The sun peeked through the trees above, dappling the clearing with dancing shapes of light while an afternoon breeze danced merrily through the branches.

Th’lea sat meekly, her legs tucked gracefully beneath her, as Old Mother D’lia slowly paced around her, speaking on things in poems and riddles as wise people tend to do. D’lia had it mastered. Everything she said had a ring of truth sparking an idea in Th’lea’s mind, and just as the mind began working to unravel the puzzle behind the poetry, another lesson came from her mentor. It was all she could do to hold one idea, gather a sense of it, and store it in the back of her mind as D’lia moved on to the next.

She had been chosen by D’lia, the wise woman, and Beldam of their village because D’lia could feel The Mother’s breath in her. “The Mother’s words to you, are as yours to the beasts and plants. Through you, she speaks.” 

How will The Mother speak through me if I do not understand the words? 

Her mind puzzled this as she glanced up. The old woman looked to be a hundred, but Th’lea guessed she was older. Her mentor had tanned wrinkles resting upon more wrinkles filling her expressions with an added sense of fatigue. Her hair remained a messy mass of gray strands peeking out in various directions around her head as though a bird was in the process of making a nest and left the outlying strands to be tousled by the breeze. Th’lea’s mind wandered with that thought and how, in a particular light, all D’lia’s wrinkles would form the layered bark of a thin but firm tree.

Indeed, she was like a tree to the village, in the same way, birds depend on a tree for shade and protection; we all grew with the pillars of wisdom she provided. We needed her skill as a healer, and she knew the nearby plants suitable for poultices. Also, her command over flame and sky fire had chased many threats away. These stories were all a part of our histories and evening tales. She was larger than life and my mentor.

Those abilities were all well and good, but none of those were the reason Th’lea had accepted her apprenticeship. The wise woman was always fed and provided for, protected for her knowledge as fiercely as the tree’s inhabitants would defend their home. Th’lea wanted to be as indispensable to the village as Old Mother was and to be needed as much as she needed her people.

“Now, rise. Gather up your staff.” D’lea’s voice commanded breaking from the poetry and idioms. Th’lea recalled quickly what her ears heard while she had drifted in thought. Focus, light, water, dance… more of what D’lea has said before. 

Th’lea nodded and did as instructed, and was excited to have her staff in hand as it was very much an expression of herself. Her instructor demanded she craft something personal, both as a tool and as an offering of respect to the Mother; as a result, she spent days carving depictions of flowers around the center of the staff, more days carving the stars and the moon near the top. Alternating colors of leather strips weaved their way around the handholds and thin leather strings attached to the crest allowed feathers to dangle and float on the wind near the pinnacle where a river stone the size of Th’lea’s fist rested. The stone was so round she liked to imagine the moon itself had fallen from the sky to be placed upon her staff. It was the embodiment of everything Th’lea embraced about life. She lifted this extension of herself and waited, breathing steadily through the long pause as D’lea instructed her to with a simple gesture.

“Now, hold and pray to Mother, focus light like the reflections in water.”

Th’lea nodded, raising her staff, she let it rest against her arm with the river stone pointed out before her.

“Mother cast your light, may your essence guide us, may your wisdom and fertility bring us bounty.” She repeated the chant, allowing the Mother’s breath to flow through herself and the staff, but doubts that she might slip or forget something poked her.

“Good,” D’lia reassured her softly, “let Mother’s breathing form light.”

Th’lea renewed her focus sensing a change in the winds, she felt light and airy, and a sense of excitement washed over her, but still, no light formed.

“Breathe… Focus… Chant child… Form the light.”

Th’lea set her eyes on the end of her staff, the chant flowing from her lips instinctively like a river flowing downhill over and around any obstructions, yet still, no visible change manifested. She began feeling a sense of panic come over her; the sense of impending failure cracking her resolve ushered the river of words faster from her lips.

“No force Th’lea, calm…” Th’lea tried to do as told, but a sensation overtook her of a new stream joining her river. This stream was jolting with a chilling sting, fresh, and burning all at the same time, like ice water from the first thaw. It flowed from the top of her neck, down her spine, causing her to stand straight as her eyes widened, quickly traveling around her waist, focusing in her nether regions, then shooting down her legs and curling her toes with the impression that her legs were vibrating. All in the space of a breath, her feet were numb from the sensation as though they no longer existed, and she was a tree, soaking up the essence provided from the world.

She focused on pulling the flow up toward her hands and pushing it into her staff. A gleam of light began above the tip, and with her excitement, she instinctively pulled harder at the cold stream running through her body, as the river stone disappeared, replaced by an orb of shimmering light surrounded by a sparkling mist that swirled rapidly.

“Too much Th’lea, focus or…” D’lia had no time to finish speaking. The sparkling mist collapsed violently into the orb, and then the light burst blindingly outward. A surge of power erupted from the staff, and she felt the wood of it split in her hands. A wave of pulsating air and light spread from the river stone, and the branches of nearby trees shook lose their lesser leaves as D’lia was knocked several feet back.

Th’lea stood trapped for a moment as if watching a dream where the colors were too vivid before snapping herself into action. As concern and fear quickly replaced her dream-like state, she rushed to the old woman’s side.

“D’lia!” she cried with real panic, preparing herself for the possibility of a nightmare about to be revealed, but fortune smiled on her as relief swept over her when the old woman began to chuckle. She helped her mentor to sit up as D’lia smiled at her with uneven teeth; she seemed thrilled and almost youthful among her collection of wrinkles. 

“Well child, you have the gift, now we settle your mind and heart.”, D’lia glanced over at the staff. “You need make a new one; start your focus there.” Th’lea pouted inside at the loss of her creation but accepted the import of the lesson with relief; it was not her body that was broken.