In Silence Cries the Heart

As the place came into view, I felt my spirits sag like the dampening weather upon my person. ‘Twas nothing unusual about it; no difference from yesterday or the day afore or the day afore that. I had hoped that the area would have been transformed in a way that bespoke of my protector’s identity, but ‘twas as it had always been. No longer running I could hear my own short, panting breath drown out all the other sounds of the glade. Marked by disappointment, I slogged my way over to the tree, wondering if I had misunderstood Hilda’s message. As I leaned against it to ponder this further, my eye was caught by a piece of canvas that lay inside the opening.

Hesitantly, I reached inside, afeard to hope that beneath it may be traces of what I’d been wishing for. The tips of my fingers tingled as they touched the cloth and lifted it aside. With a sharp intake of breath, I marveled at the three small scrolls afore me, each bound with a piece of ribbon--the same color as the one I had lost on the eve of my encounter. Untying the thread on the first one, I unfurled paper and read about “a thistle’s alarum” and “hair red-gold” and “eyes of emerald.” One part of me wanted to linger over these words and let them wash over me, but I couldna’ wait a moment longer, and with my heart racing, I reached for the second. Liberating the paper from its fastener, I trembled at the words of the question, “Will she come to me again and give me back my life?” Fighting back the urge to shout a resounding “yes” to no one at all, I dipped my hand back into the opening to pull out the third. Reveling in the confirmation of my dream, I was silent no longer and read the following words aloud:

An ember still holds within
The promise o’ what once was
And what can still be.
A mere glow i’ this moment
Can return to full flame

But another voice joined in with my own, reciting the final line,

When ye give yerself over to me.

I held my body rigid in complete stillness, lifting only my eyes off the paper and up toward the direction of the sound. ‘Afore me was an arresting sight--a tall, striking man whose presence energized the sylvan setting. Blue and gray plaid surrounded his body, and a pair of powerful hands held a bonnet that he gently fingered as looked upon me in earnest. Startled I was, but not afeard. Like the rippling waters of a springtime creek, my emotions surged inside me--not with cold but with a warmth that bubbled from the center of my body to its farthest points. Thick, wavy hair of ebony fell untied to his shoulders and glistened with droplets of moisture, casting him in an otherworldly type of shine. Pretending a boldness that I didna’ have, I held his gaze for a few timeless seconds ‘afore surrendering to the power of those jet black pools that conquered me with their depth.

Clinging to the hope that I’d not be wrong, I asked, “Ye are real, then?”

“Aye. I am,” he answered, later adding, “Mary.”

When he spoke my name, he dwelt upon the sound of it, almost as if he were singing out each of the letters. He didna’ smile nor scowl; he just simply stood afore me, absorbing every inch of my person with his eyes. Clearly he ken my identity, but I was at a loss as to his. He may have claimed to be of flesh and blood, but there was something ethereal about him as if he had arisen from the mist and woods and was one with them in spirit. Those dancing eyes beckoned me with the promise of thrill and adventure, and I could feel myself being swept away by his bearing. There was a ruggedness about his person that became more apparent when contrasted with the soothing, lyrical tone of his voice, kind of like hard oat scones that are softened with a bit of drizzled warm honey.

The distance between us remained constant. I think we were both afeard that moving too quickly to close the gap would scatter the other one away, as a tortoiseshell butterfly takes to the air to escape a child’s grasp. The rain continued to fall, cascading down my cloak, so I clutched the three papers together, felt for the inner folds of my coat, and tucked them safely inside, without ever turning my eyes away from his.

“How do ye ken who I am?” I asked him pointedly, tilting my head as if in challenge.

Instead of answering, he inquired, “Do ye have any recollection of me t’all?” And he raised his chin a bit at this as if turning the tables back on me.

“Aye,” I said softly, finally breaking the spell of his gaze as I looked down upon the empty hands in my lap.

“I found ye,” he started,” not too far from this verra place. Do ye mind if I step a bit closer to ye now? I’ll no hurt ye,” he spoke with such melody that I felt my own spirits lifting and being carried away, by words this time instead of his arms like last.