Secret Garden
No one ever comes to the upper reaches of the Citadel, up past the baffles that filter the dust from the lower levels. No one knows of the abandoned tower on the far southern end of the ramparts, sheltered in the lee of the cliffs. No one knows where it is she disappears to for hours at a time, to tend the living wonder she keeps hidden here.
She has brought each plant here from far distant lands, tucked into the secret pockets of her voluminous robes. Some are simple grasses that flower but a few days a year, tiny white flowers the size of a grain of rice. Others are mosses she has brought from the sea cliffs, gently nurtured to maintain their glorious reds and golds and greens. She has one broad leafed plant that offers up delicate pitcher shaped flowers in a muted shade of blue, like the sky after rain. Another tray contains various herbs and another fruiting plants, berries and the like.
She brings them water from the reservoirs, tucked up in the fibres of her robes, clinging like dew. She calls to it and the fog flows from her gown to gather around her. She bends, cupping her hand to scoop up handfuls and form them into clouds. Little grey sheep that give up their rain, precious water for her garden.
It's enough to put her head beneath the Hawk's sword, this water hoarding. This frivolous waste of resources. But she does it anyway. Not because he sees fit to shackle and chain every other inch of her life. Not because he expects her to be at his beck and call on a moment's notice. Not because he learned the only way to compel her obedience was to hold her family hostage and threaten them with death. No, though it is a sweet mouthful of revenge to know he would be enraged if he ever discovered this place, that is not why she does it.
She does it simply because it pleases her.
And now she returns here, carefully stripping away the leaf detritus, for the plant's health and so that one dry leaf does not reveal her secret. She returns here to think.
A secret smile ghosts across her lips. Sky farer, healer, dark haired and sloe eyed. What use has she for a man in her life? None, simply put.
Oh, but how he pleases her.
She has brought each plant here from far distant lands, tucked into the secret pockets of her voluminous robes. Some are simple grasses that flower but a few days a year, tiny white flowers the size of a grain of rice. Others are mosses she has brought from the sea cliffs, gently nurtured to maintain their glorious reds and golds and greens. She has one broad leafed plant that offers up delicate pitcher shaped flowers in a muted shade of blue, like the sky after rain. Another tray contains various herbs and another fruiting plants, berries and the like.
She brings them water from the reservoirs, tucked up in the fibres of her robes, clinging like dew. She calls to it and the fog flows from her gown to gather around her. She bends, cupping her hand to scoop up handfuls and form them into clouds. Little grey sheep that give up their rain, precious water for her garden.
It's enough to put her head beneath the Hawk's sword, this water hoarding. This frivolous waste of resources. But she does it anyway. Not because he sees fit to shackle and chain every other inch of her life. Not because he expects her to be at his beck and call on a moment's notice. Not because he learned the only way to compel her obedience was to hold her family hostage and threaten them with death. No, though it is a sweet mouthful of revenge to know he would be enraged if he ever discovered this place, that is not why she does it.
She does it simply because it pleases her.
And now she returns here, carefully stripping away the leaf detritus, for the plant's health and so that one dry leaf does not reveal her secret. She returns here to think.
A secret smile ghosts across her lips. Sky farer, healer, dark haired and sloe eyed. What use has she for a man in her life? None, simply put.
Oh, but how he pleases her.