The Weight of the Wreath

Location: Greenbough Common, early evening during the Timber Jubilee. The crowd is dispersing after the Mother’s Bough Offering.
 
The smell of pine sap and roasted boar still hung in the air, but the mood had shifted—just for a breath—after the quiet reverence of the Mother’s Bough Offering. The large ceremonial wreath, bound in silverleaf and wound with tokens from the children of Greenbough, had been hoisted onto the stone arch in the village square. Families still lingered nearby, sharing hugs and praise, pointing out their carvings like stars in a familiar sky.
 
Kaelyn leaned against a barrel by the ale tent, arms crossed, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. A mug of cider in his hand, untouched.
 
“You’re getting good at vanishing,” said a voice at his side.
 
He blinked, then turned to see Nireth, her russet-furred ears twitching slightly as she joined him, hands clasped behind her back.
 
“I’m not hiding,” Kaelyn muttered, though even he didn’t believe it.
 
Nireth raised an eyebrow and tilted her head. “You didn’t even watch the Offering. Again.”
 
Kaelyn’s jaw tensed. “I just don’t see the point of pretending.”
 
Nireth looked at him, soft but unrelenting. “Pretending what?”
 
“That I belong in that part of it,” he said, gesturing toward the wreath across the square. “The bough, the tokens… That’s a memory you and Mara got. I don’t have that.”
 
Nireth didn’t speak immediately. She followed his gaze, then looked back to him.
 
“I don’t remember carving my first token,” she said quietly. “I was six. It’s more of a photo in my head than a memory. But I remember Mom’s hands guiding mine. I remember the smell of the shavings and the way she laughed when I cut myself and tried not to cry.”
 
Kaelyn looked away. His voice came out low. “I wish I had even that.”
 
Nireth stepped closer. “You’re right, it’s not fair. You didn’t get to carve a token with her. But do you really think she wouldn’t have wanted you to? Do you really think she'd want you standing back here every year like a ghost?”
 
He clenched the mug tighter. “You think carving something now fixes that?”
 
“No,” she said. “But it’s something. It’s letting her memory live through you, not just haunt you. She’s still your mother, Kaelyn. And you’re still part of this, even if it’s jagged and strange.”
 
He didn’t answer.
 
Nireth reached into her satchel and held something out.
 
A small square of Terithor wood. Smooth, pale. Untouched.
 
“I brought you this,” she said. “I thought… maybe next year, we could carve something. Together.”
 
Kaelyn looked at the wood, then at his sister—at the earnestness in her expression, the grief and hope braided together behind her eyes.
 
“I’m not much of a carver,” he said at last.
 
Nireth smiled gently. “You dance like lightning and summon thunder with your feet. I think you can figure it out.”
 
He took the wood.
 
And for the first time in years, during the Timber Jubilee, Kaelyn didn’t feel quite so hollow.