This is a rough little excerpt from chapter eighteen of books eleven, Silhouette of Ravens.
“She’s family. I thought I’d try to be here,” he sighs as he walks up. “Pelly told me to give you this,” he whispers to Cilantia. “They’re just apple seeds. I’m not really sure why, but she is convinced it will help.”
Cilantia, with an elegant sense of purpose, draws herself upright, the motion seeming to pull strength from the fertile earth beneath her. Her willow-like form is etched against the dusk as her silhouette comes into sharp relief. The intricate patterns of her laced tunic stretch across her lithe figure, enveloping her in an aura of undeniable feminine prowess. Her emerald eyes, reflecting the last light of the languishing day, sparkle with quiet determination.
A deep breath fills her lungs, the cool air blowing in from the window a refreshing sweep of crispness. It’s not merely the mere act of respiration, but a ritual of grounding. She inhales the swirling essence of the world, the scent of frozen air from the snowstorm. A subtle furrow of focus creases her smooth forehead, dragging the low hanging, intermittently visible, crescent moon into her gaze and the coolness of the tempest to her lips.
The tiny apple seeds, small in size, but enormous in potential, snugly fit into her slender fingers. Clasping them gently, she feels the hard, bumpy exterior against the softness of her fingertips, the seeming insignificance of them belying the blossom-fragrant promise they hold within; trees, life, renewal, curled tightly in each seed. Her fingers arch over them, a protective gesture, laden with solemn understanding. The connection between her and the dormant life within the seeds is palpable, a silent vow uttered in the sacred tongue of nature herself. “He had a beautiful life and this is part of it. He was an amazing phenomenon. It hurts, it does. But it is a beautiful pain, filled with love.”
Lydia Vvinters 