Work Text:
Mirtul 1472
Baldur’s Gate
“…eight…nine…ten! Ready or not, here I come!”
Eliwyn glances about the quiet garden. If she were Wyll, where would she hide first? Of course, he must certainly be behind the boulder he so loves to climb. She steps lightly across the grass, hunched and ready to spring once she finds him.
“Found you—!” Her hands drop. He’s not here. “Hm,” she muses loudly. “Where, oh where, could little Wyll be?”
She tries behind the trunk of the oak tree. Not there. She tries around the backside of the potting shed. Not there, either. Now, she is truly stumped. He only has those three hiding spots…
Suddenly, the bushes beneath the windows shake. Wyll emerges, his brow pulled up and his round cheeks even more so due to his frown. He runs to her, grabs her hand, and tugs with determination.
“Where are we going?” Eliwyn asks with a little laugh.
But Wyll doesn’t say a word. He pulls and pulls on her until she finally budges. Wordlessly, he leads her to the bushes from where he came. Still holding tight to her hand, he pushes through the tight tangle of branches and leaves.
A little finger points down to the ground. There, in the shaded grass, lies a little brown thing, nothing more than a leaf at first glance.
“I didn’t mean to…,” he says once Eliwyn has forced her way through.
But Wyll’s distress makes her look again and now she can see it is, in fact, a chrysalis. “Did you knock it down while you were hiding?”
“I wanted to see what was inside,” Wyll says. He sniffs, a telltale sign of tears to come.
“It’s alright,” Eliwyn says, bending down. “Let’s pick it up gently and see what we can do.”
With a large leaf from one of the nearby flower beds Eliwyn scoops up the little chrysalis and leads Wyll to the potting shed. She places the leaf on the bench and inspects the little dwelling.
“What is it?” Wyll’s nose is mere inches from the leaf.
“It’s called a chrysalis. There’s a caterpillar inside, fast asleep. When she wakes up, she’ll be a lovely butterfly.”
If she wakes up, that is. It seems Wyll was very curious indeed for there is a tear in the outside of the chrysalis. But perhaps…
Eliwyn holds her hands above the leaf, closes her eyes, and reaches deep within to where the roots of her faith spread through her heart. She draws up the shimmering warmth until it courses from her chest to her fingertips. As soon as the incantation murmurs from her lips, radiant light surrounds her hands and she touches the tear. She takes away her hands and inspects the chrysalis.
“There,” Eliwyn says with a satisfied smile to Wyll. “All mended.”
He lights up with a grin.
“Now, we have to put it somewhere safe, yes?”
In the potting shed is a large empty jar. Wyll fetches her a stick. From the small sewing kit she keeps in her pocket Eliwyn unwinds a bit of thread. She quickly ties the thread about the stem of the chrysalis. The other end of the thread ties to the stick which she then lays across the opening of the jar so that the chrysalis dangles, safe within the glass walls. Then she takes the jar and places it back under the bushes.
“Now, you must promise not to touch it again, alright?” She takes up Wyll’s small hands. “If all goes well and if we leave the caterpillar to her napping, in a tenday or so there will be a new butterfly in the garden for you to watch.”
Wyll nods and he and Eliwyn return to their game of hide and seek.
***
Eliwyn runs the back of her hand across her forehead. It’s so very muggy today . She looks to Wyll who is also starting to swelter.
“Shall we take a break?”
Wyll nods gratefully and they retreat to the shade of the potting shed. He pokes a stick repeatedly into the soft ground. The chrysalis hatched a couple of days ago. He’s been downcast ever since for he desperately wanted to see the butterfly emerge.
For Eliwyn’s part, she is just glad the butterfly survived.
Once her forehead is no longer damp and Wyll’s cheeks have cooled off they return to the garden. The buttonweed is once again overtaking the beds. Eliwyn and Wyll have been tasked by her mother to clear the fuzzy-leafed nuisance from the beds it has invaded. If it weren’t so effective at soothing sore throats her mother likely wouldn’t grow it all for it really is a headache to manage.
Eliwyn is just about to grab a handful of the plant when a butterfly floats over and lands on one of the small pink flowers. It’s a Thistle Butterfly, with wings dressed in a quite impressive display of orange and black and brown. She watches as it gorges on the nectar of the buttonweed, its wings flexing up and down and up and down in slow delight.
One wing is a bit…off. It is not a perfect reflection of the other wing as it should be. It’s smaller and the patterns blend together instead of standing out sharp and defined. The coloring is muted when it should be bold.
“Wyll,” Eliwyn whispers. “Come look!”
Wyll scootches over and peers down at the little visitor. “Flutterby! Is that my flutterby?”
“Butterfly,” Eliwyn corrects gently. “And yes, I think it is.”
Wyll leans closer. “But her wing isn’t right.”
“It’s just a bit different, but that’s alright. She seems quite happy. See?” The butterfly takes off and flutters contentedly, if a little haphazardly, around the garden bed. “That’s all that matters in the end. And now we shall always know without a doubt which butterfly is our dear little friend.”
From the kitchen Eliwyn fetches a shallow dish, fills it with water, and tucks it into the bed amongst the leaves and flowers. The buttonweed can stay, at least for now.
Eliwyn and Wyll pass the rest of the time in the garden watching with delight as their dear little friend goes about her day. The butterfly flits between the blooms and water and every now and then a slight current in the air threatens to send her tumbling. But each time she rights herself and carries on, as happy as a butterfly can be.