Now, after the passing of many years and many visits to the old pines, she had come once again. She had come to tell her mother of the child she was carrying, of the journey she was undertaking, and of the warnings she had received. Her emotions were sharply in conflict. On the one hand she was elated by the anticipated birth of her child with Ben; on the other, she was daunted by the prospect of her journey and frightened by the warnings given to her by the Earth Mother and her father. The latter bothered her most, cautions from two of the most powerful and magical creatures in Landover, both telling her that she must be wary, both warning that this child she so wanted would change everything about her life.
She tried to sort through her emotions as she waited for darkness. She pondered the warnings she had been given. There were no new insights to be gained by doing either. The exercise was merely a means for coming to terms with what she was thinking and feeling. If Ben had been there, she would have talked it through with him. Since he wasn’t, she was forced to use what had worked for her when she was small and growing up alone.
Mostly, she was hopeful that her mother would be able to help. They would communicate as they always did through the wood nymph’s dance. The dance would provide a vision, and the vision would give insight. It had done so on many occasions. Willow hoped it would do so now.
Twilight deepened and the stars appeared. Two moons were visible in the northern sky, not far above the horizon, one pale mauve, one peach. The night air was fragrant with the scent of pine needles and wildflowers, and the clearing was hushed. Willow sat thinking of Ben. She wished he was with her. It would have made things much easier having him there. She did not like being away from him. She did not feel complete when she was.
It was nearing midnight when her mother came. She leaped out of the trees in a series of flitting movements that took her from one patch of shadows to the next. She was a tiny, ephemeral creature, with long silver hair, pale green skin like Willow’s own, and a child’s body. She wore no clothing. She darted along the edges of the clearing as if testing the waters of a moonlit lake, and then disappeared into the trees to hide.
Willow waited expectantly.
Her mother returned in a flash of silver skin, spinning swiftly past her, fingers brushing at her cheek, a light ripple of velvet, and then she was gone once more.
“Mother?” Willow called softly to her.
A moment later her mother danced out from the trees into the very center of the starlight that cascaded down through the heavy boughs. She spun and twisted and leapt in the radiant glow, her arms moving fluidly, reaching out for her daughter. Willow lifted her own arms in response. They did not touch each other, but the words began to flow between them, heard only in the mind, visions born out of thought.
Willow remembered her promise to her father and spoke first of his desire to see Willow’s mother dance. Her mother drew back immediately, and she let the matter drop. She spoke of Ben and her life at Sterling Silver. There was happiness in her mother’s response this time, though it was small and measured, for her mother could not understand life beyond the forest and the dance, life of any kind beyond her own. In a detached way she was happy for Willow; she was not capable of anything more. Willow had learned to take what her mother offered and make the most of it.
She let her mother speak to her then through the dance, let her share in turn the joy she was feeling. Once Willow had found that joy exhilarating. Now she found it lacking, an oddly empty, circumscribed happiness bound up in self-indulgence and personal gratification, bereft of interest in or concern for others, ultimately puzzling and somehow sad. Neither could ever really understand the other, Willow knew. Still they shared what they could, giving back reassurance and gratitude, reaffirming the bond that existed between them.