#the bitter withy

[maypoleman1]

20th December

Carol Singing

Source: Alive Network website

‘Tis the season for carol-singing. As illustrated in the entries from last late spring/early summer, carols were not always restricted to Christmas. Originally a carol was simply a song with a refrain, sung in unison to a round dance and could accompany any merry-making event. Over the years they have become associated almost entirely with the Christmas season, and usually have a religious theme. The heyday of carol writing was the nineteenth century when Victorian churchmen or their wives would write songs to celebrate the Nativity to be sung by their congregations and choirs. However, carolling has a long history and the in pre-Civil War Middle Ages, after which so many were banned by the victorious Puritans, carols often had interesting, and slightly heretical, subject matter.

In the Cherry Tree Carol, a disgruntled Joseph refuses to pick cherries for his craving-possessed wife, advising Mary to get the father of her child to pick her the berries. The infant Jesus in his mother’s womb orders the cherry trees to bow to Mary so she can easily pick the fruit. The child - still in utero - then tells an awed Joseph the date of his coming birth - the 6th January! In The Bitter Withy, a resentful young Jesus, spurned by his rich friends as an impoverished Jew, creates a bridge across a river with sunbeams and runs across. His playmates follow, only for the beams to melt away, leading to the children to drown in the waters beneath. When their outraged parents complain to Mary, she puts her son across her knee and wallops his backside with a bundle of withies from a willow tree as punishment, leading the infuriated and tearful Jesus to curse the willow and condemn it to be the first tree to perish from the earth, which may account for the tree’s sinister reputation in folklore.

Many of the medieval carols have been resurrected by modern folk artists and delight again with their strange non-Biblical stories of the infant Jesus.

[consumable-connie]

The Elephant

Content: Implied potential digestion

Description: A certain someone eats their rival in an elevator

The old elephant, business man, and politician Donald Trump stood in the steel elevator; they had just finished with a debate broadcasted to millions of Americans, against his political rival, Joe Biden. He went to press the button to go to the first floor, when he saw that donkey, Joe, coming to a stop as he saw them in the elevator.

"Too tired to take the stairs, Sleepy Joe?" The elephant teased. He rolled his eyes, making his way into the elevator, attempting to keep as much distance from the other man as possible. Trump grinned,

"You did terribly, just absolutely terribly out there, in case you were wondering."

"At least I don't have a criminal record! And I did just fine." He retorted under his breath. Trump didn't pay much attention, and they pressed the button to the first floor. The elevator descended down, but when they reached the bottom, the doors refused to open, instead making a metal clunk sound. The elephant pressed the door opening button, but was met with another clunk.

Immediately the elephant began calling for help, and the donkey covered his ears,

"Will you shut up? Just hit the emergency button!" He said after quickly getting tired of the elephant's yelling.

"There's no 'emergency button', you have no clue what you're talking about!" He replied. The donkey shoved him aside, and pressed the red emergency button,

"See? It's right here! Now we just have to wait." Joe sat in the corner of the elevator, and Trump followed suit in his own corner. Not even ten minutes later, Trump pulled out a alcohol flask from their suit pocket and started drinking the booze that was inside.

"You seriously have that on you? Even during a debate?" Joe questioned,

"Debates are stressful," Trump cleaned the lip of the flask, and held it out to Biden, "Want some?" He asked. Joe grabbed it, murmuring something about how it'll be the only way to handle being stuck with him. The two men shared the flask of booze among themselves, and as the bitter liquor poured down their throats, they both started noticing little things about each other they had payed no attention to before. The look in each other's eyes was indescribable, and if it was a cartoon their eyes would be in the shape of candied hearts. Biden made the first move, crawling over to Donald like a wild animal and wrapping their arms around his neck, pulling him close. Trump gasped Biden's name, and quickly leaned into it. Trump held Joe's head in his hands, and slowly leaned in for a deep, passionate kiss. Biden's eyes fluttered close, tongue exploring Trump's mouth, the disgusting wet sounds of old men kissing filled the elevator. They could smell the alcohol on each other's breaths, and even taste it as their tongues fought against each other. After a long kissing frenzy, Biden pulled away, looking at Donald, now a stranger to him. But Trump wanted more. He opened his mouth wide open, engulfing Biden's head, his tongue running along his face. As Biden squirmed, Trump grabbed him by the behind, and tilted his head upward, letting gravity do most of the work. Biden slid down Trump's throat, thrashing around, screaming for help. But no one was coming, not yet. Biden was quickly inside Trump's stomach, the wet flesh massaging Biden's body. He rubbed the wriggling bulge in his stomach, promising that he's safe. But Joe was not convinced, hitting the walls of Trump's stomach, causing it to growl out in pain. Trump quickly went to lay on his belly, the squirms ceasing entirely as Joe was crushed inside.

"There we go, nice and complacent." Trump patted his swollen belly, delighted. Biden tried to speak, but no words came out, his voice hoarse from all the screaming. All he could do was sit and wait, listening to every wet squelsh and gurgle Trump's stomach made. He started to panic, feeling a warm sensation as digestion slowly began. He couldn't move being squished within Trump's stomach, and this could be the end. He knew rescue would be there soon, but would he still be there when it arrived?

[rateatingraccoon]

safety. (Danmarch)

In which March is scared of thunderstorms and finds herself seeking comfort in Dan Heng.

Rain pattered against the inn window with unwavering aggression, as though trying to get in and seek shelter from itself. March hugged the blanket closer to her body, her blouse doing very little to protect her pale skin from the cold. Even with her ice powers, she tended to not like the cold very much. After all, her body was frozen in time for who knows how long, floating like a lost comet in space. Bitter cold like this served as nothing but a reminder that she may never truly know who she is.

She frowned and turned her attention back to the luminescent screen in front of her. Its teal light strained against the darkness of the room, the words on it painfully small and hard to read against the harsh glow. It was meant to be a report for the schedule tomorrow, but it served as not much more than another thing to overwhelm March’s strained senses. Between the pain in her eyes, the heavy rain against the window, her struggle to read and the exhaustion heavy in her mind, she quickly began to dissolve into a mess of anxiety.

Noticing how her breath was quickening, March groaned and reached for the screen, shutting it off with a sharp click, leaving her in the solitude of the freezing inn room. She risked another glance at the window, the raindrops not much more than a blur with the limited moonlight leaving the outside world a void of darkness. How could they look so small yet be so loud? Another sliver of wind whisked into the room through a crack in the windowsill. March shivered and pulled the blanket more tightly around herself, seeking its warmth.

She wallowed in the darkness for a few moments, allowing her mind a break, but her peace was quickly broken when a long, booming noise sounded from the sky, the wood walls vibrating with the force. She flinched, curling in on herself. She had experienced a thunderstorm once before, and if there was one thing she learned from that experience, it was that she despised them. Now not only was cold biting at her body and rain threatening to break the window down, but it was now accompanied by a deep rumbling and flashes of blinding electricity that could set the world on fire.

She felt so small in the darkness. So hopelessly vulnerable. She wanted nothing more but to be on the Express, up in space where no atmospheres could trap them in their worldly turmoils.

With all the chaos both inside and outside her body, March hardly noticed her door creaking open. She glanced up with wide eyes to see a tall, masculine figure, holding a lantern that carried light much softer than that of an electronic. With a few blinks, March recognized the young man: Dan Heng. Her expression softened quickly.

He stepped carefully towards her. He had been the only one there during her first thunderstorm, and, to her knowledge, was the only one who knew of her fears. He had never said anything harsh of them, though - no belittling or snarky comments. That first time, he had simply led her to a cave and held her against him as she shook, explaining in his softest voice what was happening. She hadn’t quite realized it, but her mind was aching to be held like that again. To know she was safe.

“Are you alright?” Dan Heng asked simply, placing the lamp on her bedside table. She blinked up at him with bleary eyes, her usual bubblegum energy having been drained long before. She watched with half-lidded eyes as he took a gentle seat down next to her, and she didn’t hesitate for a moment to scoot up next to him, keeping her blanket tight around her body.

“Not really.” March answered honestly, pouting as she leaned against him.

Dan Heng gingerly pulled her closer until she was in his lap, her body snug against his. She melted into his embrace, finding his body cold but nevertheless warmly comforting. He said nothing more, trusting her to speak first of what was plaguing her mind. And yet, she couldn’t find it within herself to vent or complain. Rather, she snuggled closer still and buried her face in the crook of his neck. “Can you hold me until it’s over?” she asked in an almost pleading whisper.

“Of course, love,” he replied in an equally soft voice. His words alone warmed March’s ice-caged body down to her bones, and she quickly found herself relaxing in his arms. Even with the restless storm outside, Dan Heng was so calm, his grasp just as firm around her smaller frame as it always would be. She found herself wondering how long he would stay even after the storm passed. Should sleep claim her while she lay in the safety of his presence, how long would he guard her for?

She supposed she would find out in the morning, considering the exhaustion pulling her eyes closed, melting her body until the only thing keeping it remotely upright was the hold of the ink-haired Vidyadhara.

Thank you so much for reading! It means a lot. Want to bookmark this? Go ahead and find it on ao3!

[aromanticannibal]

HI. READ THIS NOW

[ranran-no-uta]

The only cat person I can bear

My very first impression was, your version of Liebestraum did not urge me to puke. Haha. Im sorry to say that outloud, your look was priceless.

Before knowing who you are, I am just amazed that you can make that vibes with your play. I tend to get nauseous when I heard Liebestraum because it brought so much bitter memories.

But yours is so calming, there is just no rush and anxiety, a bit untruthful to the original withy jazzy articulation perhaps, yet still very much the only bearable Liebestraum in existence for me.

Although we both took a lot of different paths, sometimes even branching into a new one, It's a priviledge knowing and grow with you, H. Since that version of Magnolia, 4 years ago.

[chadwick211]

2023: New Year Gift Guide from Sendgifts

As 2022 draws to a close, we look forward to welcoming the new year with hopes of positive changes. Exchange new year gifts with your friends and family to start the new year on a positive note.

This New Year's Eve, there's nothing better than a fantastic liquor bottle to give as a gift, and it doesn't need to be served in a bar. With Sendgifts, you can find thoughtful and amazing new year gift ideas that will surely please your loved ones. Check out this liquor gifting idea to wish your friends a very happy new year.

First and foremost, Alcoholic gifts are meant to be shared, so why not sip something special with your family and friends? Besides offering reliable liquor delivery, Sendgifts has rounded up the best new year gift ideas to help you have a great new year.

Here are some amazing new year gift ideas to wish your friends and family a Happy New Year.

 New Year Gift Guide

 Blanton’s Bourbon Gifts

The Original Single Barrel Bourbon whiskey. Blanton’s is an award-winning bourbon of the highest quality. Still hand crafted in the same tradition Blanton’s is distilled, aged, and hand bottled one barrel at a time in Frankfort Kentucky. It is the world’s first premium single barrel Bourbon whiskey.

