For this weeks Fridays Flash, I thought I’d give you a glimpse into the past. By looking into the past, we learn who we are in the present and also our potential for the future. I haven’t spoken much about my heroine, Emeline, so I think I might concentrate on her for a couple of weeks. Here is how she was created – In a way!
It was as though no one saw the crows, all seemed deaf to their calls, they even ignored the feathers they dropped. Rare indeed.
Not one person chose to hear their messages.
Lugi called his crows back after a while, it was no good, had the witches turned their backs? He stalked over to the Wytchwood tree and leaned his forehead against the wide trunk. Blonde and brown bark grown into narrow avenues and hills stretching up from earth to air, rough and smooth, up and down. He stroked the trunk and the tree moaned and moved, its branches shivered overhead.
Pan would not show himself. Silly boy, thought Lugi. For ones who deliver courage and strength to all who ask, they run and hide in fear when someone enters the forest, they couldn’t keep a little for themselves? The tree sighed. “Oh, who asked you.” said Lugi.
He pushed himself away from the Wytchwood and stood for a moment. “So what do we do then?”
The tree sighed again but dropped a seed.
Lugi stared at what lay at his feet.
“I couldn’t.” He spoke quietly, not taking his eyes off the seed. It was the size of a crab apple, with a smooth, brown casing. The seed within held ancient magics, if planted at the right time, and in the right place, Lugi knew that as the seed grew, and its roots sought out the nourishment of the earth, the Lullie would grow with it. A renowned female warrior, the Lullie would posses the magics of the Wytch, but also the darkness of the Woo. For every wytch born, a wytchwood was first planted.
Rare it is for a crow to drop its feathers. Rarer still that a wytchwood may drop a seed.
His crows circled above him and called out for him to take it. Lugi remained stationary, he knew he would, but he didn’t dare pick it up.
“Do it!” a voice called from behind him. “If the Wytchwood has spoken to you, and you know how to do it, then the only thing left is to, well. Do it.” Pan stood with his chin tilted up to Lugi, his hands resting beside him with a curved bow in one. “Too cowardly am I?” he asked pursing his lips and pouting in jest. “Look at you, you’re too scared to plant a tree!” The two laughed together at the simplicity of the action, yet they both knew the dangers.
Lugi’s crows had stopped their squawking; flown south to deliver the message to the Volva.
All they needed now was the Nixen and there would be no excuse, no reason not to. Lugi looked up to the moon, its waning phase cast a shadow of concern over the bright wisdom of the Goddess. “We’ll have to wait.” said Lugi. “Yes.” Pan agreed. “We wait. We allow the wolf to pass. The stag will eventually show himself and then we will work.”
“Who do you think she will be?” Lugi stooped and picked up the seed, holding it in his hand. Such a small thing, such promise of life.