MlotGP-SlotFP (part 2)

“Tis noon already? I’ve yet to make my second rounds.” Hurrying off to the den door, she was greeted by an arm draped just over her belly, and her husband whispering in her ear.
“Let the sprits take care of that, you aren’t supposed to be taxing yourself. They will be fine this one time.” His words were met with the action of drawing her away from the door, and back to the kitchen. Promptly nudging her to and on to a seat, he busied himself at the counter. After a few intense minutes of silence, the woman’s voice broke it, a quiet question, left hanging in the air. “What are you doing?” she was met with silence, till about five minutes later; he turned on his heel, and presented what he had been working on. A bowl with chunks of cookie crumbles, and orange slices in a milky white sauce. Setting it down in front of her, he handed her a fork and a spoon, and sat down at the other end of the table. Her eyes glazed over as she eyed the delicious treat, unaware of her mate watching her with smug satisfaction. Diving in, she inhaled the food, with little regard to anything else, but surprisingly made no mess. Her husband sat with his chin nestled on his intertwined finger, his elbows resting on the table. His dark gaze never strayed or faltered, and a sweet smile had settled comfortably on his face. Finishing off her scrumptious dessert, she looked up, eyes locking with the man across the table. Realizing he had been watching the whole time, she calmly raised her head, stood gracefully, and then softly placed her dish and utensils in the basin, them being placed so carefully they didn’t even clink on the hard polished surface. Gliding over the stone floor, she folded her arms; placing her hands in the large billows of her sleeves, and slid past her lover without a glance, her face always forward, chin up. “Next time take a picture, it will last longer.” Though she had meant to say it in humor, the icy tendrils of her supremacy crept in, lacing the words harsh. That was the way she spoke with the spirits and creatures that had broke the laws. She had not meant it to come out that way; she regretted it the minute it was out past her lips. But, she could not take it back. As a goddess, she had to always be confident in what she did or said. She could not double cross her words; it was just how it was. That means in some deep part of her, she really was enraged over his mannerisms. To stare, how rude! Still, her tone was uncalled for, and she would have to apologize. Before a second for which her thoughts had passed, she was twirled and shoved roughly against the coinciding wall, an angry spirit in her face. His dark callously soft eyes burning with hurt, disbelief, and raw anger, she saw what he saw. Mirrored in the lengthy depths of his invisible pupils she saw herself, eye’s wide and doe like, a petit hand clutching at the much larger hand that had grabbed a fist full of her garment at the neck, and its opposite wrapped around her swollen stomach, the limbs shaking just slightly. She could taste the concern, and fear from the child. But it was mostly fear, though it was laced with a curtain of not understanding, the child wasn’t sure what had angered his father so. He was innocent; he had yet to fully understand manners, and standings. She knew her husband could taste the feeling too, and his knuckles slowly unclenched enough to allow the robe to slip past. Dropping his arm to his side like a snake striking, he stared her in the eyes for a moment longer before stalking out. Slowly sinking to the floor, she held her head in her hands, thinking hard over what just happened. Distantly, in the back of her mind, a voice noted that all had stopped. The birds no longer sang harmoniously, the sprits’ buzzing wings had ceased, the call of wildlife halted. A gentle finger touched her wrist, and she nearly jumped a foot. A gasp slash squeak emanated from the person above her. Lifting her head up quickly, her eyes met Finnigin’s. Finnigin was a “Custode del fiore”, a “De Bewaarder van de bloem”, a “Flower Keeper”. He watched over the flowers as they grew in the human realm, and this realm. His normally blue skin was nearly white, and his normally white pupil-less eyes were a jet black, and larger in diameter. His face held a surprised and frightened look upon it. His brow creased in unease, which meant only one thing. Her charges had felt her fear, felt it as their own, had felt the furious tree spirit at their throats as she just had. Calmly, well, as calmly as she could muster, she hoisted herself (with the help of Finnigin) up from her stooped position, and walked with him out side. With each step she took, her confidence gained once again, and soon the fear and confusion had dispersed already, leaving nothing but the confusion in her child. Perhaps he had called out when she would not. Perhaps Finnigin was the closest, and was urged to appear before her. She would have a talking with her son when he was born. He still had much to learn. Steadily the noise returned, starting up slow and progressing with each step she took. Her charges took in the love and nurturing she gave out greedily, but she had plenty to share. Finnigin bowed his leave, and took off at a sprint to his station, one of the many gateways between the realms.
She would have to go and fetch him; he would not come of his own will. Not unless he feared for her safety. Not unless he feared for the child’s safety. Lazily, she walked to the grove where she knew he would be hidden in. It was some walks away and by the time she got there, the sun was hot overhead. Spring was upon them, the buds were ripening and the cool mist had swayed in on the wind. The shade provided a coolness that could not be found under the sun. The Great Oaks blocked out the far off sky, so tall it would pain your neck to look to the height they reached. The dirt around the grove was cool to the touch, but grass was sparse and far in between. Finally having reached her destination, she stood facing the wise and very tall trees. Slightly irked at having to wait for him, she began circling the small grove. Comparably, this grove was small and close knit, and for good reason. Her husband trusted few at his back, as he would never let her out of his sight. Where ever she might be, he was always conscious of her. He was always fearful someone would do something to cause her harm, or cause the child harm. There were very few ways she could pass on; if she naturally went like the bloom, if an immortal took her life, or in childbirth. Many generations of her ancestors had forbidden the birth of a god the human way as it was more prone to killing the mother. Her lover had not been happy when he had heard that and had set to try and make her change her ways. But what was done was done and it was far too late to back out on this, backing out would risk her losing the baby. Passing the third largest of the oaks a second time, she caught sight of a wisp of his hair in the near nonexistent breeze. He stood toward the inside of the tightly compacted trees, his face down, eyes glancing away from hers. He looked like a petulant child. He stayed turned, his side facing her rather then his front. She pursed her lips, and the child wanted to know what she found so amusing. She told him that when he was older he would understand. They stood there for some seconds before she grew weary of waiting.
“Tell me, why do you hide?” Circling around the tree carefully, she eyed him up and down, both admiring his stature and looking for signs of emotion that would be able to tip her off.





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