Page 176 of Into the Heartless Wood
that wash me clean
in the starlight.
There is a longing inside of me.
A sorrow I cannot comprehend.
I want to sleep deeper.
I
no
longer
wish
to
dream.
A cool wind whispers past my cheek. It smells of violets.
I am gradually aware of my body pressed into the grass, of a root beneath my arm and twigs scratching at my bare feet.
But it is the weeping that brings me to myself. That makes me realize I am more than what I have been for so long.
I open my eyes.
I stare up into the deep green leaves of a birch tree in high summer, their edges dipped in starlit silver. The smooth gray trunk shines against the hill and the dark line of the woods just beyond.
I touch my body, my face, my hair. I am human, and that surprises me.
I dreamed I was a monster.
I push up onto my elbows—it is only then I remember the weeping.
A boy is curled up a pace away, hugging his arms around his chest, his dark head bent, his body shaking.
Joy sears through me at the sight of him, but I don’t understand why.
“Why are you crying?” I whisper, and marvel that I command the gift of speech. Have I spoken before? I am not sure.
He jerks his head up. All of him goes still.
“Why are you crying?” I repeat, tilting my head to one side.
“Seren?” His voice is incredulous, his face wide with shock. He radiates a profound, impossible joy. “Or … or is it Bedwyn?”
I blink at him. “I think I am called Seren.”
His eyes glint with sudden moisture. “You don’t remember?”
“What am I to remember?”
He sucks in a sharp breath, his body sagging. “Do you know who I am?”
I squint at him. He has a handsome face, but I am sure I’ve never seen it before. I shake my head. “What are you called?”
