I swing my legs back and forth, careful not to hit any branches or leaves. I wouldn't want to hurt Him.
"I didn't give you that. You made that on your own. Maybe you gleaned it from your family. What I gave you is far more valuable." She leans forward and catches one of the bugs crawling up the side of the tree. She'd been watching it for a time.
"And that was?"
"A stubborn refusal to quit. The tenacity to keep going when the world is against you. You don't break down, you don't collapse and you never give in." The beady eye looks over at me, keeping me in place with a single twinkle of mischief. "You are the type who will fight until your death for those who you love, to keep them safe and to give them a better life. You're generosity isn't monetary; it's your life. You're willing to give from yourself to benefit others. That's your purpose. And, I suppose, your foolish blessing."
"So, I can help the good guys?" I catch a bug in my palm before she can get to it. She doesn't seem very amused.
"There are no 'good' guys. I thought you learned that years ago. There's only those who see things your way and those who don't. Morality is relative." She pecks at my hand and I drop my catch. The blood that flows over my fingers stains the leather gauntlets. "There certainly is evil in the world, though. And I don't think you'll be joining that group any time soon. Fomoire and their ilk. I don't even like the Fir Bolgs, and you're not about to be one of them."
"Lady," I say, glancing over with a smile, "you forget. My family's from Connacht."
---
For those that don't know, the Fir Bolgs, when they were forced to move to one province of Ireland, chose Connacht. This happened just a few days ago, when I got back from a conference in DC where I'd been watching 15 students. Talk about having to be bossy. And I was ruminating in His branches about how being bossy was certainly not getting me anywhere in life. She came to prove me wrong. And when I reflected upon it, I knew that yes, being bossy is definitely not the best trait but for where I am and what I do, nothing could help me more.