It feels strange to step into the meadow, after wandering the forest for so long.
It seems to him as if he blinked and then winter were over, and spring were gone, and had taken summer along with it. As if the flowers had only bloomed for a weekend, and he were too busy to tell them of their beauty. It was the first spring he had gone so long without seeing them. One day the trees were unfurling their fresh, green leaves after a winter that had seemed like it might have gone on forever; but then the next day they were already trading in their verdant robes for ones of red and gold. Ipomoea was afraid that tomorrow he might wake up and find only a forest full of skeletons again.
A unicorn had told him once that seeing the first spring flower each year made the whole winter worth it. But he had wasted his spring away as if it had never happened, and now winter knocked on his door again.
So he steps away from the forest at last, and when he comes upon the first light-flower that looks more like a star belonging to the night sky, he makes a wish upon it. And as he lowers his face to the flower, close enough to brush his cheek against its unfurled petals, it sings a promise back to him. For the first time in what feels like far too long of a time, Ipomoea smiles.
He follows the trail cut into the tall-summer grass, and for once does not wonder where it might lead him. He is not thinking of blood and bones when he comes upon the cherry wine sitting in a goblet - nor is he thinking of baptism or communion when he pours from the wine and washes his throat with it. All around him the lights are shining brightly enough to chase away the worst of the shadows, and both the forest and winter seem far enough away to be a dream tonight. With each step he takes that leads him deeper into Illuster, deeper into the light-flowers that laugh in the wind and tickle his sides, with each step not-star he lowers his muzzle upon he sheds another worry.
And soon enough, the flame inside of Ipomoea’s heart is beginning to swell again. After so long of it flickering and stuttering and nearly putting itself out, he almost doesn’t recognize the feel of it.
It seems to him as if he blinked and then winter were over, and spring were gone, and had taken summer along with it. As if the flowers had only bloomed for a weekend, and he were too busy to tell them of their beauty. It was the first spring he had gone so long without seeing them. One day the trees were unfurling their fresh, green leaves after a winter that had seemed like it might have gone on forever; but then the next day they were already trading in their verdant robes for ones of red and gold. Ipomoea was afraid that tomorrow he might wake up and find only a forest full of skeletons again.
A unicorn had told him once that seeing the first spring flower each year made the whole winter worth it. But he had wasted his spring away as if it had never happened, and now winter knocked on his door again.
So he steps away from the forest at last, and when he comes upon the first light-flower that looks more like a star belonging to the night sky, he makes a wish upon it. And as he lowers his face to the flower, close enough to brush his cheek against its unfurled petals, it sings a promise back to him. For the first time in what feels like far too long of a time, Ipomoea smiles.
He follows the trail cut into the tall-summer grass, and for once does not wonder where it might lead him. He is not thinking of blood and bones when he comes upon the cherry wine sitting in a goblet - nor is he thinking of baptism or communion when he pours from the wine and washes his throat with it. All around him the lights are shining brightly enough to chase away the worst of the shadows, and both the forest and winter seem far enough away to be a dream tonight. With each step he takes that leads him deeper into Illuster, deeper into the light-flowers that laugh in the wind and tickle his sides, with each step not-star he lowers his muzzle upon he sheds another worry.
And soon enough, the flame inside of Ipomoea’s heart is beginning to swell again. After so long of it flickering and stuttering and nearly putting itself out, he almost doesn’t recognize the feel of it.
@
”here am i!“