Original Single Barrel:

Taken from the center-cut or middle sections of the famous Warehouse H, Blanton’s Original Single Barrel was once designated for ambassadors, dignitaries, and Colonel Blanton’s family and friends. The taste profile is sweet, with notes of citrus and oak. The creamy vanilla nose is teased with caramel and butterscotch, all underscored by familiar baking spices such as clove, nutmeg, or cinnamon. Blanton’s Original set the standard for single barrel bourbons in 1984. Best served neat or on the rocks. Bottled at 46.5% alcohol by volume.

Gold Edition:

Blanton’s Gold Edition was created for discerning bourbon aficionados who appreciate exceptional smoothness and complexity in their bourbon whiskey. The nose is first marked by spicy rye and tobacco notes. Caramel and honey follow soon after, mingled with dark fruit and citrus notes. The palate emulates the same complex nose with rye, tobacco, and honey at the forefront. Round and bold notes of charred oak and vanilla carry you through to an extremely long and harmonious finish. This bourbon consistently delivers on balance and character, on par with the world’s finest whiskey. Best served neat or with a splash of water. Bottled at 51.5% alcohol by volume.

Straight from the Barrel:

Not only one of the world’s best bourbons, Blanton’s Straight from the Barrel is one of the world’s best whiskeys. Created for connoisseurs familiar with cask strength whiskeys, this enormous taste profile reaches depths of flavor found only in the rarest of spirits. On the nose we get notes of dark chocolate, caramel and butter with earthy undertones of walnut and hazelnut.  The palate delivers intrepid notes of warm vanilla, oak, toasted nuts and a rich spiciness with hints of butterscotch or honey.  The high alcohol by volume is intense and powerful yet inviting. The deep and resonate finish on this bourbon is nothing short of legendary. Straight from the barrel is best served neat or with a splash of water. Un-filtered, un-cut, unbelievable.

 Riga Black Balsam

Riga Black Balsam is probably the oldest bitter brand in the world, its history of craftsmanship dating back over 260 years.

 Riga Black Balsam Original

The original version of Riga Black Balsam herbal bitter is created by a combination of 24 ingredients – herbs, roots, berries, fruit juices, honey, burnt sugar and some very specific ingredients like golden withy, gentian, Peruvian balsamic oil.

Exciting and breathtaking experience with versatile taste. Smooth and at the same time bitter. Enjoy neat or in the cocktails of your choice.

Riga Black Balsam Cherry

Contemporary international bitter - has an original, modern, and unique flavor, born from combining Riga Black Balsam with cherry juice. A harmonious balance between the sweetness and bitterness of the drink with a strong cherry aroma to boot.

The aroma features underlying notes of cherry, cherry stones and leaves. The addition of ginger gives the drink a feeling of freshness. Enjoy neat or in the cocktails of your choice.

Riga Black Balsam Black Currant

A contemporary international bitter featuring the original Riga Black Balsam herbal bitter enriched with natural Nordic blackcurrant juice for a new flavor experience.

A perfect harmony of sweet and sour flavors with mature berry aroma. Enjoy neat or in the cocktails of your choice.

 Brennivin Gifts

Brennivin delivers an inspiring kick for the progressive mixologist, is excellent paired with the rustic flavors of Nordic cuisine and of course, the perfect Rock n Roll shot. It is an ancient nordic tradition to simply let Brennivin choose the occasion for you!

 Glayva Gifts

A very popular Scotch whisky liqueur, Glayva is flavored with honey, almonds, tangerines and spices. The name derives from the Gaelic for “very good”. The liqueur is of such merit that it won the International Wine and Spirit Competition 5 times, making it the best liqueur in the world.

Glayva has a very distinctive and pleasant taste. Surprisingly smooth and sweet, with a hint of cinnamon and spices, it really tastes like nothing else!

 Macallan Single Malt Scotch Whisky

Macallan is the most sought-after whisky for collectors, and here you'll find a huge range of Macallan Scotch whisky to buy online. Over the past four decades, Macallan has built probably the best reputation for quality malt whisky; rare expressions can change hands for thousands of pounds, and prices for such bottles are continuously going up.

 Glenfiddich Single Malt Scotch Whisky

A colossus, Glenfiddich was established by William Grant in 1876, with the first spirit running off the stills in 1887. Today the company is still run by his descendants and as the first whisky to truly market itself as a single malt, Glenfiddich now accounts for about 30% of all single malt sales worldwide.

[abujenna]

I love the carol "Good King Wenceslas," and when I discovered that this special issue contained an illustrated rendition, I put it on my Christmas list.

I don't spend much time with superhero comics, and I can't recall ever reading anything related to Aquaman. (I made it about 5 min into the movie, and that was on an international flight without much else to do.) But this story turned out to be my favorite in the book.

It fits well with some of my other Christmas favorites: "Cherry Tree Carol," "The Bitter Withy," and various apocryphal stories about Jesus and Mary. And it evokes an obvious connection with "I Saw Three Ships."

DCU Holiday Special - “Somewhere Beyond the Sea” (2008)

written by Dan Didio art by Ian Churchill & Bob Rivard

[scriptflorist]

Any flowers that could go with a charcter who's a clumsy dim-witted fool who acts or speaks before thinking.

Certainly. This should work rather well with the Victorian flower language. Let’s see which flowers actually fit and I hope this helps.

almond blossom – indiscretion

almond tree – stupidity, indiscretion, thoughtlessness

bee ophrys – error

bell flower – indiscretion, acknowledgement, gratitude

bindweed (great) – insinuation, importunity

bitter-sweet nightshade – truth

bittersweet – truth

blue bell – constancy, regret, humility, gratitude

borage – bluntness, rudeness

bulrush – indiscretion, docility

chrysanthemum (white) – truth

columbine – folly, desertion, I cannot give thee up

cophue – there is no unalloyed good

dog rose – simplicity, pain and pleasure

eupatorium – delay

feathery reed – indiscretion

flora’s bell – without pretension

fly orchis – error

fool’s parsley – silliness

geranium – stupidity, folly, true friend, gentility, envy

geranium (horseshoe-leaved) – stupidity

geranium (scarlet) – stupidity, folly, thou art changed, comforting, consolation, melancholy

gillyflower (mahon) – promptness

gorse – cheerfulness in adversity, endearing affection

hortensia – carelessness, you are cold

imbricata – uprightness, sentiments of honour

jasmine (cape) – transport of joy

jasmine (white) – amiability

ladies’ bedstraw – rudeness

larch – audacity, boldness

lily (japanese) – you cannot deceive me

liverwort – confidence

mandevilla crassinoda – you are too bold

meadow sweet – uselessness

mercury – goodness

mitraria coccinea – dullness, indolence

moonwort – forgetfulness

mustard seed – indifference

nuts – stupidity

osier – frankness

pine (spruce) – hope in adversity, farewell!

pink (yellow) – unreasonableness, disdain

pomegranate – foolishness, foppery

reed (split) – indiscretion

rose (single, full bloom) – simplicity, I truly love you

rose (wild) – simplicity, poetry

rush – docility

stock (ten-week) – promptness

sweetbrier (american) – simplicity

withy – frankness

– Mod Jana

Disclaimer

This blog is intended as writing advice only. This blog and its mods are not responsible for accidents, injuries or other consequences of using this advice for real world situations or in any way that said advice was not intended.

[uneasylisteningradio]

The Lords Just Don’t Understand October 9, 2022

Songs about leftist and collectivist movements, mostly from the British Isles, 14th-21st centuries. Yknow the usual last minute Sunday night fill-in deal. stream on Mixcloud

Zounds - This Land

DJ speaks over Mystras - The Cutty Wren

George Hardy - The Land Song Ewan MacColl and Peggy Seeger - Hey Ho! Cook and Rowe! Dick Gaughan - Both Sides The Tweed The Bitter Withy - The Bitter Withy Hamish Henderson - Freedom Come All Ye

Ryan's Fancy - The Manchester Rambler Sam Lee - The Moss House The Almanac Singers - Casey Jones (The Union Scab)

Cornelius Cardew - We Only Want the Earth Blyth Power - Hurling Time Glasgow Socialist Singers - England Arise Maddy Prior & The Girls - Cropper Lads Carl Sandburg - The Foggy, Foggy Dew

Crass - G's Song (Commoners Choir Remix) Johnny Campbell - Hard Times of Old England Robin Grey, Dolly May and Nick Hart - John Ball Shirley Collins - The Sweet Primroses

Chumbawamba - You Can (Mass Trespass, 1932) Lieberman, Duncan, Smith & Sanders - Die Gedanken Sin Frei Alistair Hulett - Destitution Road Planxty - Only Our Rivers

Robin Dransfield - The Cutty Wren Barnstormer 1649 - Wellingborough & Wigan Leon Rosselson - The Digger's Song (feat. Roy Bailey)

Billy Bragg - The World Turned Upside Down

[somediyprojects]

Bitter Withy Sampler album cover spotted in a charity shop in Edinburgh, Scotland.

[dinfeanoriel]

Dusk Falls

I am back! I’ve been gone for a long time so I decided to make up for it by writing this lengthy fic! It is the longest I have written on Tumblr. Hope you guys enjoy! 

~~~~

It all happened in a muddled blur. The past couple of days nothing more than a hazy memory for him. Time had difficulty recalling what exactly had gone down to lead up to this point. 

“Stay with me, Old Man!” 

Time had seen him with his very eye. Vibrant and healthy. His complexion not at all pale. His cerulean eyes, so alive and full of emotion. There was worry, fear, anguish, and pain. 

There was no sign of injury or illness. 

No hint of poison or gradual decline in fitness. 

Nothing. 

“Take it, Old Man! I won’t allow you to die on me!” 

He’d sounded so earnest. So heartfelt and passionate. The fire that blazed within him only grew brighter and more difficult to ignore. It was what drew the others to him. 

His confidence. His assurance and unwavering faith. They turned to him for guidance. 

The Hero had given him their last Red Potion. Time had been foolish to drink it. He realized this now. 

His heart was heavy and his eyes stung as bitter regret and agonized grief clutched him tightly within its grasp. 

How had he not noticed? 

~~~~

“Do you have to wear all this armor, Pops?” He griped, Time’s arm limply draped over his strong shoulders, his own wrapped securely around Time’s waist as he forced the Leader to walk, “You weigh a ton!” His jab was weak at best. A futile effort to lighten the tense atmosphere and hide the fear reflected in his tone. 

He was scared for Time. 

Terrified he would lose him. 

~~~~

Perhaps there had been signs, and he hadn’t seen them. There was a chance he’d been oblivious to them. To the agony in those eyes and the facade the Hero had thrown up to keep him from growing suspicious. 

Of course, the blood loss Time had suffered prevented him from thinking clearly. From noting the tender manner in which the Hero had moved. The way the other’s arm would shoot to his side and his hand would press firmly against it, a wince crossing his strained features.

Time had known his companion had been hit. Neither of them had escaped unscathed. 

But he’d trusted in the Hero’s promise that he had already taken care of his own hurts. 

A mistake he should never have made. 

