Niviene Larethian

Preparing for Spring

She stepped into the garden, blue eyes scanning the dead flowers and withered vines before turning her gaze to the sky. A few hours left before sundown she reckoned, long enough to clean the remnants of last year’s bounty and make way for what spring had to offer.

Niviene knelt by a flower bed, an empty basket at her side, her pruning shears in her lap as she reached out to touch the dark earth beneath the remains of her garden. She closed her eyes and let the dirt sift between her fingers willing enchantments of health and prosperity into the soil, envisioning large blossoms, flourishing in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the heavy canopy of trees that gave Duskwood its name. She pictured colorful butterflies flitting from flower to flower, hummingbirds and bees buzzing happily about the garden, and even bats sipping the nectar of the night bloomers, each of them spreading pollen like so much fairy dust throughout the yard.

Smiling softly she opened her eyes, took up the shears and began deadheading the mums, gathering the seed pods into her basket and tossing the rest in a pile off to the side. As she worked she hummed to herself and it seemed as if the birds overhead matched their song to hers.

She was alone in the garden, the children, having finished their dinner, were washing the dishes before starting in on their homework. Braghaman sat at his desk, going over his report on his students before dispatching it to Stormwind. Valiant and Temperance were lazing in their enclosure behind the house though she knew well enough that they were aware of her as well as everything else in the surrounding area.

Not far from her sat Max, her great orange tom cat. He watched her for a moment then began bathing, twisting and bending in ways only a cat can do. Niviene watched him for a moment then laughed and shook her head. The feline looked down his nose at her then proceeded to groom, ignoring her thoroughly.

She worked on, moving about the garden, through the rows of dead flowers, her basket filling with seedlings, rose hips, and dried leaves; her compost pile grown much larger than when she’d begun. It wasn’t until a slight breeze sent a shiver across her skin that she raised her head, realizing that she’d been working by the light cast from inside the house and the full moon that sailed overhead.

She rose, pressing her fists to the small of her back and stretched, the vertebrae popping in rapid succession. As she gathered up her basket she could hear the wolves and the feral worgen howling in the distance, echoed by Braghaman’s pup sitting just inside the door, watching her through the glass. Instead of the dread that usually came with the sound, tonight it gave her a sense of peace, a sense that everything was right with the world.

The priestess looked around the now tidy, waiting garden; soon she’d plant the jonquil, iris, and hyacinth bulbs, maybe even some tulips. The trees had already started to bud and before long their branches would be laden with blossoms that would rival the jasmine’s perfume. It was going to be a glorious spring, she could feel it in her bones and it sent a wash of joy though her. As she reached the back porch she realized, with the coming of spring and warmer weather she and Bragh would steal away for a quiet weekend without the children, camping under the stars and going for midnight swims. When she stepped into the house it was difficult to tell if the color  in her cheeks was from the chill breeze or a blush.