The Weaver


The weaver sits in the middle of the circle of stone, the full moon beaming down on her, feeding her its power. Her task never-ending, to weave and mind, cut and start anew. Where one life ends, another begins. Does this life deserve another chance or should it end here forever? The interlocking weft was perfect as an eternity of practice would lead to.

”Ah yes, this one will be a good match for this soul, let’s interlock them here.” Another weft and another life begins. Arianrhod sighed and stretched and lightning lit up the sky. She seemed to get the most done when the moon was full. Tonight’s tapestry seemed to be perfection. Her wrinkled, old fingers moved with such grace and speed, in and out, through and through. Her silver hair whipped in the breeze as the mortal’s appearance over the horizon disrupted her work. She was caught off guard as no one ever dared approach her before. The human had a strange aura to her. And Arianrhod cocked an eyebrow. The mortal bowed as she reached the outer birth of the circle to the weaver.

“What are you and how dare you interrupt me on such an important night?” The weaver asks.

“I apologize my goddess, but I have questions and this is the only time you are on this plain.”

The goddess sighed as she knew the mortal was correct. “How can I help you? And what are you? I can see you are different.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I am a Druid, among other things, and I’d like to know about my, well, my life.”

“Excuse me? I do not share such things, I don’t care who or what you are. Your life is what you make of it, you ought to know that.”

“I beg your pardon, ma’am, but that is not true. You are responsible for the warps and loops we take. I wish to know if mine is always so… well, so knotted and tangled.”

The goddess took a deep breath, clearly annoyed. Just then, lightning ran across the sky again and the druid gulped. The mortal was pushing her luck, but she had to know. “Come here druid, let me see who you are.”

Taking a few more steps towards the goddess, the druid straightened her back and dared to look her directly in the eye. Her orange hair flourished in the wind and the moonlight reflected off the silver scar across her face by her left ear. The goddess took her in and returned her gaze.

“Fenella MacHugh, dear child. Why did I not know it was you? You would be the only mortal impudent enough to approach me.” The druid smiled, almost in pride at the statement. “I cannot tell you what you want to hear, but I can tell you your life will be long and very, very full and wondrous.” And with that, the weaver turned back to her tapestry and the druid walked away from the circle.

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