~~~~

“I need you to stay conscious, alright? Just listen to my voice and don’t you dare close your eyes!” 

Time was mercilessly shaken, and a sharp gasp was torn from him. 

“I know, I know, sorry,” The other grimly apologized, a hint of remorse in his tone, “But I can’t risk you falling asleep.” 

Time would have made a smart remark, but found himself unable to. The white-hot fire that raced through his veins and burned him so viciously stole his very breath away. 

The Red Potion had only done so much. 

“The others- they need you. You can’t give up on them, do you hear me? Think of Twilight and Wild. What will happen to them if you go?” 

Time’s eye fluttered. His boys. Twilight and Wild...Sky, Legend, Wind, Four, Hyrule, and Warrior. 

Fear and worry briefly overcame the pain that swallowed him whole.Yes, what would become of them if he were to fall here and now? 

But, his companion was wrong. 

Time didn’t only care for Twilight and Wild. He cared for them all. He viewed them as children he needed to protect and watch over. Little ones that looked to him for guidance, support, and encouragement- who turned to him for stability and clung to his unwavering presence. 

He was the foundation they built themselves off of in their little group. 

“Come on. A few more steps,” The other encouraged. Time forced himself to move- to lighten some of the burden, but the arduous task was growing more difficult. His movements were gradually growing more sluggish and clunky. “You have to stay with me, Time!” 

Please!

There were tears in his voice, no longer strong and brave but a strained and wretched whisper. 

“You can’t die on me! Not like my Pops did!” He choked, a sob caught in his throat. He was growing desperate and afraid. 

Sorely afraid. 

The words struck a chord in Time’s heart. It fed the fire of determination that had been nothing more than embers waiting to be stoked within him. 

He felt his body trembling, but it wasn’t from exertion or his life-threatening injuries. 

“I won’t let you! I refuse to let you! Do you hear me, Old Man?!” 

The shout echoed down the dismal corridor of the dungeon, bouncing off the stone walls and back at them. 

~~~~

Yes, Time had heard him. His every word. It had helped keep him conscious. They had reigned him in and kept him anchored on this side of the veil. 

The smile he’d been graced with when Time had raised his head and looked to him. It was shaky and frail, but still a smile. 

Time knew then and there, that he couldn’t leave him. 

~~~~

“They’ve found us!” 

Dread coiled in the pit of Time’s stomach at the harsh whisper. A nauseating and sickening feeling of horror and concern. He knew exactly who “they” were. 

“Go...” He murmured hoarsely, his throat gritty. He was nothing more than a burden. He was slowing them down. He wasn’t fit to fight- to protect. Both knew this. 

The younger Hero looked to him in shock and incensed despair. 

“Have you lost your mind?!” The Hero snatched at Time’s tunic, digging his fingers into the fabric and shaking him slightly in fury, “I am not leaving you, Time!” 

Time wanted to argue with him. He wanted to convince him to leave. To save himself from their impending doom. To spare him from what he knew was to come.

He should have known better. 

“You’re going to live! You’re going to make it out of this alive!” 

Time didn’t know why, but he knew his companion spoke the truth. His cerulean eyes glinted in the little light leaking into the dreary and decaying dungeons. The blazing look of resoluteness and courage could not be mistaken. 

Exhaustion and weariness seeped deep into his bones. Time was robbed of his strength and all he could do was slump back against the wall as the Hero gently set him down and reclined him against it. 

The coolness of the stone momentarily distracted him from his pain. 

“I’ll be back,” The golden-blonde Hero promised, unwrapping his beloved blue scarf from around his neck and tucking it around Time. The silken fabric provided him with some warmth in contrast to the cold hanging thickly in the air. 

The tension and apprehension lingering in the air heightened. A sense of foreboding overcame him and alarm trickled down Time’s spine when he recognized the resignation the Hero carefully hid. 

“War-” He attempted to say, yearning to dissuade the other from confronting their enemies when both of them were unfit to fight them off. He was interrupted by a cough, his vocal chords screeching from their use. 

A strong hand gripped his shoulder and he was met by another grim smile. 

“Even if I don’t return, the others will find you.” 

Time weakly shook his head. He wanted to tell him to flee. To run. But he knew the Knight would not listen. 

Swallowing thickly, blinking back his own emotions, Warrior stood and forced himself to go. He steeled himself, exhaling a deep, shaky, breath to calm his nerves and regain his bearings. 

“No!” Time lurched forward, hand outstretched, only to stop short and crumple into an undignified heap on the ground. Excruciating pain lanced through his screaming body, “Warrior...!” He rasped- pleading and fearful- unable to speak louder than an anguished whisper. “Don’t...” 

It was too late. 

Warrior was already gone. 

And Time was helpless to do anything. 

He hated it. 

So. Very. Much! 

“Warrior...” He breathed, clenching his fist and shaking terribly. His whole body cried for relief, but Time knew better than to give in. 

Why couldn’t he protect those he cared for? 

Why was he always the one left behind? 

~~~~

Time hadn’t known how much time had passed. It might have been mere seconds, mere minutes, or neither. To Time, it was an eternity of waiting in agony. The sense of unknowing. 

Warrior knew. He knew all of the possibilities. Of what could become of him. 

It did not frighten him. He never gave it much thought. 

He’d always known the dangers of warfare and battle. Of the potential outcomes. As a knight, he’d become well-acquainted with the dangers that accompanied combat and fighting. He knew that each and every battle he was involved in could end with him being mortally wounded or dead. 

Time waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

The light seeping through the cracks and holes in the crumbling walls encasing him slowly darkened as dusk fell. 

He could hear the distant sounds of metal screeching against metal. The shrieks and wails of those being ruthlessly slaughtered. 

Warrior’s yells and battle cries mingled with the sounds. Time’s heart thundered, pulsing in his ears and threatening to burst from his chest. The anticipation, harrowing fear, and panic...

It was too much for him to handle..!

He tried to drag himself upright so he could peer around the corner and see for himself that Warrior was safe and sound. 

He was living his worst nightmare and Time feared what the ending might be. 

Why did he have to be crippled and useless when Warrior needed him the most? 

His gaze slid to Warrior’s pack. The Knight had left it there. 

Time knew he had done so for a reason. Warrior was Captain of the Guard. He was not foolish. He was thorough, clever, and thoughtful. For Warrior to have left his pack...

He had done so on purpose. 

Time’s vision blurred. His head was becoming lighter, his body faint. Numbness was beginning to spread, and he knew these were grave signs. 

He shook his head, blinking owlishly to rid himself of the strange tingling sensation spreading through him. 

He forced himself to move. Stubbornly ignoring how his body protested acutely to him dragging himself to Warrior’s pack, he extended his shaking hand and grasped pathetically at the bag. 

He finally managed to hook a couple fingers beneath the strap and tugged. Once it was close enough, he curled an arm around it and pulled it close. Flicking the flap open, Time blearily dug through the items Warrior had organized within. 

That was when he struck something solid and made of glass. 

A bottle. 

Time didn’t know what impressed him to grab it, but he did. He pulled the bottle out and looked- 

And cursed Warrior. 

It was a fairy. 

The only fairy left. 

Warrior had told him they had no potions or fairies left. 

Why would he have lied? 

And then it hit him like a sledgehammer. 

Time’s world screeched to a halt, and he slammed into a metaphorical wall. 

Warrior didn’t believe he would live. 

And he’d sworn to Time that the elder Hero would make it out alive. 

He’d lied on purpose. 

He’d left his pack for Time. He’d saved the fairy. For Time. He’d known it would come to this. 

Time’s eye burned. Conflicting emotions swelled within him. Anger, disbelief, denial... 

Warrior had sacrificed himself, knowing the odds were stacked against him, to ensure Time’s survival. 

“You foolish soldier!” Time hissed venomously, spitting out the word ‘soldier.’ A fire burst to life within him, burning as rage built within him, overshadowing the agony crippling him. 

Warrior knew what was important. He knew what mattered. His life compared to Time’s was meaningless. He was expendable. The Links needed Time to stand against Dark Link and to save their homes. Time was their leader. Warrior was a soldier- a Knight- who was willing to die for him in order to secure their success. 

Time released a shaky breath, clutching the bottle tightly. 

If those creatures didn’t kill Warrior, he would! 

“You self-sacrificing idiot!” Time harshly whispered, mustering his strength and unscrewing the fairy, “Why do you think we have lived this long? Who do you think has ensured our survival this whole time? Who do we turn to for strategies and guidance through battles and conflicts?” 

Without Warrior...

The Heroes would be severely weakened and broken. 

Yes, Time could lead them. Yes, he could fire tactic after tactic, order after order, but he wasn’t an expert. Warrior was. 

And the Heroes would be nothing without him. It would never be the same. Warrior was as much a part of them as they were to him. 

They were closely knit- an unbreakable bond tying them together. 

The fairy was soon set free and encircled Time three times, healing his wounds and sealing the worst so they were nothing more than scabs that would later turn into scars. 

Time felt his strength return. His body no longer felt incredibly light and the dazed sensation was gone. 

The Old Man gathered himself to his feet, Warrior’s pack slung over his shoulder, and sword gripped tightly in his hand. There was a fierce expression fixed on his face, replacing his typically stern and neutral visage. His eye blazed.

Although his wounds were not completely healed, and some still bled, Time’s strength and vigor was not to be undermined. 

He was seething deep within. 

Once he found Warrior and they escaped this horrid place, the two of them would be taking a seat and having a long and lengthy chat. 

~~~~

The Leader needn’t have looked far for Warrior. He’d barely moved three meters when the Knight came careening around a corner and smacked into him. 

The sound the impact of Warrior’s head connecting with Time’s golden armor resonated through the air as the Captain staggered back with a pained grimace, a hand flying up to his forehead. 

“Ow-what-?!” He flailed wildly when Time’s hand shot out and wrested a handful of his tunic, yanking him close. The older Hero leaned down, growling out, 

“You and I will be having words, young man,” 

Warrior shuddered with a gulp. Good, Time thought to himself, he should be afraid. Incurring his wrath was never a pretty or wise thing to do. It was after he’d released Warrior that Time noticed the paleness of his skin and the glazed look of his eyes. 

His stern demeanor softened, worry replacing his previous ire. 

“How badly are you hurt?” He demanded to know, but Warrior brushed him off, urgent and jittery. 

“There’s no time! We have to go- now!” He breezed past Time, yanking the Old Man behind him until Time recovered himself and matched his pace. 

“What is it?” 

“Those traitors called for backup,” Warrior breathlessly informed him, sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him, “I don’t know what’s coming, but I know it can’t be good!” 

Time’s eye narrowed, “Then we need to leave this place as soon as possible.” 

Warrior nodded with a wince. His teeth were grit together, his eyes full of pain. 

Time would have asked what ailed him, but never had the chance to. 

An explosion from behind wrenched the ground beneath their feet and sent them flying from the force of the blast. 

