A Gift in the Dark

As the Leaves Fall

As The Leaves Fall

The kettle rattled on the range next to her, the joyous bubbles rising through the water at odds with the darkness of her thoughts. A sigh escaped her lips as the old woman looked through the glass of the kitchen window to the trees bordering the gardens.

It was a time of year that planted a seed of dread in her heart; that seed being the only thing which grew and flourished as the fading colours of autumn painted the trees. As the leaves fell, the sprites of the woodlands surrounding the house were released from their arboreal prison, and the bitter yearly fight for survival began anew. The nights were the worst and, with other things to think about now, she did not feel prepared for what lay ahead.

Gaia made her tisane, moving carefully as a bitter twinge of pain lanced through her arthritis swollen knuckles. Sitting in her kitchen and looking out at her well tended gardens, she watched through the open door as the restless winds of autumn plucked the dried out husks of spring's early fervour from the trees. It was still relatively warm outside, the heat of the day making playful breezes which created swirling patterns with the leaves, building them up in the quieter corners so they could mulch down to assist in the new life that would follow the next year. Sitting quietly with a cup of tea, enjoying the air and the fading smells of life outside was a guilty pleasure, and one which would soon have to cease. She knew she didn't have long, and should prepare herself and the house for the battle coming, but 'just a few minutes more,' she told herself quietly.

Spring and summer were her time to recuperate. Time to regain some energy after the long winter which always left her drained and on the brink of death. As life sprang forth from the earth, she had nature's help in the eternal fight: all winter brought was loneliness and pain. As winter faded into memory, the rising sap of spring kept the beasts caged within their deciduous bowers, the ever-brightening sun weakening their powers and leaving them comatose.

But now it was mid-autumn.

Soon it would all start again; a fight which became more difficult every year as man ripped down more of the ancient forests, and destroyed more of the lines of power. Placing the cup of steaming tea back on the table in front of her, she sighed again.

Her age warped hands soon lost the heat from the mug, and she tucked them into her cardigan pockets to retain a little warmth. Her body relaxed as she leant back into the wooden chair, the wood offering a faint creak of protest.

The whispers of movement in the darkness had started early this year, the shadows in the woods deepening more with each passing night, presaging the oncoming of a bitter winter. Winds from the north had quickened the demise of summer, and some of the trees had released their confined sprites earlier than normal. More and more of them appeared every evening; clustered in flickering shadows at the edge of the tree line. They were scared, skittering little creatures which posed little or no threat at all on their own, but en-masse could destroy even a powerful Guardian such as herself.

The smiling face of her daughter caught her eye from the photo on the wall by the door, and she closed her eyes in prayer and memory.

She knew she was a dying breed; there were so few Guardians left now, and especially so with the loss of her daughter. But there was confidence a youngling would arise, bringing hope to those who remained, and bringing youth and vigour in the place of age and supposed wisdom. All she had to do now was survive long enough to let the youngster find her power. After three hundred years of waiting she had learnt patience, and the knowledge a successor was prophesied gave her hope and strength. Drawing on that strength, she opened her eyes and took a deep fortifying breath, mentally preparing herself for what was to come.