The brightly twinkled flower | Epic Christmas Underscore
The brightly twinkled flower | Epic Christmas Underscore – Last chapter of an Epic Elf Christmas Story
Chapter 3 – The brightly twinkled flower.
Snow cracked under him as he took a long drink from the skein, looking ahead for the tree.
Viessa and Ayen had come to the split tree often during their early years. Each of them would climb a side of the tree, racing each other to the top. She usually won, she was smaller. That and Ayen wanted her to win, he wanted to see the look in her face when she won. Her eyes lit up, her hair a golden halo, floating in the treetops.
Ayen took another drink of cider, looking up at the split tree. His mittened hand brushed over the bark, dragging over as he walked to the East.
Nyna, in describing the exquisite smell she had experienced, had been telling the truth. If anything she hadn’t put enough emphasis on it. The smell surrounded his head, leading him, taking him right to the cottage and the flowers. The cottage was close, the stones of the side leaning and covered in moss, ivy vines obscuring the small windows. Ayen paused, thinking back to what Nyna had said about the roots. He looked to the ground, and saw nothing but snow. He softly walked across the surface of the white blanket, keeping low to the ground, trying to remain unseen. Despite his worries, he ran into no issues. Not only did the roots of the trees stay still, it seemed like they’d never moved. Ayen worried that the flowers wouldn’t be as wonderful as she had explained, if anything else was untrue, wouldn’t that be also? He peeked his head over the garden wall, and was met with the most beautiful flowers he’d ever encountered.
Ayen felt his heart skip a beat. He jumped over the stone, landing next to a set of flowers. He hurriedly pulled the pot out of his satchel, setting next to the flower. His fingers dove into the soil, his mittens lying next to the pot. He dug deep, pulling the flower and all of the roots from the earth. Gently, he sat the flower in the planter, filling the space with the lush soil from the garden. Once the plant was cradled in the planter, Ayen lunged back over the low wall. Roots grabbed at his feet, surprising him. He jumped, hopping across the maze of roots reaching for him, just barely missing him. One managed to grab his ankle, the rough wood cutting into his skin, drawing blood. He yelped and darted back to the West.
He reached the village, the pot held in front of his chest, safe. A few of the townsfolk passed him in the street, and applauded him on his bravery. Ayen paused, smiled, made small talk, but pressed forward. Viessa was at the well, again. She sat on a stone bench against the wall of the well, looking up into the sky as it snowed. Ayen quietly walked up to her. Once she saw him, she stood, smiling brilliantly. He reached her, and offered the small pot. She looked down from his face to the flower, and her hand covered her mouth as she gasped. She looked back to Ayen, then back to the flower, taking it from him. She turned and sat it on the bench she had been sitting on. She reached up and pressed her mouth to his, throwing her arms around his shoulders.
“Merry Christmas, Viessa. The flower is second in beauty only to you.” The flower twinkled brightly.