Time heard Warrior’s agonized cry. His heart withered and died at the sound, his very soul shuddering as his fear skyrocketed. The Old Man was sent crashing into a wall and crumpled onto the ground with a grunt. 

Dust and debris polluted the air, filling Time’s lungs when he could finally inhale and inducing a painful coughing fit. The deafening sound of heavy objects falling and the walls collapsing were all Time could hear and he threw his arms up above his head to protect it from the rubble crashing all around him. 

The old, decomposing dungeon released a deep, guttural, groan as it shuddered and quaked violently. 

Time winced when a large boulder-sized rock burst into pieces near him. That had been too close for comfort. 

Darkness encased him, swallowing him whole. 

After what felt to be an eternity, the quivering building settled and the world grew still and silent. 

He waited for the dust to clear the air before he risked moving. 

Slowly, carefully, Time drew himself to his hands and knees, doing his best to see through the darkness. 

It was impossible. 

But there was a fear that gripped him in an unrelenting grasp, very nearly stealing his breath away. His chest constricted and his heart felt ready to burst from the anticipation and cold tendrils of terror that curled around it, squeezing viciously. 

“Warrior..?” He called softly, his voice wavering in uncertainty. 

His eyes darted about uselessly, scouring the impenetrable darkness. 

“Warrior!” He tried again, earnest and searching.  

Nothing. 

Trepidation and paralyzing dread slowly began to take over him. 

“Warrior!” 

Silence sang its song. 

“Link!” He cried hoarsely, inwardly pleading for the Knight to answer him- to let him know somehow, someway, that he was alive. 

He could not lose him! No.Time would not allow him to die! Not on his watch! 

Warrior wasn’t supposed to die before him! They were supposed to outlive him! They were supposed to return to their homes, triumphant and safe. Back to their loved ones. 

A wet cough that did not bode well for Time pierced the agonizing quiet atmosphere. 

“...Old...Man..?”

By the Goddess...He sound so frail and weak.

“Link, where are you?” Time demanded to know, snapping his head in the direction he thought Warrior’s voice had come from. 

“I...” Warrior tried, wheezing in a sickeningly frail manner, “I...don’t know...Can’t tell...S’all dark...” He slurred. 

Time’s heart pounded madly against his chest. He willed himself to remain calm and poured all of his effort in keeping his voice steady, 

“It’s alright, Link,” He soothed the ailing Knight, “Just keep talking and I’ll come find you.”

He was so very afraid. Terrified of what he might find. 

What condition would the Knight be in? Was he crushed beneath the rocks and debris? Had a wall collapsed on him? Was he bleeding out? 

“Link?” He questioned, fighting to keep his voice steady when Warrior didn’t respond. 

“Still here...” Came the quiet reply. “Old Man...We...We have to find...a way out.” 

“I know we do,” Time murmured, his voice carrying over to where the Knight lay, “Are you able to move?” 

He heard a shuffling sound as Warrior shifted. 

A pained wheeze pierce the air and Time felt something pierce his very heart. There was a faint rattling noise that accompanied Warrior’s every breath. 

Never had Time felt true fear until then. 

Just how badly was Warrior hurt?

“Link, I want you to be honest with me, do you understand?” 

“...sure.” 

“How badly are you hurt?” 

Warrior said nothing for a while. Time figured he was assessing himself. 

“...pretty...badly...” 

The honest admittance scared Time more than if Warrior had lied. 

“I can’t...I can’t feel my legs...” 

Time’s heart broke at the wavering of Warrior’s voice. 

“Time...” 

“Hush, Link, it’s alright.” 

But it wasn’t, and both knew this. 

A shuddery exhale caressed Time’s ear. 

“Time, where are you?” 

Time didn’t think his heart capable of breaking even more, but it completely shattered at how childlike Warrior sounded. 

The Old Man swallowed thickly, choking on his own emotions threatening to surface. 

“I’m coming, Link,” His voice cracked and died and Time cleared his throat to start again, “I’m almost there. I want you to stay strong for me, alright?” 

“Yeah...yeah...” Warrior weakly whispered. 

“The others will find us. You said so yourself.” 

Warrior laughed- a wet and awful sound. He choked and Time’s fear and worry skyrocketed. 

Once Warrior had recovered, gasping and wheezing still, he whispered hoarsely, “I said...they’d...find you...Pops.” 

“I won’t have that kind of talk from you, Link!” Time sharply rebuked, his mind and heart warring against what he knew was happening, “Do you understand? You’ve survived worse. You will survive this!” He sternly told him, refusing to believe otherwise. 

He was getting closer. He could tell from the raspy breaths escaping Warrior growing in volume as he drew nearer. 

“It’s so dark, Time...” 

“I know it is, Link.” Time murmured lowly, the stinging of his eye intensifying, “Not even I can see.” 

“Where’s the light..?” 

“Link,” 

“...yeah?” 

Time finally reached him. 

“If you do see light,” He swallowed thickly, striving to remain strong, “Promise me-” He had to take a moment to gather himself, “-promise you won’t go to it, alright? Don’t you dare go towards the light.”  

Warrior never said anything.

Time blindly reached out. His hand landed on something wet and sticky. 

Blood. 

And a lot of it. 

He felt sick. Nauseous and afraid. 

But he needed to be strong. Warrior needed him. 

“You’re going to live.” 

Warrior wanted to believe him. But he knew the severity of his wounds. The amount of blood he was losing, the broken ribs that he knew most likely punctured a lung...

He’d known he would die one day. 

But now that he was experiencing what it was like to die... 

Never had it felt so real. 

“You know, Time...It’s funny...” Warrior managed to say, blood trickling from his lips. His legs were pinned beneath heavy pieces of debris and he could no longer feel them. 

His spine had to have been horribly damaged. 

“What’s funny?” Time asked him, and a smile stretched Warrior’s blood-flecked lips. The Old Man was trying to keep him talking. 

He felt a hand drift to his hair, fingers threading through the strands and stroking in a comforting manner. 

Warrior reveled in Time’s unwavering presence. The sense of safety and security. It encompassed him like a warm blanket. 

In several ways, Time reminded him of his own Father. Both were similar, and yet, so very different.

But Warrior was glad to have Time with him. He didn’t know if he could handle being alone. 

Licking his lips, Warrior croaked, “It’s...It’s not death people fear...” 

“Link-” Time sharply chided, but his voice withered. 

“It’s dying,” Warrior admitted in a frail, quivering whisper. Because he was scared. 

Dying scared him. 

“Please, Link,” Time’s anguished plea was not lost to Warrior. A strong arm slipped underneath him and Warrior’s upper half was lifted off the cold, unforgiving, ground and cradled against the Old Man’s chest. 

Warrior’s head was tucked beneath Time’s chin as the eldest Hero begged the Goddess to let him live- to grant him a miracle. 

“Don’t you dare give in...”  

The arms tightened around him and although Warrior knew it should have hurt, he felt comforted. He sagged in Time’s hold, the numbness spreading from his legs up his spine and through his arms. 

His head was growing light, his body faint. A surreal and altogether frightening feeling. 

“You have to stay with me. The others will be here soon. They can heal you.” 

Whoever he was trying to reassure, neither knew. Warrior? Time himself? Or both? It mattered not. 

“We can’t lose you.” 

I can’t lose you. 

“You’ll...” Warrior coughed again, crimson splattering on Time’s golden armor. Warrior was glad he could no longer feel the pain. He knew it would have been too excruciating. 

He would have been crippled with agony. 

The pain would have been unbearable. It had been only moments prior until his body started to fail him.

“You’ll take care...of the others...right?” 

Time was stricken. He blinked furiously, tears threatening to fall. 

“No, no, Link, you and I are both going to take care of them,” He tried to say, but the words were jumbled together as his voice shook terribly. He was almost incoherent, but Warrior understood him perfectly. 

The Captain weakly shook his head, his eyes fluttering shut. His lashes were suddenly heavy. The urge to sleep, to give in to the welcoming darkness became prominent. 

“Wind...Tell him...Tell him he’s one of the...strongest Heroes...I’ve ever met...And that...I love...my little...brother...” 

The dam cracked, the slivers spreading as a couple of droplets of silver rain slipped down Time’s cheeks. 

The man who prided himself in staying strong no matter what circumstance or situation he found himself in. The man many believed incapable of feeling emotions so keenly and intensely as others did. 

But he did. 

He did feel. 

And it always hurt. More than words could ever convey. 

“And Legend...” 

“Please, Link,” Time pleaded, clutching the dying Hero in his arms, pressing his forehead to Warrior’s temple. He listened with a sinking heart as Warrior told Time everything he wanted the Old Man to say to the others. 

To Sky. 

To Twilight. 

To Wild. 

To Four. 

To Hyrule. 

He felt as if something were tearing him apart inside-out. As though some unforgiving monster had ripped out his heart and repeatedly stomped on it, pulverizing it until it was nothing more than dust to be gathered by the wind and spread throughout far away lands. 

A parent shouldn’t have to bury their child. 

Never. 

Warrior’s voice was slowly growing fainter and fainter, the Knight growing limp in Time’s hold. 

“I never...regretted it...not...once...” The Knight murmured, his breath hitching, “I’m glad...you’re here...Time.” 

“Link, you have to stay.” 

Don’t go. Don’t leave us.

Don’t leave me. 

Warrior’s eyes drifted shut with a soft smile. 

There...

He could see it in the distance. 

A light. 

Beckoning to him. 

But there was a lingering sense of guilt holding him back. 

His eyes glistened with unshed tears. 

He didn’t want to go. 

He didn’t want to leave. But he was slipping away. His consciousness barely hung by a thread, and that thread was stretching itself thin. 

“Hey, Time...” 

It was no more than the ghost of a whisper, but Time heard it nonetheless. 

Time hummed in a wobbly manner, not trusting his voice. 

“What is it, Link..?”

Warrior looked up at Time, unable to see him but knowing he was there. And that was all that mattered. 

Time was there. Time was with him. 

“I...I can’t...”  “You can’t what?” Time weakly asked, voice thick with emotion. 

“...stay...awake...I can’t...” 

And those were the last words Time heard Warrior say. 

Silence reigned. 

Time’s breath caught. 

His heart plummeted. 

His throat constricted. 

The dam burst. 

And for the first time in a long while, Time cried and sobbed and mourned as he clutched tightly to the cold and pale form of the child he held in his arms. 

A child whose life had been stolen from him far too soon. 

He buried his face into Warrior’s hair, wretched sounds of grief and turmoil tearing from his throat as he despaired and grieved over this great loss. 

Nothing could ever compare to the excruciating agony and heartbreak he felt now. A void formed within Time’s heart as a chunk of it broke off and disappeared. 

How could the Goddess be so merciless? So heartless? 

Time had never truly believed in prayer. He’d never believed in faith. After all he had gone through, how could he? 

But as he held the dying boy in his arms, he prayed like never before. Hoping, yearning, pleading with Her to spare his life. 

But She hadn’t. 

