Rigel's feet found the rhythm of excitement, bouncing off the chair in a flutter of joy.
"De veras? Really?" she cheered, her jubilation painting the room in vibrant strokes.
"Sí, mi estrella," Raquel affirmed with a soft smile, her finger pressed to her lips, sharing the secret as if it were a sacred vow between their hearts. Rigel gave a nod, an agreement spoken without words.
"Want to go and say hi to Tabitha?" Raquel's voice was as inviting as the open door to the fiesta.
"¡Claro que sí!" Rigel's response was immediate.
"Then, let's go!" Raquel tossed aside the comb and let the robe of leisure fall away, revealing the grace beneath.
Rigel, her spirit now as untamed as the mane she wore, dashed through the door, the melody of her song trailing behind her like a ribbon in the wind: "From north to south, from east to west, Their watchful eyes allow no rest; For every trial, every test, They offer solace and suggest…"
In that fleeting moment of unguarded solitude, the sun's rays tenderly kissed the young woman's skin, and Raquel noticed the door left carelessly ajar. "You could at least close the door," she whispered under her breath. With a swift motion, she reached for the nearest dress, its soft fabric molding to her subtle curves, shielding her from the intrusive gazes of passersby.
As she stepped into the open air, the world outside greeted her with a warm wind, carrying the scent of the upcoming festivity and promise of joy. Rich with the anticipation of the night's celebrations, it filled her lungs, urging her forward in pursuit of her daughter.
Raquel's gaze darted ahead, seeking the silhouette of her spirited daughter. Rigel, a small figure of joy in the distance, skipped with a lively step. Her voice floating up, carrying a song that spoke of the Celestials' grace.
As Raquel quickened her pace, eager to close the distance between her and the fading echoes of Rigel's laughter, the path unfurled before her, lined with wooden homes draped in strings of marigolds and glowing lanterns. The air was alive with the clang of pots and the joyful laughter of children darting through stalls. Each nook of the settlement seemed to transform into a vibrant stage, a living tableau celebrating the memories of those who had once trod these lands.
The narrow, winding paths were lined with the overgrown embrace of nature reclaiming its space and slowing Raquel down. Meanwhile, Rigel threaded her way with the agile ease of a feline, her small boots finding their purchase among the tangled roots and lush green that overreached the path's confines. Her movements were quick and assured, as if the very earth beneath her was an old friend whispering the way forward.
"Rigel, slow down a little, will you?" Raquel's voice, tinged with the mirth of a mother's enduring patience, wove through the verdant tapestry of the path, seeking to temper her daughter's brisk pace.
Suddenly, Raquel's attention was drawn to a stain marring the hem of her dress—a splotch of earth unwelcome against the fabric. With an instinct as old as time, she plucked a leaf heavy with dew from an overhanging branch to dab away the offense. Yet, in her attentiveness to the dress, Raquel's balance was betrayed by a sudden, forceful clash, and with grace abandoned, she succumbed to the pull of gravity, her body meeting the earth below.
"¡Caramba, Raquela! What's this mess ya got into?" the man exclaimed, his voice rough with sudden alarm. "I swear my eyes played tricks on me... you're not hurt, are you? May the heavens be kind." His words stumbled into silence as he extended a hand roughened by seasons of labor. Yet, as his gaze unwittingly caught the glimpse of her form revealed through the slipped collar of her dress, a momentary lust flickered in his eyes, a testament to the baser instincts of man.
Perceiving the unwanted attention, she chose to maintain her dignity in silence and regained her stance, her movement graceful despite the fall and soil of the earth clinging to her dress. "It's no big deal," Raquel replied, her voice carried with the composure of nobility.
"What're ya doin' out here, 'stead of down at the plaza? Everyone's gettin' ready for Noche de las Almas Pasadas! Don't tell me ya forgot!" He exclaimed, his brow furrowed in confusion. His question hung in the air, unexpected and pointed, catching her off guard like an unforeseen arrow.
Her gaze wandered and found itself resting upon a barrel, vast as a noble's appetite, nestled in the bed of his cart. It obstructed the path like a stone giant asleep in the road. "What's in that big barrel?" Raquel inquired, dismissing the man's question with a flick of her interest. Her words were laced with a lively curiosity as she surveyed the imposing barrel.
The man's chest swelled with pride, and he turned to embrace the barrel as if greeting an old comrade-in-arms. "This barrel here? Full o' ale, more'n 'nuff t' set the village howlin' till sunup." he boasted, his hand landing upon the barrel with a thud of finality. "An' you, Raquela, you'll be gettin' the first taste!" he declared, his pride as puffed as a mating grouse. Yet when his gaze sought her once more, he was greeted by the empty path, her presence replaced by the rustling whispers of his neighbor's tomato vines. From behind came her voice, light and teasing, "Save some for me, vale?" Acknowledging her with a nod as solemn as an oath, he watched as she turned and disappeared along the path, the mud a badge of her misadventure. "Don'chu go wanderin' off too far now, niña," he called after her retreating form, his voice chasing her down the winding path.
