The Bond of Kin

  Home is heart.

  — Avonmora truism

  Aehyl left the Oakspace to find her bear-child waiting expectantly outside.

  Beside Draefus stood her mother, Philia, who rushed forward the moment she saw her daughter. The two embraced tightly.

  Portean offered Philia a warm hug of his own before giving Draefus a hearty scratch, earning a groaning sigh of contentment from the bear. “Get some rest,” he said to Aehyl before departing. He still had duties to attend before he could collapse into bed.

  With Portean gone, the unusual trio descended from the lofty balcony together.

  Aehyl and Philia made their way toward a young oak tree that housed two cozy huts connected by a narrow walkway between them.

  Assured his mother wasn’t sneaking off again, Draefus gave a grunt and wandered off, likely to raid one of the city’s many berry patches.

  The sight of the twin huts filled Aehyl with comfort. She had spent her entire childhood beneath their branches. Once a single shelter, the dwelling had split last season into two smaller homes, an organic change granted by the tree in honor of her coming-of-age. It had offered mother and daughter their own spaces, without separating them completely.

  Her mother was, as always, a sad and tormented soul.

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  Though clearly relieved to see her daughter safe, Philia’s eyes held a quiet question, why Aehyl had been gone so long. But Aehyl offered no real explanation. There was no sense in worrying her.

  Philia was tall, with long dark hair, high cheekbones, and full lips. Her figure was thin and graceful, yet there was something distant in her manner, like mist that clung stubbornly to the surface of still water.

  She had become a recluse after losing her husband twenty years ago. Though still seen about the city, she rarely spoke to others and never lingered long in conversation.

  Aehyl had responded differently. Where her mother had turned inward, she had resolved to grow, to master the forest’s secrets and become a druid of real power. She wanted to protect those she loved. She would never allow herself to be that helpless again.

  They had chosen different paths through their grief, but they remained bound by something deeper, a quiet, indelible thread that only a mother and daughter could understand.

  Like many elves, Philia refused to partake in the consumption of flesh.

  Dinner consisted of fruits, berries, and fresh bread.

  Aehyl didn’t complain, anything was better than more of Portean’s tough biscuits.

  They spoke of many things: the weather, the progress on Vistadora’s budding wall, the flowering oaks along the southern ridge.

  Aehyl chose her topics carefully, steering clear of anything that might brush against her recent journey.

  It was late when they finally retired, and though the hearth had been warm and the food comforting, Aehyl felt more isolated than ever.

  She wanted so badly to confide in her mother, but she couldn’t.

  Any more strain might snap what wisp of sanity she clings to.

  No, it was better this way. Philia had endured enough.

  After bidding her good night, Aehyl slipped away to check on her bratty bear-child.

  Draefus was already snoring. She stayed a while beside him, fingers combing slowly through his thick fur.

  In silence, she turned over the events of the past few days.

  The mosaic of night sounds wrapped around her: the constant lull of crickets, the hush of a spring breeze brushing the branches overhead.

  The trees whispered in their ancient tongue, a susurrus of leaf and wind, like nature’s softest bells lulling the forest to sleep.