She’d cruelly ripped Link away from him. 

~~~~ He extended his hands, respectfully returning the Ocarina of Time back to the instrument’s original owner. 

“I have done all there was to do with the Ocarina,” He quietly said to the Queen as her gloved fingers curled around the beloved instrument. She looked to him expectantly, silently encouraging him to continue, “I have no need for it now that I have returned,” He stepped back and met her gaze evenly. 

The Queen only smiled, sorrow and understanding in her eyes. She knew, without him having to say, what he had suffered and done. 

“That is where you are wrong,” She lowered her gaze, brushing her hand along the top of the Ocarina, “This Ocarina belongs to you more than it does to me.” 

They stood in the Courtyard of the newly furnished Hyrule Castle. The War had destroyed Old Hyrule, forcing Zelda to lead her people to a new home and start anew. This was where Link had found them years later. 

The newly-turned Queen delicately placed the Ocarina back into his hands, her blue eyes dark and stormy. 

“Keep it with you always, Link. There may come a time when you will need it, and if you should not have it...” She trailed off meaningfully, and Link was stricken. He knew not to take her words lightly, “Let us hope that day will never come.” 

But it would. 

Both knew but refused to acknowledge it. 

~~~~

The memory from so long ago came unwarranted to Time’s mind, yet, it was not altogether an unwanted one. 

The older Hero’s head snapped up, eye wide in remembrance and unbridled hope. 

Could it be possible..? 

He looked down to the still and cold form he held and a flicker of conviction flared to life within him. Zelda might not have known then but he had taken her words to heart and carried the Ocarina with him wherever he went. 

Gently, carefully, Time placed Warrior onto the unforgiving, stone, ground and snatched at the pack attached to his belt. He flicked the flap open, digging through the few items it held. 

Miraculously enough, the contents within were unbroken and unaffected by the blast and terrible fall Time had suffered. At the very bottom, Time’s blood-stained fingers curled around the familiar outline of his beloved Ocarina. 

Now cradling the instrument in his hands, Time whispered a plea to Farore,

“Let this work. Just this once, grant me this miracle, Goddess of Courage,” 

After all I have done and all that I have sacrificed-

And he raised the Ocarina and played the tune he had memorized decades ago as a little boy in green. 

The Song of Time echoed ominously throughout the impenetrable darkness, ricocheting off the solid debris surrounding them and caressing his ears. The melody was pure, untainted, and only when he completed it, the last note fading into nothingness did the world around him begin to change. 

It twisted, warped, and turned. Colors burst to life and blended together until all Time saw was white. 

Time came to a halt.

The clock rewound. 

Scenes that had already played out reversed. Rips and tears in his clothing, stains, dust, grime, and blood were removed and Time’s eye burned when he came to understand the Blessing he had been given by the Goddess. 

Then, just as suddenly as it had stopped, it started again. The hands unfroze and the clock began ticking, each tick a deafening echo in his ears. 

A countdown. 

Time found himself standing in the decrepit hallway Warrior had left him in. Only, this time around, he was not slumped helplessly against the wall, waiting in agony for Warrior to return. 

Without wasting a second, Time sprinted away. Steely resolve fed this newfound strength and adrenaline racing through his body and he whipped around the corner in time to see a disheveled, bloodied, Warrior bolting his way. 

A very much alive Warrior. 

Cerulean blues so alike his own widened in shock and surprise when Warrior spotted him and skidded to a halt, only just preventing what would have been a painful collision. 

-the sound the impact of Warrior’s head connecting with Time’s golden armor resonated through the air as the Captain staggered back with a pained grimace, a hand flying up to his forehead,

“Ow-what-?!” 

“Time?” Pure confusion flit across his features, overshadowed by worry, strain, and a hint of pain. 

A flood of relief- so powerful and undiluted- cascaded over the older Hero and nearly swept him off his feet. His hand snapped out before a thought crossed his mind and the knight flailed when Time seized his collar-   

-Time’s hand shot out and wrested a handful of his tunic, yanking him close. The older Hero leaned down, growling out, 

“You and I will be having words, young man-” 

- and pulled him close, ordering tersely, 

“Don’t do that again,” 

Ever. 

His eye flashed with something unrecognizable. Emotions raged within that deep pool of blue, roiling thunderously and creating a storm Warrior had never before seen from their Leader. 

All the Knight could do was swallow and nod. 

Time accepted the timid response then gripped the injured Knight’s shoulder to lead him down the corridor. 

“How badly are you hurt?” He asked at once, noticing for the first time the limp the younger Hero had. He snatched Warrior’s pack from the ground. The one he had left behind. 

It slowed them a little but not too much. Time’s only motive was to get them out as soon as possible. 

-Warrior brushed him off, urgent and jittery,

“There’s no time! We have to go- now!” He breezed past Time, yanking the Old Man behind him until Time recovered himself and matched his pace. 

“What is it?” 

“Those traitors called for backup,” - 

Time’s concern increased when the Knight leaned a little more heavily against his side and it was then he noticed the wheezing. He wrapped a strong arm around Warrior’s back, helping to keep him upright. 

Warrior weakly waved a dismissive hand in the air, 

“No time to worry about that,” He hissed and Time almost whipped his hand back as if he’d been scalded. Gingerly, Time placed his hand higher up to keep from agitating whatever wound Warrior had earned, “They called for backup. We need to leave-”  “I know,” Time calmly interrupted, eyeing the dank tunnel ahead in search for an escape. He did not want to go through the ordeal he had before. 

The agony and excruciating pain, the keen sense of loss, and having his heart torn to shreds... It was still fresh. A wound that would scar but never truly heal. 

Had it only been minutes since he turned back the hands of time? Hours? 

- covered in dust and grime, blood that wasn’t his own seeping into the fabric of his clothing as he clutched the Knight close and hoarsely pleaded with the Goddess to save him- 

“You know?” Warrior blinked, pain and befuddlement contorting his features. He looked to Time, appraising him as they hurried through the dark corridor in the hopes of escaping their enemies that were sure to be pursuing them.

The unspoken how? was heard but not answered. 

“Stay close to me,” 

As if Warrior could go anywhere else but the Knight still nodded. Something within Time settled but he still tightened his grip on him, as if afraid if he were to let go, Warrior would vanish and Time would find this was nothing more than a deceitful dream. 

Then, as if to prove to him that this was no dream, an explosion rocked the earth behind them. Although they were farther ahead of the blast than the first time around, the force was still enough to send them sailing. 

Time crashed into the unforgiving ground, his shoulder wrenching and side screaming from the harsh landing. 

His ears rang, his mind swam, and a coil of unmitigated terror lanced through him as his world was once again plunged into darkness. 

The walls of the dungeon shook violently and crumbled. The stone ceiling above caved in and Time threw his arms above his head to protect himself from the debris that crashed around him. 

Warrior. 

Where was Warrior? 

Everything around him quaked and trembled destructively as the tunnels collapsed, trapping them within its deepest confines. 

After what felt to be ages, the shaking stopped and the world grew eerily still and silent. 

Time wasted no time in dragging himself onto his arms and knees, cracking his eye open and striving to pierce through the darkness. 

“Warrior?” He called immediately. 

There was no answer. 

His breath caught. 

No no no..! 

He had gone back to prevent this! He had gone back to save Warrior! To keep him alive! He couldn’t fail! 

“LINK!” His voice reverberated through the air, rebounding back to him and Time could have sworn his world had come to an end. 

Where was he? He couldn’t have fallen far from Time. 

“Farore, please,” 

All I ask is for him to be alive..!

Could They not give him this? Surely, he had sacrificed and done enough in his life to be granted this miracle. 

A rustle and slight movement to his left pulled Time from his whirling thoughts and he snapped his head to the side with barely restrained hope. 

“Link?” 

-Link, where are you?” Time demanded to know, snapping his head in the direction he thought Warrior’s voice had come from. 

“I...” Warrior tried, wheezing in a sickeningly frail manner, “I...don’t know...Can’t tell...S’all dark...” He slurred. 

Time’s heart pounded madly against his chest. He willed himself to remain calm. 

“It’s alright, Link,” He soothingly told the ailing Knight, “Just keep talking and I’ll come find you.” 

A few stone pebbles tumbled, having been disturbed by something. Time didn’t know what impressed him to, but he turned in the direction of the sound. The closer he came to the source, he realized he could make out a faint, extremely dim, pink glowing light coming from behind a particularly large stone brick. 

Time rested his hand along the edge of it, crawling around it and looking to see what was causing the light. 

He immediately stiffened, heart leaping into his throat, when his searching gaze landed on an altogether disturbing and terrifying sight. 

There, not too far from him, lay a crumpled and motionless Warrior. He was on his side, back facing Time, and temple resting on the cool stone. 

Fear clawed its way up Time’s chest and wound around him. Unable to speak, unable to breathe, Time ignored the protest of his aching body and threw himself to Warrior’s side. He turned the Knight onto his back and cradled his face in his hands. 

The Captain’s eyes were closed, pale features undisturbed and serene. One could almost mistake him for sleeping...

“Not this time, Warrior,” Time harshly told the Knight, ignoring the stinging of his eye and giving the teen a stern shake, “I did not come this far only to have you die again,” 

But what could he do? He had nothing to help Warrior and he had no inclination as to how far the others were or when they’d noticed their elongated absence. 

-“The others will find us. You said so yourself.” 

Warrior laughed- a wet and painful sound. He choked and Time’s fear and worry skyrocketed. 

Once Warrior had recovered, gasping and wheezing, he whispered hoarsely, “I said...they’d...find you...Pops.”

Time banished the memory from his mind. 

He had to do something- anything! He looked around helplessly and it was then his attention was captured by the fluctuating pink light within Warrior’s pack Time had dropped when he’d been sent flying. 

That glow...

Time’s hand snapped out and he clutched the pack, yanking it close. He rifled through it, his fingers closing in on a glass bottle Warrior always carried. 

Disbelief mingled with hope seared through Time and he tugged the bottle out. 

The Hero could have laughed or cried. Perhaps both. 

A fairy. 

There was a fairy fluttering aimlessly within the glass, unaware of the going-ons of the outside world. 

The fairy he’d previously used to heal the worst of his wounds before he’d turned back time. 

Since he’d rewound the clock, he’d never used the fairy. He hadn’t had the need to. 

Time didn’t know when he’d uncorked the bottle or when he’d asked the fairy to heal Warrior- if he’d asked her at all. His attention was solely focused on the unconscious and deathly still Knight before him. 

Once the fairy completed her work, she disappeared to return back to whatever fountain they’d whisked her from and Time waited tensely. 

After what felt to be an eternity but was in actuality only a couple of seconds, Warrior’s brow creased, his features contorted, and a cough rattled his chest. 

The sheer elation and overwhelming relief Time experienced was nothing compared to the moment when Warrior’s chest rose and fell with the first intake of breath. 

He carefully maneuvered his arms underneath the unconscious teen and lifted him from the uneven ground to clutch him close. 

