Mistress Greta, Quite Upset-a

[andhiswife]

The garden's changed.

Greta surveys it, her hands on her hips and her lower lip caught between her teeth. It's a subtle difference, and not one that even ought to bother her. In fact, complaining about it feels absurd, because it's... well, it's lovely. Everything looks beautiful. Her modest efforts to control pests have worked better here than they ever did back home. Stems and leaves are all green and lush, and she catches an exquisite, ripening tomato on her fingers so she can frown dubiously at it.

It should delight her. Except that it's Darrow, which makes it impossible to brush off any irregularity as innocent.

She draws back her hand, then unthinkingly wipes it on her skirt, as if all this loveliness might be coated in a nasty residue. Then, after giving it a few moments of consideration, she pulls out her phone and invites Amalthea over for tea. If anyone could tell if something was wrong, it's her, surely.

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[on_mans_road]

"Did she?" Amalthea did not know the name or the woman it belonged to, but she drifted closer to the garden to get a closer look. She held her tea cup carefully and reached out with her free hand to touch some of the flowers. Magic shivered up her arm and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up; she felt the mark on her forehead burn, but it didn't feel unpleasant.

"It is old magic," she said, as if it needed confirming to her or anyone else. This was a magic that knew itself well. "It's helping the plants grow, it's bringing out the best in them, the most potential they could possibly have, and perhaps a little more. It isn't so different than what happened in my forest, once I was living there long enough."

[andhiswife]

The mark on Amalthea's forehead glows for a moment, and Greta lifts a hand, an aborted, anxious syllable escaping her. She doesn't know that she's ever seen that happen before, and in this context, she hasn't a clue what it means. But Amalthea doesn't seem distressed -- surprised, if anything.

And her informal diagnosis is so unalarming that Greta's left feeling rather silly. "Harmless, then. It's all, er... safe to eat?" A silly question, maybe, but Greta's not the only one who will be eating this produce, and she has good reason to be wary of the intermingling of food and magic.

[on_mans_road]

"Oh, yes." As if to prove it, Amalthea reached out and plucked a petal from a flower, and promptly ate it. Greta was probably referencing her vegetables, but Amalthea liked flowers. Then she sipped her tea, humming happily. "Yes, it's very safe. Her magic has not done anything but make it more of itself. This is sort of what happened in my forest, when I lived there."

She frowned at the thought and looked down at her mug. "I wonder if it's started to fade."

Amalthea made it a point to try not to think too much about the life behind her, about her forest or the people she knew, even if Molly's voice sometimes echoed through her mind and the absence of Lir lived in her heart. She took another sip of tea and cradled the mug close to her, wanting the warmth even though the day was warm already.

"The magic here will not hurt you or your family, or Sadie and Cu."

[andhiswife]

Greta's eyebrows make a creditable attempt to reach her hairline when Amalthea plucks a flower petal and then eats it. She knew Amalthea liked flowers, of course, but this is the first time she's seen her casually snack on one.

Then again, that's about as ringing an endorsement as she could hope for, as far as Galadriel's magic is concerned, and the last vestiges of tension drain out of her. She makes her way over to stand beside Amalthea, giving the garden a more appreciative and less nervous once-over. A small part of her still mutters that it would have been nice if Galadriel had asked before magicking her garden, but she doesn't truly expect it to have occurred to her. It might not even have been on purpose. Maybe, like Amalthea, an elf's presence just does this.

She glances over at Amalthea, brow furrowing in concern at the sad look on her face. "You were there for a very long time," she points out, curling an arm around the unicorn's shoulders. "I'm sure it's still as lovely as it's ever been."

[on_mans_road]

"For time out of mind," she answered. Amalthea had no notion of how long she'd been in her forest - a unicorn had no need to count hours or days or years. They meant nothing to an immortal, and her magic ceased the changing of seasons in the forest. The only thing that marked time at all were the animals that were born and grew and lived and died. She never tired of watching them.

She wondered if they were alright.

"Perhaps you're right. It would take some time for it to fade, I suppose. But I still worry." She leaned into Greta and rested her head against the woman's shoulder. "What if they are waiting for me?"

[andhiswife]

The question awakens an old ache, dulled by time but too deeply rooted to vanish entirely. No one is waiting for her, and there's no comfort to be taken from that. But that doesn't mean she can't offer Amalthea something, or at least try to.

"I've heard people say we return to the very moment we left." And Amalthea had been on her way home, hadn't she? Barring further misadventure, there's no reason to think she wouldn't have made it. "If that's true, and they are waiting... it hasn't been for long, and it won't be for much longer. They'll hardly have time to miss you."