#I just wanted to make Obi and Ryuu swans okay?

[puffdragongirl]

A-Tisket, A-Tasket, Nettles in a Basket

*slides in with 8 minutes to spare*

Please accept this offering inspired by a childhood favorite of mine - The Wild Swans.

Once upon a time, in kingdom more peaceful than not, there lived a woman. She had not always lived in this kingdom, but it didn’t take long after her arrival for most to know her. For although the woman’s hair was drab and her skin was marred, both perpetually darkened as if covered in a thick layer of dust, something about her had immediately captured their youngest Prince’s interest.

The romantics among the Court claimed the Prince was enamored with her eyes. She might not be fair of face, but her eyes were a capturing shade of green and glimmered with determination.

The guards suggested he admired her demeanor. She was, undeniably quiet – and as a matter of fact, not a soul had ever heard her speak a single word – but despite that she was far from timid.

The King privately thought his younger brother was taken by her heart, or rather by the fact that the Prince didn’t hold it. For although it was clear that the woman could reach out and claim him, although he has offered her his powers and resources, she does not take them. Each time, she has turned him down, igniting an even deeper curiosity for who denies a prince.

Instead, she spends each day the same way – knitting at the forest lake.

No one could blame her for spending her days at the forest lake. Located in a glen a short walk from town, it is a beautiful sight. The dense trees surrounding the lake are reflected in the crystal clear water. Waves lap at a pebbled shore which gives way to a grassy knoll dotted with wildflowers. The woman sits on a blanket at the intersection of gravel and grass, looking out over the water while she works. A pile of greenish stalks rests in a basket at her side, slowly diminishing as they are worked into the cloth slowly building in her hands.

Within the lake, two swans skim along the water. One is young, wearing the grey and white mottled plumage of a juvenile. It moves slowly, back and forth across the middle of the lake, head occasionally bobbing as if barely staving off sleep. The other is fully grown, with striking black plumage save for a slash of white across its breast. As opposed to the young one, this swan is alert. It swims a regimented path around the exterior of the pond, pausing at regular intervals to inspect both the cygnet and the woman. The few locals brave enough to venture towards the quiet forest glen will attest this behavior to be akin to guarding, as the black swan seems more than willing to flare its large wings and snap its red-orange beak at any passersby that draw too close to its self-assigned charges.

On this day, like many, the Prince comes to visit the woman as she works. The black swan bristles, wings rising in threat, but settles upon recognizing the familiar form. Upon reaching her side, the Prince kneels upon the blanket. Gently, gingerly, he reaches for her hands, which – like always – are battered, skin torn and fingers blistered from the stinging nettles that are her chosen thread.

“Please,” the Prince pleads, “Cease your work, and come with me.” A familiar refrain follows as he offers her again a room in the palace, a visit to his healers who could surely repair her hands and restore her seemingly-frozen voice, and, if nothing else, fine threads much more suited to her work than stinging nettles. “Please, my lady, won’t you accept my hand; my help; my heart?”

The woman – like always – has the same answer. She shakes her head, a gentle, if exasperated smile curving her lips at the Prince’s persistent pursuit. She pulls her hands from his, gestures towards the cloth, then the lake, and then gently pats the nettles in her basket. The message is clear – this is her work, and she will complete it.

Denied once more, the Prince retreats, although not before returning her smile with a respectful, if not quite understanding, one of his own. He presses a small pot of healing ointment into her hand, and calls out instructions to “Use it, this time!” before continuing on his way. The woman shakes her head again and then turns to wave as he departs.

Point made, the glen settles again, quiet broken only by the gentle burble of water and the occasional sound of wings sweeping against water. The pile in the basket shrinks as the cloth grows, and soon the woman notes she will need to gather another batch of nettles. But before she can rise to do so, the gentle slap of webbed feet captures her attention.

The two swans approach, beaks filled, and each lays a pile of nettles in the basket. The cygnet returns quickly to the water, studiously avoiding looking directly at her, but the black swan lingers just near her blanket for a bit. Its molten gold eyes burn into hers, then glance at her battered hands. She raises a brow at it – none of them can speak now but it’s been a long time since they’ve relied on words to communicate – then reaches for the freshly deposited nettles to resume her knitting again. Her choice had been made long ago, and it would take more than stinging nettles to keep them apart.

After all, they do say swans mate for life.

#obiyukibingo22 #obiyuki #Akagami no Shirayukihime #ans #puffwrites #the wild swans #I just wanted to make Obi and Ryuu swans okay?