“You’re alive,” Time whispered hoarsely, squeezing his eye shut and giving thanks to the Goddess, “You’re alive,” He placed a hand on the back of Warrior’s head, pressing it against his shoulder and reveling in the fact that he was alive and breathing, “I didn’t fail you...” 

~~~~

The light of the new dawn pierced the murky darkness as a hole high above was incessantly chipped away at. Muffled voices, distant and incomprehensible, talked one over another, determination and worry coating their tones. 

There was a brief pause and then a shadow blocked the warm filtering sunlight to peer into the abyss below. 

They started when they saw the bent form of Time, covered with dust and grime, clinging to the ghostly pale and bloodied form of Warrior. 

“Goddess,” 

Another shadow forced itself beside the first and went stock still, back rigid and shoulders tense. 

“Old Man! Warrior!” Was called down to them, fingers digging into the stone surrounding the hole that had been made. 

The Old Man’s face was hidden from them by a curtain of disheveled hair, one hand buried in Warrior’s hair and the other holding him close. 

When Time felt and registered the warmth of the light on him, heard the familiar voices from above, he lifted his head with great effort. 

He must look terrible but the profound relief and gratitude blooming within him were enough to make Time smile. 

~~~~

Time remained vigil by Warrior’s bedside, tensely waiting for the younger Hero to awaken. He kept watch of the steady rise and fall of Warrior’s chest as he breathed with ease. There was no rattle, no wet cough, no blood... 

Warrior’s pale face was littered with bruises and small slivers here and there. A bandage was wrapped around his head and arms...but he was alive. 

However, only when Warrior woke up would Time be able to rest and relax. knowing for a certainty he would be alright. 

Sky, Twilight, Wild, Hyrule, Four, Wind, and Legend would often peer into the room to check on the both of them only to find Time in the same spot, still and unmoving. 

Two days had passed since their rescue. It had been Wind who’d noticed Warrior’s absence and Four who mentioned Time’s. Immediately afterwards, the group set off to find them. 

With Time’s mind having been preoccupied by Warrior’s well-being and the physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion taking its toll on him, he’d only caught snippets of what the others had done leading up to the point where they’d discovered and dug Warrior and Time out. 

The story had been partially explained then. According to Malon, a ransom note had been left on the gate of Lon Lon Ranch. There was no need for her to say more. Time already knew. 

The incensed rage and palpable fury mingled with a subdued tone of remorse was easily recognizable in the tenseness of Time’s form and single eye. 

Time had sent Twilight and Four to track down the headquarters of these anti-monarch turncoats. With Twilight’s ability, he’d known his descendant and Four would most certainly find them. 

He’d recognized the questions the younger Heroes wanted to ask him but they respectfully bit them back. 

Time didn’t think he could have answered if he’d tried. 

“...Pops..?” 

Time blinked slowly, his mind registering the frail, hoarse voice quietly calling to him. 

A voice he had not heard in two days and had been impatiently waiting to. 

Snapping his head to the right, Time’s eye widened marginally at the sight of two, familiar, cerulean pools of blue blearily looking to him. 

“Link?” Time could hardly believe it. A relieved, genuine, smile curved his lips and the Hero placed a calloused hand on the Knight’s shoulder, “About time you woke up.” 

Warrior hummed quietly, wincing from the aches and pangs shooting throughout his beaten and bruised body. 

“Some deep thinking you were doing there...” A yawn broke from him, “Everything alright?” He drowsily asked, trying to blink the sleep clinging heavily to his lashes away. 

Time’s expression softened at the sight and he knocked Warrior lightly on the head, careful not to agitate his wound. 

“It is now,” His chest rumbled as he spoke, the tenseness in his shoulders and back lessening now that Warrior had regained conscious, “You gave all of us quite the scare, Link,” 

You gave me more than a scare...

Warrior’s brow creased and he rolled his head to meet Time’s gaze, searching the Old Man for whatever answers he sought. 

“Scare..?” He mumbled, eyes wandering as he thought long and hard about what Time meant. 

Time knew the instant the memories began returning to him and Warrior breathed a sigh of relief and slumped deeper into the mattress of his bed. 

“We made it out, Pops,” 

The Knight would never know the true cost of their attempted escape. Of Time rewinding the clock to save him. Still, Warrior’s second brush with death hadn’t completely released Time from its grasp. 

It had been a harrowing experience. One Time had no want or wish to repeat ever again. He knew, should it happen a second time, he would not be granted the miracle he had been for Warrior. 

“Time?” 

The older Hylian blinked and turned to find Warrior watching him with a hint of concern, 

“Something wrong?” 

It was then Time realized his thoughts were being reflected by his expression and he quickly smoothed his features and shook his head in response to the Captain’s question. 

“No, no, nothing is wrong, however,” His eye glinted and a stern, displeased stare pierced Warrior as Time rounded on him crossing his arms, “What you did was reckless and nonsensical.” 

Warrior shrunk back into the pillows propped behind him. He was in for it now. The sound scolding he was sure to get would be one to last for a lifetime. 

Surprisingly, Time elected to skip the lecture and jumped straight into the conclusion. He gripped the Knight’s shoulder tightly, 

“Never again, Link,” Time locked gazes with Warrior, striving to drive his point across, “I don’t want you to ever foolishly toss your life away, am I understood?” 

All Warrior could do was nod. 

It was amazing, how Time could make him feel like a small child. 

“Sure thing, Pops,” Warrior dutifully answered when Time raised an eyebrow. 

Time narrowed his eye on him, searching for any hint of deceit. Finding none, he released his shoulder and leaned back into his chair. 

Warrior frowned, guilt and remorse churning in his stomach. 

Time understood that Warrior must have come to the realization of just how badly he’d shaken Time. 

Although he would never know the full extent of the terrible ordeal, Warrior was sure to think twice in the future. 

A comfortable silence settled between them and Time picked up the Ocarina lying in his lap and blew softly into it, testing the notes before he began to play. 

The dulcet tones encompassed the room, simple and melodic. 

“Hey, Pops,” Warrior’s quiet, thoughtful voice broke Time’s concentration and the Old Man lowered the Ocarina to hum in question, ”Thanks,”

This drew Time’s attention to the healing adolescent, “For what?” 

Warrior made a strange face, brows drawing together and lips pursed. Time curiously rested his hands bearing the Ocarina in his lap, 

“Link?” 

Warrior shook his head, cringing when it protested against the sudden movement. 

“Everything, I guess, but most of all, for being there.” 

Time stiffened at the words. 

“I’m glad...you’re here...Time.”

“You were an idiot,” Was all the leader said, “Never again, Warrior. Promise to never again risk your life the way you did...” There was a deep-rooted pain and heart-rending grief etched into his typically stoic features that Warrior couldn’t deny. It made him wonder what had happened. 

“It was too close a call,” Time whispered mostly to himself, eye faraway and voice distant as he recalled whatever it was Warrior couldn’t, ���We nearly lost you.” 

But Warrior knew their leader well enough to recognize the words he didn’t say. 

We did lose you. 

“If it hadn’t been for your fairy,” Time looked away, dark and brooding. 

Warrior understood. He recognized how narrowly he’d avoided death. Then, his brows drew together when a faint memory wriggled itself from the far back of his mind and crawled to the front. 

“Wait...didn’t you use my fairy?” He questioned, confusion lacing his tone. “I think...I remember...I left you with my pack. The fairy was in it. You- you used it didn’t you?” 

Were Warrior’s eyes not sharp, he would have missed the light cough Time stifled with the back of his hand. 

“No. I had no need for it.” 

“What..?” But that made no sense, “But when I ran into you, you were perfectly fine..?” 

Wasn’t he? Warrior couldn’t recall seeing any of the grave and mortally fatal wounds the Leader had earned before they attempted their escape. 

A large, calloused, hand gently pat his shoulder and Time sternly said, “You need to rest, Warrior. Everything will be explained later- once you’ve regained your strength and healed. What matters is we made it out alive. The others found us and dug us out,” The older Hero then rested his hands on his knees with a wry smile, “Speaking of the others, they will want to know you’re awake,” 

Warrior only frowned at the deflection. He didn’t pursue the matter, however. Time’s tone was enough to tell him the subject was closed and the conversation over. 

Time stood and with one last look to Warrior, crossed the room to the door and opened it just enough to poke his head out and call down the hallway to the others. 

The scrambling of feet and joyful voices filled the air as the Heroes came darting to the room, and Time smiled with content as he watched them burst into the room and crowd around Warrior’s bed. 

Malon walked in afterwards, drying her hands with a dish towel. She smiled at the sight of the Heroes and took her place beside Time, her presence a great comfort to the older Hero. 

Time knew he would have given anything for this moment. 

He had. 

And he always would. 

[sigilscriber]

You’re a Witch??? Rant ahead

Today, like so often, I got that same reaction when I told someone at work I was a practitioner.  As always the sterio-typical “But witches are women” was the first thing that crossed their mind. But it often goes beyond that when it comes to me.  

I am also tagged with “Where is all your crystals and pendants?” “I thought they only where black?” “Where are your robes?” “Where are your rustic renaissance clothes?” “Where are you goth clothes?” “What is you wand?” “What school can I apply to?” “Is there really a sorting hat of sorts.” “Where is your familiar?” “Do you know Alyssa Milano?” “You must have thousands of books” “My bosses best friends daughter is Wiccan?” “Aren’t you actually a Wizard?” “Can I see your book of spells?” “Ooooooooooh My daughter soooo loves Sabrina.” “My ancestors lived in Salem during the trials”  DEEP SIGH!

Thanks Hollywood, 

I guess we went from being classed as being green and ugly to being new age- sparkly-hippies, battling monsters and bad witches. No change. Still mis-represented. If even more so. 

On average I am just your average college guy. No robes or outrageous garb, no crystals or rings, no piercings. Not even a tattoo. Okay I DO have one heptagram pendant that I wear under my shirt (Just like a Christian or Jew.) And yes I admit I do have a small collection of mortar and pestels and herbs. I just happen to like the shapes and makes of different mortars.  I do have a wand but it stays in the draw of my altar. I am not bashing people that do where and have all that gear, clothes and stuff. To each their own. I’m not into hats at all, not into robes and ren shirts. I do not even have a car slathered with tons of witch stickers. I do not need that stuff. Yes, I do have a special pair of jeans and T shirt I like to wear for certain ceremonial works. But even the shirt is just a plain blue t-shirt. Nothing on it. I mean if you saw me crafting, I would look like a pain ordinary guy. I do not have a book of spells of Shadows. I do however have a prayer book I made. I use to have tons of books, but realized it was all the same wiccan stuff being written over and over and over and over and over and over. I ditched them all.

And this whole idea that because I am a witch, people think the only way they can relate to me is bringing up something like “Oh I know someone who sells crystals in Australia” or “Do you know Rowling?”  Point of fact. not only do I NOT know her but I LOATH her. She is the cause of my bitterness.

There are days when people pull this on me I feel like asking “Oh you are Christian? Can I see your bible? Do you know Archbishop Wenski? Why are you not wearing a head covering? Yeah I had a Christian relative that was mauled by lions in Roman. Of course I won’t but there are days....

