Slipping in my faith until I fall
Marcus watched her go in a blur of pink yarn, glittering thread, and bouncing curls until the trees swallowed her up. For a moment he just stood there beneath the enormous canopy, the quiet settling back around him like a cloak. Then a breath slipped out of him, half relief, half something warmer. “Well,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck, “that worked.” He hadn’t been entirely sure it would. Nova’s ideas tended to burn bright and fast, like sparks off a fire. But she had taken his suggestion with that same eager light in her eyes, already spinning it into something bigger and more beautiful than he had pictured.
A small laugh escaped him as he started across the clearing. The idea of Nova worrying about him getting lost in the woods was endearing. Ridiculous, in some ways, but endearing all the same. Marcus had spent enough time roaming forests and mountain trails and deadly tundras with his father to know how to keep his bearings. Still, the warmth of it lingered.
He crouched near the base of another tree, brushing damp leaves aside until he found a cluster of acorns nestled in the roots. Marcus took them up quickly but carefuly. From there he wandered slowly through the undergrowth. A spray of dark, late berries caught his eye and he gathered a few of the ripest. A fallen branch offered a perfect handful of flame-colored leaves.
By the time he straightened again, his arms were full, so he made his way back towards the Mathair tree.
A small laugh escaped him as he started across the clearing. The idea of Nova worrying about him getting lost in the woods was endearing. Ridiculous, in some ways, but endearing all the same. Marcus had spent enough time roaming forests and mountain trails and deadly tundras with his father to know how to keep his bearings. Still, the warmth of it lingered.
He crouched near the base of another tree, brushing damp leaves aside until he found a cluster of acorns nestled in the roots. Marcus took them up quickly but carefuly. From there he wandered slowly through the undergrowth. A spray of dark, late berries caught his eye and he gathered a few of the ripest. A fallen branch offered a perfect handful of flame-colored leaves.
By the time he straightened again, his arms were full, so he made his way back towards the Mathair tree.
Marcus
He never returned that call
