Page 183 of A Legacy of the Light

“I have my final question for you.” I lift my head to look up at him. “Do you think we’ll see each other again? Will I be able to come back here?”

“That was two questions.”

I poke him in the spot where I know he’s ticklish. Tavish laughs and then pulls me so my body covers his. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his face softening as he grips the back of my neck in his large palm.

“I hope so, little warrior. I really hope so.” And he kisses me until I forget about everything but the feel of his body pressed against mine.

Magic swirls and dances around me, so thick my own hands are lost in the fog when I hold them in front of me, feeling blindly for anything.

“Elsie.” A whisper in the mist.

“Who’s there?”

The magic parts, creating a pathway in front of me. I take a tentative step and the mist parts further, a thick wall of it forming at each side.

“Elsie.” Closer this time.

Grass cushions the bare soles of my feet and water flows to my right. I follow the path the mist forms toward the quiet voice desperately calling my name.

I step into a cavern, half open to the elements, where shafts of moonlight cast a soft glow in the tall grass I now walk through.

The water I heard is a stream that flows in the direction of a large oak tree sitting at the heart of the stone cavern. A pool of water gathers before it, drops of moonlight sparkling on its surface.

Beneath the branches, resting against the trunk, lies a crumpled figure. My steps falter, and fear grips me. The Craobh resting against my chest warms and pulses, urging me closer.

“Home,” it seems to call, “Take me home.”

“Elsie,” a female voice rasps with exhaustion, as the person attempts to lift themself.

“Do you need some help?” I ask and step closer.

The figure stirs, shifting to sit up taller against the bark at their back. I close the distance and crouch down next to them.

Long silver hair covers their face, and their breath saws in and out in harsh pants. I lift a hand.

“Are you alright?” I ask, and gently pull their shoulder to face me.

A familiar smile greets me. “Hello, sweetheart.”

“Granny,” I breathe, and fall to my ass next to her.

Her face is sallow and covered in dried blood. Her hair is dirty and matted, her shirt is torn, and cuts mar her arms, the veins around them blackened with infection.

“Are you . . . do you need help?” My question is tinged with panic as I look her over.

She shakes her head and her brows crease in pain. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“I . . . is this real, Granny? Or a dream?” I ask. An hour ago, I was in bed in Tavish’s arms in Claver.

“It’s like a dream, but not,” she whispers.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“It’s complicated, sweetheart,” she replies softly, agony rippling across her features.

“So, you’re alive?”

She smiles at me and reaches out to cup my cheek. My eyes sting. I haven’t seen her face in such vivid detail for a long time.