Slipping in my faith until I fall
Marcus watched her hands move as she worked, quick and certain. She slid leaves neatly into the small gaps between the woven branches, flashes of gold and red layering over the rough brown frame. He held the wreath steady while she tucked them in, occasionally adjusting one that tried to slip free. He tried to stay just focused on the task, grateful for something practical to anchor his attention. But her shoulder brushed against his, and he felt an irregular flutter in his chest.
“Yeah, kinda.” Marcus said, pushing passed the flutter, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he added another thin branch to reinforce the circle. “Olsons learn the ropes early. Traps, tools, shelter frames. You learn to weave branches together whether you want to or not.” Especially raised by two hunters. His mother had taught him many, many things in his youth. He missed her in this moment. ”Both my mom and dad are — were — hunters, and they wanted us to have the skills needed to survive on the tundra if we needed to.” He gently tightened one of the twists so it wouldn’t loosen once the heavier decorations were added. The structure was holding well now, the circle sturdy enough to survive Nova’s enthusiastic decorating.
Her shoulder brushed his again as she leaned in to place another cluster of leaves, and Marcus instinctively shifted his grip so the wreath tilted slightly toward her, making it easier to reach. The faint scent of damp leaves and crushed petals clung to the air between them, but he couldn’t help the way he picked up her scent too. Floral in a way that wasn’t overwhelming, and warm and soft. “I think it’s starting to look like something. I hope the Mathair will like this hanging from her tree.” he added, glancing sideways at her handiwork.
“Yeah, kinda.” Marcus said, pushing passed the flutter, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he added another thin branch to reinforce the circle. “Olsons learn the ropes early. Traps, tools, shelter frames. You learn to weave branches together whether you want to or not.” Especially raised by two hunters. His mother had taught him many, many things in his youth. He missed her in this moment. ”Both my mom and dad are — were — hunters, and they wanted us to have the skills needed to survive on the tundra if we needed to.” He gently tightened one of the twists so it wouldn’t loosen once the heavier decorations were added. The structure was holding well now, the circle sturdy enough to survive Nova’s enthusiastic decorating.
Her shoulder brushed his again as she leaned in to place another cluster of leaves, and Marcus instinctively shifted his grip so the wreath tilted slightly toward her, making it easier to reach. The faint scent of damp leaves and crushed petals clung to the air between them, but he couldn’t help the way he picked up her scent too. Floral in a way that wasn’t overwhelming, and warm and soft. “I think it’s starting to look like something. I hope the Mathair will like this hanging from her tree.” he added, glancing sideways at her handiwork.
Marcus
He never returned that call
