“When you cross a bridge, you take a break from this world!” Mehmet Murat ildan
Alexandra had felt it coming for days now. The strange, fractured quality to her dreams at night. The odd and frightening feeling of being disconnected from herself, as if her spirit and body were separating and were no longer firmly attached. Her doctors had explained to her what to expect, including the fact that once the inoperable aneurysm ruptured she would most likely be dead before her body hit the ground. What they couldn't tell her was how long she had before it happened. Weeks? Months? They couldn't say, only that it would. So for the past five months, from the first weeks of fear, fury, and denial to exhausted compliance, she had been preparing herself for what lay ahead.
After a childhood roaming the world as a military brat, there hadn't been any one place she could call her hometown. She often explained that while her current address was where she called home, it was, in fact, any military base that was her true hometown. Once she had resigned herself to the inevitable, she had been overcome with the need to revisit some of those places from her childhood, to perhaps relive happier, simpler times when life ahead was a limitless horizon. So she quit her job, sold her house and most of her possessions, liquidated her financial assets, and found a secure apartment to house those things she elected to keep, then set out to see the world, again.
Her travels eventually brought her back to Great Britain, to an immense Welsh forest where her parents would often take their family for days long visits during school breaks. She had arrived the night before, had a reasonably good night's rest, then set out this morning to explore. The day was fair, the air crisp, as she found herself wandering along what amounted to an animal track leading from the established public trail deeper into the forest interior. Once, before her diagnosis, Alexandra would have scrupulously adhered to the rules to remain on the developed path, but now with every moment becoming ever more precious, she was more likely to go with her whims. What's more, on this day there was the abiding sense that she was being led away from where others would want her to go.
Eventually, the path took her far beyond the easy reach of civilization. There were no sounds of people or their mechanizations, no outward sign that anyone else existed but herself. It changed course at one point, crossing a small, natural bridge to run alongside a gentle stream until it opened into a sunny little glade ringed with autumn finery and serenaded with birdsong. There she paused but a moment before sliding off her day pack, removing the light jacket covering her heavy sweater, and settling beneath the shelter of an ancient oak. Amid the moss and softly browning grass surrounding her were the countless remains of acorns, and from above she was being roundly castigated by at least one indignant squirrel.
Reaching into the day pack she withdrew a bottle of water, along with her sketch pad and pencil. In between taking sips she began to sketch what she saw about her, including the squirrel as it moved about in the branches above, and lost herself to the moment. Peace settled once again and the delicate boned woman with the unrestrained locks of auburn hair seemed to become one with the land.
It was as she was putting the finishing touches on the squirrel's portrait that she felt a change in the air. For a moment she sat motionless as every sense went on the alert, then slowly she looked up and around the clearing until she found herself looking into the eyes of a massive red stag standing proudly not ten yards from where she sat. She gasped and dropped the pencil as time hung suspended.
The stag showed no hint of curiosity or fear. No sign of threat. It simply stood there, watching her from beneath its impressive show of antlers, and Alexandra had the powerful feeling that this wasn't a chance meeting. A part of her very modern mind chided herself for that, but it was such a small part that it was easily dismissed.
“Bore da.”
The baritone richness of the man's voice tore her focus from the stag as she turned, startled, toward the stream behind her. He crouched comfortably beside the water, a gentle smile on his handsome face as his warm brown eyes watched her with open curiosity. Sunlight infused his flowing blond hair and glinted off the silver torc around his neck. A coarse tan tunic was belted around his trim waist and dark colored trousers fit well down muscular legs before disappearing beneath tall leather boots.
“Uh, hi.”
She glanced back over her shoulder only to find the stag had disappeared, most likely frightened off by the man's sudden appearance. He said something else in a language she didn't recognize, drawing her attention back to him. She smiled and shrugged apologetically.
“I'm sorry. I don't understand.”
“You are English?” he asked with a puzzled frown.
“Uh, no. I'm American.”
“Ah-mer-ick-an?”
“Yes.”
He stared at her a moment longer before his smile returned, “I am Padrig.”
