RATING: PG-13
COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER:
FEEDBACK: Yep, tommo27@hotmail.com
SPOILERS: References to Season 5.
ARCHIVE: No problem, just let me know eh?
SUMMARY: W/T-centric fic.
A church bell began to ring, far off in the distance. Its onerous tone was muffled by the time it reached her ears. But still the peal rang out, once every few seconds, heralding the beginning of a Sunday morning. It was still quiet in the grounds surrounding the church; the expanse of green racing away from the old brick building and stretching up a hill to where a lone tree stood on the crest, branches waving gently in the breeze.
A light mist hung around the field, as though emanating from the very ground itself. The wisps of whiteness that hovered in the air sometimes obscured her view as she forged her way forward, ever forward. The haze swirled around her, sometimes thickened and damp, sometimes almost transparent. Shivering slightly, she brushed it off and moved on, breaking free from the tendrils that caressed her face and bare arms. Should have brought a jacket, she told herself. But it was too late to turn back now.
The grass was still wet with morning dew, and her ankles brushed wet droplets off each blade she brushed past on her way to the top of the hill. The light coloured skirt that hung down low was beginning to bear the weight of the moistened grass, turning pink to a deep red that clung slackly to the legs moving beneath it. Occasionally, she almost lost her footing in the wet field, her sandals slipping on the green.
Stopping, Tara held a hand up to her eyes and squinted up towards the top of the hill; her destination. The sun was shining watery rays of bland yellow through the clouds that were gathering in the sky. It was as though the day was having trouble getting started. Stifling a yawn and shivering again, she knew exactly how it felt. Moving forward, she aimed for the tree, walking carefully up the hill so as not to slip again.
Upon reaching the top, she knew that her efforts had not been in vain. The tree seemed so out of place here, standing alone. Its trunk was twisted and scarred by the years, probably hundreds of them, putting tiny nicks and holes into the bark. The branches that grew from the tree formed a shaded canopy that echoed in a bare circle of earth around the base of the trunk.
Moving forward, Tara put her hand against the trunk, feeling underneath her palm the roughened surface. Trailing her fingers over it, she felt, rather than saw, the way that they moved up and down, following the contours and dips of the bark, knotted in some parts, smoothed by the wind and rain in others. If she closed her eyes, it was almost as if she could touch the life inside it; feel its heartbeat. Her eyelids fluttered shut for a second, her hand spreading out on the bark of the tree, pressing close to the surface, feeling the edges pushing against her skin. The Green Man, she thought suddenly, with a clarity of vision that would have startled someone less attuned to the spirits that danced in the retreating mist. He was here. In everything.
A tiny smile curved the corners of her mouth, pursing her full lips outwards for a second before she opened her eyes, remembering why she had come up here so early in the morning. Moving around the tree to the far side of the hill, she trailed her hand around the tree, fingertips following her path on the unhewn surface, feeling a trace of the stories it could tell.
As she reached the other side of the tree, she found what she had been looking for.
Willow.
Sitting alone, wrapped in a blanket she had taken from their room, the redhead was leaning against the tree, her eyes closed against the weary sunlight that was trickling with increased speed through the clouds above. Although the day was grey and sickly, the redhead had a rosy glow in both her cheeks, and her hair seemed flaming red against the faded surroundings.
Tara almost caught her breath; Willow looked so beautiful, so at peace. Almost too peaceful to disturb, but, as usual, her emotions got the better of her, as they did so often when it came to the redhead. Kneeling down, she reached out and touched a stray wisp of Willow’s hair with her fingertips, feeling it slip through her grasp. The ghost of a smile played across Willow’s mouth, but she didn’t open her eyes.
Moving closer, Tara tugged at a corner of the blanket. “Can I share?” she whispered.
Now Willow opened her eyes, fixing a clear green gaze upon her lover. Tara’s heart clenched at the pools of emerald that shone brighter than the dew tipped grass; looking deeper into her than she had ever thought possible. Shifting her position slightly, Willow held the blanket open and Tara snuggled underneath it, feeling the slight warmth of the familiar body next to her own.
Dropping her head onto Willow’s shoulder, Tara felt the other girl put her arm around her shoulders, drawing her close, absent-mindedly playing with the ends of her hair. Tara put her arm across Willow’s stomach, splaying out her fingers on the other girl, eliciting a tiny sigh from the redhead.
“I woke up and you were gone. I missed you,” she explained simply.
Willow leant her head onto Tara’s. “I wanted to wait for him. The Green Man, and his magick. It’s best at dawn.” Her voice was low and bordered on a respectful whisper.
“You think we’ll see him?” Tara asked, “I mean, you think he’ll show himself?”
Willow shrugged, pulling the blanket closer around them. She reached for Tara’s hair again, winding the strands around her fingers then letting them go again. The fresh scent of the other girl pervaded her senses until all she could inhale was Tara. All she could breathe was Tara. And it was intoxicating. Closing her eyes again, she let out a sigh.
“Are you okay?” Tara lifted her head from Willow’s shoulder and peered into her lover’s face, her blue eyes crinkling with concern, drawing lines onto her forehead.
Letting go of the blanket, Willow reached up and ran a hand down Tara’s cheek, her palm warm against the cooled skin she knew so well. Looking into the other girl’s eyes, she leant forward and pressed her forehead onto Tara’s, smoothing away the worry lines that were there. For a moment the two girls clung together, like a single body intertwined on top of the hill in the misty morning light.
“I’m always okay when I’m with you,” Willow whispered softly, making Tara smile.
Drawing back, Tara settled her head onto Willow’s shoulder again and snuggled closer to the other girl. “The Wiccan Rede believes that The Green Man is in everything around us,” she spoke in a low, almost methodical voice.
“In everything?” Willow echoed, her breath sending out a tiny stream of mist in front of them that dissipated into the air. Birdsong began to drift towards them from a copse of trees in the valley below.
Tara nodded, “The god and goddess exist in harmony together. They light the stars and bring the flowers to birth. The earth and moon; the trees and wild beasts, they all achieve a synchronicity to make things, you know, carry on.”
“Working together,” Willow breathed, her hand squeezing at Tara’s shoulder affectionately.
“Every being, you and me, everyone, is a miniature of the universe. And the god and goddess are the life force behind that.” Tara continued.
“Where do I find them, where do I look?” Willow questioned, her voice small and childlike in the still morning air.
“The first place to look is inside your own heart.” Tara said, lifting her head and sliding her hand up from Willow’s body to her head, pulling her closer.
“The only goddess inside my heart is you,” Willow said simply, leaning in and pressing her lips against the other girl’s. As they kissed, sunlight finally broke through the clouds, bathing them in a glow of golden strands that blinded their view momentarily.
Breaking the kiss, Tara returned her head to Willow’s shoulder and they gazed down the valley, to where the mist hadn’t yet quite cleared. From behind a curtain of shadow, a figure picked his way across the field, a part of everything. He looked up to where the two girls sat, and looked at them carefully, recognising them for what they were, what they meant to one another. His gaze then fell across what he was, what he created, what he nourished. And he smiled, moving on silently. There was no need for his magick here. From where he stood, he was looking at a magick all of its own.
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"Actually, I-I was thinking it would be sort of like a pet. You know, we could ... we could name her Trixie, or Miss Titty Fantastico, or something.
And we could make Titty go bonkers with curse words and buttshots and stuff?" ~ An homage to Nocturnal 2001
[This message has been edited by tommo (edited June 22, 2001).]
