Starlight of a Moonbeam

The Sweetest Sunlight, Eight - Age 16 (Elena POV)

~ Flashback ~

"Why do they call them weeping willows?" I ask as I reach out a hand and clasp it around one of the hanging branches like it were a friend's hand.

"Because when it rains, the water drips off the hanging branches like teardrops. A good place to hide alone inside the tree's canopy. And an even better place to weep yourself."

~ End of Flashback ~

That was many years ago. But ever since, I've always associated the trees with a gloomy air. They were the place of tears and of sadness. The place to run to after a loss or a painful wound had been inflicted. And I avoided them as if in an attempt to remain happy. After Coen first brought me to the willow glade, however, I started to appreciate the trees instead of fearing them, or rather fearing the reason to be near them. But now I wish to weep again, and it's horribly fitting for the path that I've stumbled down.

Coen stands just inside the overhang of the big tree, our tree, looking at me with a worried and slightly confused expression where I lean heavily against the tree's trunk, too tired to stand, too shaken to sit, not voicing a single word.

I know I should say something soon. He's been giving me the gift of his silence as I try to find the next words. But I asked him to meet me here, and I'll have to say something soon.

Still, I remain silent and stare at the roots, the branches, the darkening clouds overhead, anything but him.

The rumbling clouds beat me to words as they crack and crumble in the evening sky, bringing with them a gust of wind filled with the promise of rain. And as if it had poured determination into my soul, I find the courage to look up and meet his chocolate eyes.

"I'm going to tell you a story." I say in a voice that I don't recognize as my own. Coen too seems to question my odd behavior, but simply nods let's me tell my tale.

I've never told anyone stories like this, apart from perhaps Fenrys when I was younger before- before we drifted apart... I almost don't know how to tell Coen the story, but somehow, in my life, whenever I haven't been able to speak with words I can with tales. So I will now, if only to find a way to finish our own.

"Once upon a time, in a village far poorer and hopeless than any other in the Kingdom there lived a woodcarver and his wife.

"The marriage was an unusual one as his wife Ara had come from another town, one much grander and wealthier than his, but the two fell in love and nothing and no one could convince her to forget the woodcarver. And so they were married and she moved to his village.

"The woodcarver was a very talented man, the very best in the entire kingdom in fact, but as the people living in the village had no money to spend on wood carvings, save for a few furniture necessities, he and his wife were very poor.

"Ara's mother often wrote to Ara, encouraging her to come stay with her in her old hometown. But Ara knew that her mother had never approved of her marriage and did not think well of her husband. So she never left him.

"While the people of the village mocked and shamed the woodcarver and his magnificent work, telling him that he should take up a plow instead and provide food for him and his wife, Ara encouraged him to continue his carvings as she knew he had no interest in farming and his work brought her more joy than a feast ever could.

"Still, the words and taunts of the villagers got to the woodcarver and made him feel ashamed. Even worse were the awful comments about his wife and her status. "Why would she ever have married him?" they asked themselves. "She should leave him and go find another husband, one with money and land," they said.