(Untitled)

[avonlea_girl]

The door opens, and the warm air that wafts in brings with it the enticing scent of plum puffs and balsam and there is the dim sound of dishes clattering in a kitchen until the door swings shut once more and Anne seats herself at a table, with a plate of plum puffs and russet apples

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[white_flowers]

And company she may have, as a motherly-seeming woman in white watches this process with some amusement.

"Did you make all of those yourself, dear?" The light soft voice is warm and kindly.

[avonlea_girl]

Anne looks up with a smile.

"Oh, yes," she says, cheerfully. "They aren't quite as light as Marilla's, but I'm really quite a good baker. Would you like one?"

She pushes the plate towards the woman encouragingly.

"They're plum puffs."

[white_flowers]

"Why thank you, lovey-- so kind! Here, let me get us something to drink with them-- tea, perhaps, or a hot cider?"

Blodwen smiles at her, taking one of the delicacies from the plate-- although she does not taste it yet.

[avonlea_girl]

"Tea would be lovely," Anne replies, with a warm returning smile, "thank you. Perfect for a cold night like this, don't you think?"

[white_flowers]

"Oh, I am always fond of tea," she says, signaling to a waitrat. It takes a moment or two to find one, and then the one that does appear is rather precipitous in its haste to depart, return, and scurry away again.

Blodwen holds one of the cups out to the younger woman. "There you are, dear."

[avonlea_girl]

"Oh, thank you," Anne says, but her voice is a little distant, and her eyes are not on her companion at all, but on the pale boy at a table across the room, until she sighs, and pulls her gaze back to Blodwen, taking a sip of the tea gratefully.

[white_flowers]

Blodwen follows the glance, and there is a sudden gleam in her ice-blue gaze.

"Goodness, but where are my manners? I have not even asked-- what is your name, dear?"

[avonlea_girl]

"Anne Shirley," Anne answers, with a smile over the edge of her teacup.

"Of Avonlea, PEI."

[white_flowers]

It is as she thought, and the cruel exultation is barely hidden. Barely, behind a bright warm smile.

"Why, you are Amy's friend, and Caspian's-- and dear to my white raven, as well!"

[avonlea_girl]

Anne's smile is very bright.

"Amy is one of my dearest friends, and yes, I know Caspian but--"

Her smile grows politely confused.

"I'm not sure what you mean by white raven."

[white_flowers]

"Why, it is what his name means, dear, and white for his hair."

Smiling warmly, as if this should not be a surprise at all.

[avonlea_girl]

Anne pales, and her eyes grow suddenly wide.

"...You mean Bran."

Blinking, she looks down at her tea, wrapping her pale fingers about the cup, and shakes her head.

"Maybe I was, for a little while."

[white_flowers]

"He does not so easily give up caring for those he is close to," she says gently.

"And well it is that I should know."

She is searching for some weakness in the girl before her, watching with each word.

[avonlea_girl]

"No one who truly cares would easily give up," Anne says, staunchly, and if when she raises her head, her eyes move to the pale boy, they only linger there for the briefest of moments, and though they are sad, the gray of them is still clear and steady.

"How do you know Bran? Are you from the farm?"

[white_flowers]

"Oh, and he hides it well, does he not? He always has, when he is hurt..."

Blodwen looks at the young woman and then says,

"Why, and it is that I did not tell you, did I? I'm Mrs. Rowlands, dear. Blodwen Rowlands, of Clwyd Farm, and I helped raise Bran."

[avonlea_girl]

"She will tell you that she lived for many years at Clwyd Farm, and that she nearly raised me from a baby."

Anne freezes, and though her voice stays level, her eyes narrow almost immediately, flashing.

"He's told me about you."