She rose to her knees as she turned more fully to face him, smiling in return.
“My name is Alexandra.”
“Alexandra, croeso! Welcome!”
As she struggled to stand she found him suddenly there, one hand gently holding her arm until she found her balance, “Thank you.”
This close she could see the fine lines radiating out from his eyes and smell his woodsy musk scent. Her head was even with his shoulders so that she had to look up to meet his gaze. She was bemused to find herself both aroused and comforted by his nearness.
“Do you live near here?” she asked, somewhat breathlessly, and took a half step away, toward the water.
“Yes.” His head tilted questioningly. “You have traveled far?”
She nodded, “And a long time.”
“Why did you come here?”
“When I was a girl my parents would bring me and my brothers to this forest to visit. When I found...when I decided to travel again, I knew I wanted to see the places that hold the warmest memories for me. This is one of those places.” She looked up and about her. “There are nothing but good memories here.”
“How long has it been since you were here?”
Alexandra smiled as she looked at the trees above them, “A good twenty years or so, since I was fourteen.”
Glancing back at him she asked, “Have you always lived here?”
“Yes, always.” He tilted his head inquiringly, “Perhaps you and I have known each other here before?”
Only half seriously she thought back and shrugged, “It's possible, I guess. It's too long ago to remember clearly.”
Returning her gaze to the glade, she gasped and went still. The stag was back, if possible even closer than before.
“Oh, my.”
“Brenin.”
Alexandra glanced back at Padrig, afraid to look away for too long, “What?'
“Brenin,” he repeated, smiling. “His name is Brenin.”
“Oh.” Then, “He's tame?”
Padrig chuckled, “No. He answers to no one.”
“He is so bold. So regal.”
“Yes, as he should be.”
The animal grunted as he gave his magnificent head a slight shake, as if to discourage a pesky fly.
“Is he,” she glanced back at Padrig, “Is he like this with everyone?”
Padrig shook his head slowly, sending the sun shimmering through his blond tresses. “No, not everyone. He must like you.”
They watched as the stag slowly walked away to disappear among the trees. For a moment Alexandra could only stare, completely stunned by all that had transpired. Only then did she begin to consider how dangerous the encounter may have been.
“No,” Padrig murmurred reassuringly, “He would not have harmed you.”
Shivers raced down her spine and she turned sharply to face him.
“How do you know?” she demanded.
“I know.”
Something sizzled along her nerve endings and she bent to retrieve her sketch book and pencil, placing them back into her day pack before picking up the now empty water bottle. She wasn't certain why, but she was filled with an urgent need to get back to her room.
“I must go back. It's getting late.”
When she began to cast around for her missing jacket, Padrig was suddenly there, first with his hands on her shoulders before moving on to cup her face gently between his palms. His eyes were tender as he breathed, “Nage, Alexandra. No. You cannot.”
The day pack fell to the ground and she started to struggle further but something in his manner stilled her, and she waited, her hands holding his wrists.
“Have you not guessed?” He asked quietly.
“Guessed what?”
“Why you are here.”
She felt her fear being soothed away.
“I came to remember.”
“Yes. And do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Remember?”
“Remember what?”
His voice softened further as his thumbs lightly caressed her cheeks.
“A day, much like this. When a young girl wept over a young man's harmless teasing.”
Something moved in her memory. A quick flash then gone.
“He did not mean to hurt her,” Padrig whispered. “He was merely being a boy, awkward with his regard.”
“But you said...”
“Something I shouldn't have. And you ran away.”
And suddenly she remembered everything and her eyes widened in disbelief.
“But...”
He waited, thumbs continuing to caress her soft cheeks.
“I thought it was...I thought you were a dream.”
“I was, in a way.”
She pulled away, shaking her head slowly in confusion.
“I don't understand.”
“Every year I waited, knowing you would return in the spring and the autumn. I could not leave the forest, but I knew you would appear and bring joy with you.”
“But you weren't real.”
“But I was. I am. And now you are here once again.”