"¡Cabron! Idiot!" Her thoughts began to seethe with resentment, her stride now quickening not from the urgency to catch Rigel, but from a woman's scorn at her soiled dress, the indignity of a public fall, and, worst of all, his mangling of her name. Raquel's steps hastened, her mind spilling a stream of curses at the clumsy oaf who had toppled her to the ground, her mood mirroring the tempestuous waters of the Scattered Coast.
The settlement's fences, skirting modest wooden cottages thatched with summer straw, rushed past as she hurried out of the village.
As the shadow of the last house fell away, the thicket surged before Raquel like a verdant tide, not tamed but nurtured. This was no ordinary forest; it was a creation shaped by patient hands and quiet hearts. Tabitha and her husband had coaxed it from barren soil, transforming lifeless land into a haven of green. It stood now as their sanctuary, a refuge for those who bore the solitude of hornbearers as a second skin—a place far removed from the noise and clamor of the villagers beyond.
Raquel had played her part in its making, planting trees alongside them, her efforts woven into the tapestry of its growth. Each tree rose like a sentinel, their interwoven boughs casting dappled patterns of light and shadow over the earth. A living canopy stretched overhead, where every leaf seemed to whisper secrets to the wind. The air stirred with the music of birdsong, as one voice after another joined the symphony, summoned by the thriving beauty of the grove. This forest was not merely a place; it was a labor of love, a testament to lives bound together by purpose and devotion.
Within her breast, the irritation that had pricked at Raquel's spirit dissolved, replaced by the thought of Tabitha's return. The prospect of her mentor's presence was like the promise of a feast after a hard winter, warming her from the inside out.
Tabitha, that wandering soul chosen by the Celestials, bore a gift more precious than the jewels of the Diamond Ridge: the blessing to make barren earth bloom. A Prophet with the power to sow health and prosperity to kingdoms with but a touch.
Yet, for Raquel, her joy in Tabitha's return was not rooted in the miracles she wrought but in the simple love for a friend. To her, Tabitha was more than a prophet; she was a weaver of tales who transformed the everyday into the enchanting and a guardian who had once eased the burdens of a young woman facing motherhood alone.
As Raquel matured from a young girl into a woman, Tabitha and her husband, Baruch, became steadfast presences in her life, as constant as the Crimson Constellation in the night sky. Yet, duty often summoned Tabitha away, and this time, her face had been absent from their midst for two long years.
Rigel, already at the edge of the thicket, darted ahead with youthful audacity, leaving Raquel trailing behind. The thought of her daughter being the first to embrace Tabitha sparked a flicker of rivalry within her.
Despite her labored breathing, Raquel hastened her pace and, quickly closing the distance to the thicket, plunged into the high, dense grass, determined to keep pace with her daughter.
Ordinarily, no one could pass through this grove. Those who tried would find themselves turned around, gently but firmly returned to the outskirts by paths that looped back on themselves, as if the forest politely rejected their presence. But for Raquel and Rigel, the rules bent.
As Rigel approached, the tangled greenery seemed to shift, leaves parting and tall stalks leaning away in quiet reverence. A trail unfurled ahead of her — not carved by human hands, but opened by the forest itself, as though it recognized its own. The air shimmered faintly, as if stirred by something unseen.
Raquel followed close behind, the plants parting for her as well, the forest's breath cool against her skin. She no longer had to push forward — the grove accepted her, welcomed her. Every blade of grass, every branch seemed to know her name.
"Tabitha!" Rigel's voice rang out like a hunting hawk's cry, cutting through the grove's stillness. A hundred birds erupted from the canopy above, their wings scattering sunlight into wild patterns.
Raquel pressed on, her own anticipation a drumbeat that quickened her step. The forest corridor narrowed and then opened again, and at last, she broke free from the thicket's embrace into a hidden glen bathed in dazzling light.
Amidst the verdant clearing, Raquel's eyes first caught sight of the home — a dwelling not built, but grown. Roots twisted into arching walls, branches wove a canopy overhead, and moss clung to its surface like a second skin. Vines hung over the entrance, swaying gently, as if breathing with the forest itself.
Then she saw Rigel, standing near a slender tree that reached two meters into the air — and beside her, like a living monument, stood Tabitha.
The Druidess towered above them both, almost twice the tree's height, her antlers arcing like the limbs of ancient trees, her presence still and immense, as if the whole grove had risen to form her shape.