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[creator_raven]

Somewhere there is a clearing, surrounded by tall trees.

The sky above is clear and the sun is bright, though cold, as all light is at this time of year.

There are shadows, too, under the reaching limbs of the trees.

Neatly perched in one of those shadows is a small, raggedy-feathered black bird.

Maybe he is waiting.

Maybe he is merely asleep.

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[white_flowers]

The flight of an owl is a silent thing, and thus, the first sign of her approach is the faint shadow that slants across the light.


She soars between the branches of a tall oak, then backwings in order to settle delicately on one of them, and blinks bright eyes in the direction of the darker bird.

[creator_raven]

Raven does not caw a rough greeting.

He merely blinks in turn, head tilting first one way, then the next.

Then he drops from the branches like a star out of the sky, boot heels striking earth with the very faintest thump.

Flowers stir in the wind of his passing, white petals whispering one against the other.

"You have, I am thinking, traveled far."

[white_flowers]

I have, indeed.

A subtle undercurrent of laughter whispers through the words, from her mind to his.

But I keep my promises, pretty bird. Are we well-met, this day?

[creator_raven]

He laughs, too, head tilted back.

"It is very likely, yes?"

Digging a cookie out of his pocket is the work of a moment, and he proffers it to the owl, as is only polite.

(And if it is feather-shaped, and covered in black icing, what of it?)

"So."

[white_flowers]

Thank you, but I prefer the real thing.

With a single sharp beat of white wings, she takes flight and glides in a circle around the clearing, around him.

Once, twice, and on the third circuit, talons vise onto his shoulder, not quite hard enough to prick through his jacket.

The owl keeps her wings half-raised, and preens a lock of his hair with her sharp beak.

[creator_raven]

Raven beams.

Then he breaks the cookie in two and eats half.

Someone has to.

"That is a different sort of gift entirely, I am thinking. Also not as tasty."

Woe.

[white_flowers]

She clicks her beak loudly in his ear, and launches herself from his shoulder.

As she does, her shape blurs from bird to woman, and Blodwen stands before him, her lips curved in a small, satisfied smile.

"Perhaps," she allows.

[creator_raven]

"It is often a hazard of middles."

His grin remains bright.

Pleased, even.

"But that is for making things interesting."

[white_flowers]

"And we couldn't have things be boring, could we, cariad?"

She shakes her head.

"Oh, never that."

[creator_raven]

He wrinkles his nose.

"Likely not, yes? Considering."

Look at where they are.

(Look at what they are.)

[white_flowers]

"Mmm. Indeed."

She wears no cloak over her white woven dress, but she does not appear to mind the cold. Perhaps the sunlight is enough, as the trees' shadows do not fall upon either of them here in the center of the forest glade.

Perhaps.

"What news, Raven? Surely there must be some."

[creator_raven]

"Time passes, yes? Some grow old, some fade, and some small few grow wise."

Three guesses as to which one he is.

"Mostly none of it is unexpected."

He waves one hand, vaguely.

"You, too, have not so much been for surprises?"

That in itself would be a surprise.

[white_flowers]

"Not everything changes, pretty bird," she admonishes him, her voice as sweet as ever it had been, long and long ago.

"Or at least not in such a short time as all that."

Blodwen look at the sky, as if to tell time by the tracking of the light, and then slants a bright glance back at him.

"The longest night approaches once again."

[creator_raven]

"It is not the changing that matters so much, but the losing."

He makes a face.

"Still. This year, perhaps, will be quieter."

Then he snorts.

"For some."

[white_flowers]

She laughs, bright as a bell-chime and truly amused.

"For some. Yes, I suppose."

[creator_raven]

His laugh meets hers and matches it.

In counterpoint.

"Though there is, I think, something to be said for stories."

Raven's grin is crooked.

"Long ones, too."

[white_flowers]

"Oh, and that I have never doubted, pretty bird. You should not, either."

[creator_raven]

"Yours, I think, still has much to go."

So.

[white_flowers]

"I am glad to hear it, especially as I have every intent of keeping it that way for as long as may be."

Which, of course, could be a very long time indeed.

She bends in one swift movement to pluck a spray of winter-white flowers from the ground at her feet, and as soon straightens again. Blodwen toys with the blossoms, considering him.

"And what of your tale, cariad?"

[creator_raven]

Raven smiles, then, sudden and sweet.

His gaze is bright, and only a little tired.

"That one never ends."

[white_flowers]

"Never is as long as forever," she murmurs. "Such a weary age it can become, without something to occupy one's self; I should know."

One step, two, and she is right in front of him, easily within reach. It is the simplest matter for her quick fingers to tuck the flowers into the front pocket of his coat, and Blodwen takes a single step back, smiling brightly up at him.

"Be entertained, pretty bird. I am."

[creator_raven]

Raven laughs at that, reaching out to tweak a lock of Blodwen's hair.

"That, I am thinking, has just become very easy, yes?"

Well, maybe not just.

"And possibly more entertaining than I was for expecting."

Some people are so difficult to troll.

[white_flowers]

She tosses her head, but does not move beyond reach, not yet.

"So nice it is, to still be able to surprise such a one as you."

[creator_raven]

He beams.

"We will, I am thinking, never be boring. So."

Raven is off and darting toward her in a flash of black feathers, beak just nipping at a few flyaway strands of her hair. Not to take them, of course.

Because --

Tag, she's It!

[white_flowers]

She has time for one quick gasp, one quick sound, before the woman's shape blurs with blinding speed. A mere second later the snowy owl soars skyward in pursuit.


The silvery chimes of her laughter are left floating on the air behind them.