Its bad enough that they continue to make shows and movies that makes ANYONE that’s remotely new age or a witch like they are some comical nerd, dim-witted or clutz. There are times I would love to see a show were the family is Pagan or witches and look and act as normal as anyone else or even well-off, but its the Christian/Jewish neighbors that are made to look like the “freaks”. And seriously, if I ever met Rowling  or the creators of Salem, Charmed or Sabrina I would probably bash their heads in  with the closest thing I could grab. And you seriously do not want to know what I would do to the asp-hole creators of Supernatural and all those Ghost Hunter shows.

They think its cute to play around and make TV series and movies out of peoples seriously dedicated arts and lives. Let see them make a “Magickal/MIracle” movie about a church of Christians VS Jews. Have them casting “miracles” like parting water, multiplying food, turning furniture into animals. burning flora and water into blood. Lets have a movie where kids go to a different monasteries and learn to make holy water and oils, learn prayers to battle other monasteries. They can be based off of the 4 arch angels and can be chose by an animated rabbi hat. The headmaster can be Noah. And they can get helper cherubs. And it all can take place in the Garden of Eden that they reach by a golden elevator shaped like an arc. Oh and there will be giants, unicorns, fauns, phoenixes, talking snakes and dragons (Because all of these creatures are mentioned in the bible as real) Yeah and the Jews and Christians can turn each other to pillars of salt. And hey, lets have prayer beads and rosaries bestow special powers like strength and invisibility. I mean why not????

Lets have a Show where the family is Pagan/Witches living in a nice house in Suburbia, dad is an executive and mom is a teacher. No special effects, no house with tons of “supposed “ withy stuff is strewn everywhere. No mention of them being pagan or a witch. Maybe just one small pentacle or sacred symbol on the far wall. Now and then at dinner they will have a meal blessing. Have the friend/neighbor be some half wit blonde Christian with huge hair that’s like “Oh I have a rosary for that” any time a problem pops up and works in a Christian book store.

In short: No. Not ALL witches wear tie-die shirts with pentacles on it, Not all witches where tons of rings and pendants. Not all look like some uber goth chick or stoner hippy. Not all have arms emblazed with tattoos. Not all have spell books. Not all live in Victorian/Georgian manors with herbs and glass baubles everywhere. There is no wrinkled elves, Hogwarts or invisibles trains. Some of us wear suits or gym clothes, live in Levitown houses and 40 floor apartments and do not have a single tattoo or crystal. We do not go to special invisible schools nor battle evil witches and monsters with wands. The only robe we wear are bathrobes and the only hat we wear is a hoodie or driving cap.       

[astrologypersonalityandcartoons]

Supernatural season 15 episode 6

What's withis girls nosebleed

He ate all of that one box

Clarence ooh that name hasn't used in at least a few years.

Yes another character returned. But another unhappy ending it almost looks like you know what I change my mind on this whole ghost thing it kind of sucks worse than I thought.

Cas helping out those people is such a good thing.

So the girl from the beginning is dead

The sheriff is a bit of a douche

Actually you know what he's okay.

Hidden bookcase how extra of Rowena.

She kept journals!!!!!!!

Its painful(in a good way) hearing Sam talk about Rowena.

Are they going to bring Eileen back. Yessssss.

You know I think I actually like the Cas plot this week it feels like it could be cathartic for him doing what he's doing (somehow I don't know I'm not sure).

Crap

Missing people a lot in that area huh...

The sister regrets it huh

Or not "she made my life hell"

Yeah but Dean was way better to you then the probably were to each other

Told you

What if it's not a monster Cas? What if it's another fluke? There have a been few of those even if not recently.

So that's why the sheriff seemed likea bit of an ahole at first

Kill him Cas.

Ooh that's kind of brutal actually..needed to be done but still brutal.

"Not today bitch" we love a queen

Sam really did learn a lot from Rowena.

Does this mean what I think it means.

Cas be careful

Oh something is wrong with Cas.

Yes Sam Dean and Cas back together again. Good call Cas get back in the game.

Yes Eileen is back alive.

So this seasons not all bitter. Good I was worried there for a second.

Hugs

Sam's important speech moment for this episodes happening.

He's right you can beat God.(Somehow)

That's it for this post. BYE.

I think I did something so if there's something weird with this post I apologize seriously.

[lady-o-ren]

The Hunger of My Heart

To those odd fellows who are not shackled by all-consuming desires, their hearts never ripped apart to fester hopelessly from that gaping rotting wound, days passed by unremarkably in their small quiet lives. 

 Never were they beckoned to a strange old apothecary's cottage disguised from their untroubled eyes as nothing more than an abandoned building - fraught with weeds and rampant with decay. Only the weary-hearted in need of the impossible to heal their sorrows could see and beg a wish of the mistress who lived there. A healer with a supernatural gift only as great as her spirit's eternal light. 

 However, a wish for her skills always comes at a price. An exchange of something precious from the desperate soul. 

 Nothing more, nothing less.

 And today she had a visitor who paced and paced outside her gates of slate, his bleary eyes disturbed as a mourning sea.

 ———

 Past the facade that shrouded the apothecary from prying eyes, was a surrounding, endless garden thriving wild as a forest, where all that grew reached up, up to soak in the golden rays of the cloudless spring sun. Even the young apprentice, Elias Pound, kneeled with a spade digging through the verdant earth, found himself high in spirits despite his nose twitching as a hare's from the inquisitive dragonflies dancing on the wind.

 He kindly swatted away at their shimmery beating wings, back to his task of rooting for the treasures buried deep with the earthworms, when his hand came dangerously close to a patch of prickly violet plants that stirred in anticipation for his blunder to be their gain. Before he could move another inch closer the lad felt a touch, warning and familiar at his shoulder. 

 The mistress of light. 

 Simply clad in a thin white button-down rolled up her slender forearms and tucked into her well-loved trousers, stitched here and there from age. Further down she wore a pair of shoes that had never known a day without a stroll through the grass, while her hair was an entity unto itself, curling warm as a halo about her face.

 "Careful with those," Claire cautioned, with a gentle squeeze of his shoulder, and crouched down beside her apprentice to the dirt that was like her second skin but her heart was owned by the wild around them.

 "The juice from a split stalk will slowly eat away at your skin, baring the white of your bones."

 Withdrawing his hand to his dirtied lap, wide-eyed Elias curiously studied the dangerous plant that smelled of citrus, tangy and crisp. "Why grow such a wretched plant at all then?" 

 "Because too many folk in the early days of ale and mead knew its leaves held a cure for a bruising hangover and squandered it, leaving the earth barren of its name and very nearly its seed except for here in this patch of earth." 

 She fondly thumbed the fuzzy underside of one sharp-edged leaf that had saved her from many a dark and pleasurable bender.

 "They also keep the vermin and insects away but sadly not the untrained eye." Claire gave the lad a pointed, yet not unkind look of reprimand. "Keep to your studies, Elias, if you value your fingers."

 "I shall, mistress," the lad assured her with a nod, as his round freckled cheeks pinked under a mop of russet hair. The color deepened as he sputtered a chuckle when Claire thumped him, shoulder to shoulder, at the title he addressed her by. 

 As he forever would do no matter the years, decades. A century or two. 

 When his mistress kept herself perched beside him, taking inventory of his withy basket filled with heaps of medicinal herbs and pungent wild garlic (along with a bitty red ladybug roving lost atop them), Elias wondered aloud, 

 "Wasn't Mr. Fraser supposed to call on you today, mistress?" 

 Mr. Fraser was a friend of hers that had kindled months before and was never one to keep the lady of the house waiting.

 Before she could answer where Elias would hear the disquiet in her voice, note the concern in her eyes, a bell clear as birdsong echoed through the air, signaling the company in question had arrived. 

 Claire rose from the ground as if she'd been plucked by the breeze and quirked a brow at her apprentice, a faint smile at her mouth. "Do keep yourself in one piece, Elias. It'd be a shame to lose a fine hand such as yours." 

 He gave her a cheek grin, rubbing his nose with a sooted knuckle that painted him more speckled than he already was. "Don't bother a worry with me, mistress. And send my regards to your man for me."

 Claire ignored the last comment, if it was even heard, as she was already off towards the fading bell chime.

   _____

   Claire hurried down the hallway of her inheritance from long ago, the power enchanted within the apothecary walls having given her years beyond the promise of a creator high above. Where rooms were neatly cluttered with every curiosity that had ever caught her eye, itched at her hands, had the power to heal the human soul. 

 There were shelves enclosed with folding glass doors, twice the height of a man extending from floor to mahogany beamed ceilings. They held bottles of bitter thick liquids that could coat a mouth a frothy bluish-green, others sweet as fruit just tumbled from a vine, fallen from a tree. 

 Cabinets held charms big as a man's fists, smaller than thimbles, to ward against dark spirits that lurked in the shadows, stalking the unknowing until their touch was upon them, claiming flesh and mind. Mirrors too were scattered among the bric-a-brac of another room that gleamed reflections of other realms, and time, but draped with sheets to shield any unfortunate from falling through, leaving nothing but a wisping breath of who they once were behind.

 And one room left undisturbed held tear-stained belongings that had been sacrificed to purge a spirit of its relentless suffering. 

 As would be done today.

 Claire slowed her stride to gather breath to lungs, combing from her cheeks a tickling of errant curls. She had cut her hair a bit too short, above her proud shoulders, during an impulsive battle of struggle and defeat where she broke several brushes to a shamble of splinters. 

 Her Mr. Fraser - Jamie, had to coax her from her room and at first sight fondly tugged her dark locks, promising they were lovely still. 

 "As a tangled bushel of curly dock weeds," he had said, provokingly with a snort. Claire had flicked his nose in glaring retaliation (even as she was mildly impressed he recalled any of her chatter on the botanical), then readied her elbow for a jabbing as his wide mouth pursed for another compliment that sputtered into rib-shaking laughter.

 However, that joyful tease in his lilting voice had been smothered to a haunted rasp when days after he called upon her at the solemn hour of dawn's first light.

 "I beg for yer hand to heal me, Claire. To bleed my misery, gift me peace."

 Unspoken was the why and reason when questioned from her tightened throat. The call falling dead when uttered that she would do all that was possible for him.

 Claire vowed to do just that as she turned a final corner to the front of her shop that doubled as her home, finding Jamie faced away from her, edged over the long oak countertop. He was rigid as stone from shoulder to toe, except for his fingers tapping a raving beat against the hardwood until he heard his name whispered, breaking his anxious trance to glance her way.

 His eyes, rimmed with bruising shadows, were a fleeting rush of mingled relief and fear, with a flicker of intensity undefinable. Then gone behind a mask of stillness cracking at the seams as he averted his gaze to the empty space between them. 

 Claire felt the whole of her seize to see Jamie sickened with such an affliction and a chest gnawing guilt that she, a healer, hadn't seen the signs of distress before now. And that he didn't trust her with his woe before it came to this. 

