#clarawinden

[fire-burns-within]

Bayou Musings || Xera & Clara

Clara sniffed the air, smiling at the perfume of the bayou as it tickled her nose - mud, Cyprus trees and water lilies mixed with the sweet smell of rot rising up from the swampy water.  Her bare feet dangled above the brackish pool far below the deck of her shack that stood high on stilts to keep it above the waterline.  It was on the furthest outskirts of the Ponchartrain compound, but that was by design.  She wasn’t born into this pack and while they’d welcomed her with open arms and hearts she felt more comfortable keeping to herself rather than living among them in full.  Besides, it was easier to harvest plants being further out into the bayou than the others and she could practice her traditional ways in peace.

A heron called somewhere deeper in the towering groves of Cyprus trees, echoing in the humid summer air.  Clara smiled and leaned back until she was laying down on the sun-bleached planks of her little deck, folding her arms behind her head to cushion it as she stared up at the sun-dappled leaves.  She grinned again, not bothering to sit herself up when she heard a quiet footfall on the little wooden walkway she’d built to span the open water between her shack and the next solid island of land.

“Tansi,” she called, using the Cree word for welcome as she always did when people came to visit.  “What brings you all the way out here to my little swamp shack?”

What had brought her out here? Xera wondered as her shoes squelched in the muddy ground. The Bayou wasn’t a place she ventured often, figuring that the wolves didn’t really want to deal with the witches and vise verse, really. Xera hadn’t wanted to be out there at all, but she needed a specific ingredient for a potion she was making. She didn’t want to be out there, but the voice in her head was growing to a pitch that needed to stop and this potion was supposed to help her do that. 

“Ha,” the voice in her head said. “You can’t get rid of me with a potion. I am you. Unless you’re planning on poisoning yourself you’re stuck with me.” The voice was sing-song and sweetly high pitched with a teasing lilt. Xera ignored it. She had grown used to it, though she was starting to worry that she was truly crazy. Time slipped away from her as quickly as grains of sand slid through opened fingertips. She didn’t know what was happening and it frightened her a bit. 

She froze when the woman spoke,“I was, uh...” She was not supposed to be out here talking to the wolves. There was something about this that sent up all kinds of alarm bells, but she was taking the risk because she needed the little weed. “I was looking for someone that could help me. I need an herb.” 

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[bruised-n-bloodied-knuckles]

Sponsor || Declan & Clara

Boots crunched dead leaves with each step he took through the wood. His Audi had been parked on the side of the road, left at the start of the path that would lead him to the shack Clara called her home. He didn’t really understand the woman, but he supposed he didn’t really need to understand her. He just needed her help. She had helped before, he knew she would help again. He needed his sponsor. He’d let himself lapse over the years as he grew stronger and less tempted, but in the last year, Declan had fallen off the wagon and hard. He was still looking for that reason to get back on, but the talk of the town, the disappearances, the murders... Declan needed his head cleared. He knew Clara would be able to help. 

He wrapped on the door, one knuckle hitting the weather-worn wood. The brass knocker that he’d ignored clacked in time to his hits and he stepped back from the door to give its inhabitant space. He stuffed his hands into his jeans pocket, fingers wrapping around the five-year coin that should have been nice and still means fuck all now that he’d managed to throw it all down the shitter. He knew why. He understood why he’d done it, but it was coming up on a year and he knew, he knew he needed help. The first anniversary since Amos’ passing wasn’t going to be an easy one for him, but he needed the tools to be able to get himself through it without the need to continue pickling his liver. 

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[retired-tactical-mind]

Harvest || Xander & Clara

The harvest season was among them, herbs, roots, and other fruits, all ripe for the picking. The grounds of his Inn were littered with fruit-bearing trees. Stone fruits for the spring and summer and apples for the fall. He spent all year pruning and planting and taking care of the plants and when the time came, they rewarded him for his efforts with the fruit they bore. He loved this time of year. The crispness of the fall air, the sweetness of fires in freshly cleaned places. The need for a jacket and warmer socks. It made working easier because the sun didn’t beat down and heat the skin. 

At the moment, Xander was standing on a ladder, a bucket placed at the top of it, apples spilling into it. He only had a few trees, but for the few trees he had, he would likely collect enough apples to keep him in pies and sauce and butter for the whole year. That was, of course, if Clara made it all for him. Xander had never been very good in the kitchen. He had cooks for that at the inn. 

A crunch of a branch behind him and the shift in the wind told him his friend had shown up and grinned. “You’re late,” he said glancing back at the woman. “I was starting to think I would be doing this all on my own this year. It’s not like you to keep me waiting.” Xander and Clara had been good friends for many years. A couple of loners that enjoyed the company of wild animals more than people. 

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