“But how? I am not sleeping. I can see you with my eyes, hear you with my ears. Smell you. Touch you.”
“You said you didn't want to leave. That you wished you could stay. Did you mean those words?”
She remembered back to that time when, for a few short years, it seemed as if her life revolved around her family's visits to this forest. She remembered long hours spent reading and sketching as she sat on the side of a stream. She remembered sleeping and dreaming of a young boy who only came during those visits, with whom she shared many cherished memories. She remembered the long, lonely months between seasons, when she'd sketched picture after picture of his face. How could she have forgotten it all? How could she have forgotten his face?
And now he watched her as it all came back to her, along with new understanding.
“You are not of, of my world?”
“No. My own was much earlier than yours.”
“Then how did we...?”
He shook his head and smiled in shared bemusement. “I do not know. You came to me in my sleep. So real and yet not. I thought myself bewitched.”
She smiled incredulously, “This is impossible.”
“Perhaps,” he conceded, smiling in return, “But perhaps not.”
His smile faded, “I waited but you did not return one year.”
“No. My father was transferred and we went back to the States. I didn't come back, until now.”
“Why, Alexandra?”
“Why?”
“Why have you returned now?”
“I wanted to relive a happy time in my life. I was always happy here.”
Padrig took her face between his hands again, “And are you happy again?”
She smiled and rubbed her cheek against his palm, “Yes, I am.”
“Then stay.”
“I wish...”
“You are.” His hold tightened momentarily and his gaze grew intent. “You can.”
It seemed as if time stopped to await a decision. Her decision.
“You can go anyplace,” he whispered, “Or you can stay here. With me.”
He rested his forehead against hers, “Stay, cariad.”
And that is when she felt the difference. Gone was the strange sense of being disconnected. The odd feeling of separation. She felt whole again, as if all of her pieces were once more in place. Pulling back she first looked at him then looked away.
And saw herself, lying peacefully as if asleep beneath the oak with her day pack and jacket beside her. Above her the squirrel still scolded and the birds still sang. The waters still passed along the stream edge and the sun still shimmered through his blond hair. In the distance, the stag had reappeared at the forest's edge, watching. Waiting.
She felt no fear as she took it all in. Only acceptance, perhaps a little sadness. But mostly, she felt at peace. And as she looked back at Padrig, that peace expanded into a quiet joy, and she saw it reflected in his eyes. Stepping into his arms she laid her cheek against his shoulder, smiled. And stayed.
It doesn't get any more romantic than this. Taking memories from a good place in life and creating a marriage to another from this place, perhaps, in another dimension or time. While wishful thinking, the kind of stuff that reading makes one feel good.
Leaves me wondering if there are any ancient forests left in Wales after coal mining completely destroyed the countryside. I have seen the movie, How Green Was My Valley, more than once. A lesson in environmental destruction and the people with it.
Such a love story, so beautifully rendered. I have said it before, your prose feels like silk, it is so natural and smooth and easy to read, as if you are native to it. The easy, compelling prose leads the reader on. I wasn't going to read the entire piece, too long I thought, but I couldn't resist and at the end I was sorry it was over. So well done without exaggeration.
Valiant escapades, wicked battles, and heart wrenching loss await readers in this fourth installment of the bestselling Dragoneer Saga. Hold onto your dragon!
Epic YA fantasy by bestselling author, Frank P. Ryan. Eefa and her twin brother Magio are on the run, hunted by a ruthless predator with a pack of wolf hounds. What fate awaits them in the magical Valley of the Raptors? Is it freedom or a trap?
Alexandra had felt it coming for days now. The strange, fractured quality to her dreams at night. The odd and frightening feeling of being disconnected from herself, as if her spirit and body were separating and were no longer firmly attached. Her doctors had explained to her what to expect, including the fact that once the inoperable aneurysm ruptured she would most likely be dead before her body hit the ground. What they couldn't tell her was how long she had before it happened. Weeks? Months? They couldn't say, only that it would. So for the past five months, from the first weeks of fear, fury, and denial to exhausted compliance, she had been preparing herself for what lay ahead.