 At her approach, she raised a palm to touch him - whether it be his hand soothed between hers or to clutch her dearest friend with all she had until his ill seeped to herself - only to let it falter to her chest as the very motion caused Jamie to clench his jaw and flinch. 

 Another crack breaching his mask. 

 He bowed his head in apology, waves lusterless as rust and Claire's own features gentled in response, wanting to appear unfazed.

 "You're late." She tried to sound casual enough. "Not having second thoughts are you?"

 "No," was Jamie's curt and raspy reply. "If ye please, I would like to be rid of this -" He tapped a long forefinger to his temple. "Now and forever."

 Claire inclined her head, resisting the urge to thread her arm with his. A habit from their first stumbled upon meeting, a ritual now rebuked. 

 "Of course, come with me."

 She led Jamie to a room that was nearly wall to wall windows, obscured by plants hanging from the walls and wooden rafters that filled the room with the fragrance of herbs and jasmine flowers. Claire held the arched door open for Jamie to pass through but he paused at the doorway and questioned,

 "Is the lad wi' ye today?"

 Claire assured him they would have no interruptions as Elias was in the garden. "Probably singeing his poor fingers as we speak and rueing the day he ever crossed my path."

 She hoped to spark a chuckle, no matter how small, to lessen his gloom, but Jamie merely strode past her (mouth pressed into a numbing white line, ducking low to avoid a smack from the doorframe), sitting at the small round table in the middle of the room. In the past the two had tea there, possibly spiked with a heavy hand of brandy, whisky more often than not, telling each other's fortunes of fantastic demise and toothless hunchbacked lovers from grubby leaf bottoms and the crumbled bits of chocolate biscuits.

 All that dressed it now were brown bits of flower petals.

 Taking her seat across Jamie (his attention absorbed in the wood grain of the old table), and needing to dispel the disturbance clinging to him, Claire began her speech recited thousands of times before to those like himself.

 And once spoken to her by the old master of the apothecary, her own Maitre Raymond, when she sat in his very seat.

 "Your thoughts are yours alone. The memories, good and bad, are protected from my sight. But I can feel them, all that plagues you. You only need to free your mind to be healed." 

 The words sinking in, Jamie flicked his dour gaze uneasily to hers.

 "I have yer word I willna remember all that ails me, Sassenach?" The name he gave her that filled along forgotten hollowness beneath her breasts.

 "I promise. Even if I must rip its possession of you." 

 So with a heavy exhale, Jamie pulled from inside his coat's breast pocket a small cherrywood snake. He rubbed his thumbs against the ridges carved down its coiled spine with a reverence that one would give to a holy cross and deep from his throat said something haltingly in gaelic (Claire thought it must be a goodbye) then laid the snake carefully between them.

 "To honor the mistress of the house."

 Claire wished she could refuse him but she was bound to the rules of give and take carved in the wood of the house. All she could do was give it the same reverence as Jamie, her fingers gingerly stroking it from head to tail. Memories flooded her senses, ones spent frolicking in glades, hiding in barns beneath the hay, shivering to the bone in unforseen rain.

 But brightest of all was of a departed brother's love carved on the flat underbelly of the snake, a name her fingers softly traced. 

 Sawny

 Swallowing thickly, Claire gently placed it aside and held her palms up. Jamie noted with an aching affection streaks of green, scented strongly of mint, marked a few of her fingertips. 

 "I'll need to touch you now. It's the only way for me to do what must be done. " 

 Color finally flushing his pallid skin, Jamie breathed almost shyly, "Ye may. It wouldna be proper if I were to go wi'out smelling like yer wee herbs."

 They shared a smile, however small, as Jamie's gone in a flash.

 Without thought, needing to be near him, Claire pushed her chair closer to his (not missing the sharp inhale that left his mouth) and tentatively cradled his face where she couldn't help but stroke against the scarred lines of restlessness. Beneath his greyed eyes under long lashes, down to the stubbled thin cheeks stretched tightly over sharp curving bone, and then the corner of his wide mouth that twitched, parting softly in a haggard sigh. Or was it a sob?

 Jamie was quick to brace her wrists.

 "There's nothing to fear, Jamie," Claire soothed, her breath of honey, tang of whisky, kissing at his lips. "Trust in me to care for you." 

 He managed to muster a half smile, crooked and true, but his gaze of her was mournful. Regretful even. "I always do, Sassenach. Always." 

 But he kept his grip on her that whitened his knuckles and she refused to let him see the worry creeping up every notch of her vertebrae as she pressed her thumbs to his temples. "Now, focus on the source of the pain."

 Jamie's eyes fluttered closed and Claire delved into his mind with a touch that glowed just as the flowers of devotion, a radiant forget-me-not blue.

 She was enveloped with the pieces of him that blared like the mighty sun - That bull-headed stubbornness. The bone deep loyalty of a knight. His insufferable sense of humor, vexing her even as she bubbled over with laughter. And Jamie's pure hearted goodness, so forgiving and impossibly kind. 

 Oh, how she admired him so. 

 But underneath that beautiful aura, Claire felt an agonizing blood red pain slashing apart his flesh, crying out in despair that misted her eyes as her hand fell to his breast, clasping the source of it all.

 A burning heart so divine in love. 

 "Oh, Jamie."

 His eyes flew open in gut clenching panic. "You said ye couldna see."

 "I can't. I only feel what consumes you and I do as if it were my own heartbeat throbbing, shattering." Her pulse was indeed rising with his dizzying passion, hunger and such unspeakable love blazing like wildfire. 

 "How can this person not reciprocate?" Her voice cracked.

 Jamie lowered his chin and covered both his broad palms over hers making the fragile bones quiver from the mounting pressure as he pressed them against his hammering heart, slowly killing him.

 "She kens nothing of how I feel, nor could she ever bless me with what I yearn to have. She haunts my every dream to where I fear to sleep. I canna breathe when I see her, am near her - even if I only think of her my heart's blood leaves me as if to perish."

 Mouth twisting in pain he whimpered, "Now please free my soul of her. "

 Claire dug her nails through his shirt, swallowing the salty sting of tears.

 "You will feel a coldness towards this woman. No love or warmth will she ever be to you. You'll remember her but she will hold the same place as a stranger in your heart. Can you handle that?"

 "That's what I want. What I need." Tears freely trickled down his wasted face and Claire knew that no words would sway him. Pressing her forehead to his, she sought once more to grasp that wild perfect flame he wanted her to smother.

 "Speak her name aloud."

 Jamie pressed his trembling thumbs to the jumping pulse at her wrists, breathing once, then other and once more again, he sobbed.

 "Sorcha."

 "A pretty name who will be no more to you."

_____

I rewrote another thing. And I honestly could rewrite this forever and ever and ever.

I don’t know if I made it better or worse.

Thanks to @smashing-teacups for giving this a look-see.

[azomi]

The Witch by the Hedge

by Giles Watson, A Witch’s Natural History

The hedge probably began life as a fence made of dead wood, the haga. Saxon farmers cut hawthorn boughs from woodland trees, binding them together with hazel withies. Here and there, where there were gaps in the fence, young hawthorn cuttings were trained across. The hedge itself stood on a bank, an uncultivated area of soil, which was quickly colonized by wildflowers and weeds. Birds perched on the fence, and passed the seeds of woodland trees in their droppings. These germinated, and instead of rooting them out, the farmers realized they would only serve to make the fence more impenetrable. Gradually, the dead wood of the fence rotted away, and the gaps were filled with growing trees, and the hawthorn was planted deliberately, its thorns an effective deterrent to wandering cattle. When the Normans arrived, they brought rabbits with them, and tame falcons trained for hunting. The Norman lords appointed haywards to keep the hedges trimmed so that they would no impede the progress of the hunt. Gradually, it was realized that the hawthorn would survive being cut down through the stem nearly to the ground, so that the hedge could be layered, and the skill known as plashing, whereby a hedge was transformed into an impenetrable living barrier of thorn, leaf, and wood, was developed into an art. By the thirteenth century, the art of the hedger was so sophisticated that a failure to hedge efficiently using living plants was considered a worthy subject for satire. In a lyric from the Harley manuscript, the Man in the Moon is lampooned as a foolish hedger who tries to patch the gaps in the hedge with cut thorn-boughs, hammered into position with stakes.

Wher he were o pe feld pycchynde stake

(He’s there in the field, struggling with stakes),

For hope of ys porned to dutten is doren

(Hoping the thorns will close up the gaps)

He mot myd is twybyl oper trous make

(His twybill must chop and gather a bundle)

Oper al is days werk per were yloren

(Or else, alas, his days work is lost).

The twybill was by now the traditional working tool of the hedger, edged on one side like an axe, and on the other like an adze, and the attempt to maintain a barrier with anything other than living materials was already recognized as a symbol of folly.

During the Black Death the hedge grew wild, and the stronger plants grew into trees, warped by centuries-old plashings at the bases of their trunks. By the Tudor period, it had been tamed once again, and the herbs at its borders were prized as the ingredients for love-philtres. In the eighteenth century, the enclosure acts ensured that this venerable hedge was adjoined by younger upstarts, dividing the fields into orderly grids, and the poorer people, now without lands of their own, turned once again to the older hedgerows for their sustenance. By the nineteenth century, the hedgerow was now the subject of bitter disputes between villagers and hedgers who relied upon it for survival, and gamekeepers who saw its denizens as vermin. In the early twentieth century, increased urbanization had reduced the obvious utility of hedges, but the burgeoned as havens for wildlife. Older friends of mine still testify to the fact that before the 1950s, a walk beside a hedgerow was a very different experience, for the sound of the birdsong was almost deafening. Agitate a limb with a walking stick, and clouds of insects would fill the air. By the late twentieth century, the art of the hedger was dead. Insecticides, fertilisers and herbicides turned the fields into deserts supporting one species, sustained not by organic processes, but by large scale hydroponics, and hedgerows themselves were ripped up to make way for combine harvesters capable of servicing rape-fields measured not in acres, but in square miles. The folklore of the hedgerow lapsed into obscurity, so much so that many of those who today describe themselves as Hedge Witches would be hard-pressed to identify the species in my 1,100 year-old hedge, let alone venture an opinion on their magical uses…

For the witch of premodern times, the hedgerow served as both a pharmacy and as a larder, and indeed, no modern witch can advance very far in the craft without at least a gastronomic intimacy with its hips and haws, its sloes and bullaces and crabs. More importantly still, it has always been a magical a poetic inspiration. Whether viewed in spring, when the hawthorn tips punctuate the winter browns with vivid green, at the height of summer, when the foliage is milk-splashed with elderflowers, in autumn when every bough is burdened with ripening fruits, both healthful and baneful or even in winter, when the hedgerow is a gaunt skeleton of plashed boughs, dormant, leafless branches and forbidding, criss-crossed thorns, the living hedgerow is the place where nature and nurture are in equilibrium. In a modern age in which people span the globe in search of the mystical, the witch affirms that the otherworld is never further away than the nearest hedge.