light_of_the_world | wild sage growing in the weeds

There had been rain off and on for the last two days, not enough to stop Hild from gathering her herbs, but enough to make everything sticky and unpleasant. There were times that she liked the rain, when the weather had grown hot and the air pregnant with humidity, until it finally burst and fell. She liked the smell of newly wet cement, the patter of rain drops and the force of a torrent. There were times when she loved the rain, when the morning was crisp and cool and misting or when she could feel the mud between her toes but not yet fear slipping, when the world was green and beautiful and precious after the water had refreshed it. But there were of course times when mud clung to her dress and weighed it down, when water wilted what should be fresh growing flowers and made life feel somewhat impossible.

She was grateful for the sunshine and the lack of clouds on that day, knowing that the mud would dry out soon and the flowers would respond to the sun like children growing under praise. It was a day when everything felt fresh, the air cool and unsullied in the countryside morning. Hild had stopped at a walnut tree, it's broad spread boughs easily reached for a climb. Walking carefully along one of the branches, she reached for the nuts and threw them into the basket she had left down on the ground. Most of them hit the woven container, but many did not. She hissed out a curse as a squirrel bounded out to grab one and threw a nut at him.

"Bane of my life," she shouted down at him in Anglisc. Though a rueful grin tugged at her lips, she was only half joking.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I'm fairly familiar with the textbook version of the Dark Ages," Effy concedes, though she's under no illusion that the textbooks cover the true experience of the time. There's only so much that can be kept of history, especially from the times when it was harder to document, to keep records. But even now, Effy thinks that there's so much of any time that gets lost in the years and decades to come. Because not everything is deemed worthy of being a memory to keep.

Because there's only so much that the mind can hold before it starts to spill over and away. Little details, like the snails that slowly drag their heavy loads, easily spotted on the trails leading to Harley's house. Or the way that new paths fork out from the brooks after a heavy rain. Things like the smell of the smoke and petrol as one makes their way to the center of the city.

Things that are hard to put into words, that can't be captured in pictures, and that will one day fade entirely into obscurity, unless Mother Nature so happens to preserve them.

"And somewhat familiar with Northumbria as well," she adds, her eyes taking on a keener interest. "It's certainly about as safe here as a place can be while supporting such a diverse population. I've hardly ever heard of people like us, people from other worlds, passing away here." She leans her head against the trunk of the tree. "So, is being a niece of the king something you like to talk about? Or should I be filing that away as background knowledge?"

The fact that Effy knew something of Hild's time was of interest to her, but not something that she would question. Enough texts had passed her gaze for Hild to know that what they stated was mostly guesswork, built off of bits and pieces of rich and full lives found abandoned in graves and dirt and peat. Many only knew the name "Dark Ages" and made assumptions off of this. Hild did not want to have to counter every wrong presumption that Effy might repeat with a correct answer. Pedancy like that annoyed her.

Hild would counter her, lightly, thoughtfully, on one point. "Isn't disappearing something the same as dying?" she asked, head tilted. "Before you, I hadn't heard of anyone retaining their memories in coming back here. That's years of people coming and going, here and not, and when returning, returning as a new person. The departed continue to live, but what's the difference to our hearts, left behind?" There was some solace to be taken in the thought of those who had left continuing to live in another world. But what was the idea of heaven if not the same cold comfort?

Kicking her legs out idly, Hild gripped the branch beneath her, feeling cracked bark beneath her palms and a few ants skittering up her pinkie finger. She did not dislodge them, but followed their path with her eyes only to see if there were more.

"It is and isn't," she replied. "To be honest, I did not spend much of my time as a proper princess. I was his seer as well, you see."

"The difference is knowing and not knowing," Effy says, the corner of her lips lifting. "Far different to know a person has died than to not know at all what's come of them. Some say that everyone who leaves here goes back home, but who really knows if that's the case? It's what we want to tell ourselves, probably because it's... the most predictable answer, isn't it? If we knew and loved someone here, we probably know something of the world they would go back to, if indeed they're going back to their own."

Effy's eyes follow a couple of leaves as they shake free of the tree, fluttering down in quick, erratic spirals, landing a fair space apart.

"Sometimes not knowing means you can't rest your mind about it."

The mention of seeing draws fascination in Effy's eyes, and she leans a little closer, movement given away by the rustling of the leaves. She's never had a drop of magic in herself. Not of that sort, at least — and it feels as unattainable as it has been absent in her life. All inevitably honing her curiosity.

"And can you actually? See more than the rest of us can?"

wild sage growing in the weeds

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