III
The Lavender Pot
Day and night went on, amidst the changing leaves. The trees of Bridlewood grew taller, and so did Izzy. Where once she’d prance around the house with abandon, now she needed to care lest her horn find itself caught upon one of the many hanging banners that adorned her cottage. Where once only her mother’s paintings filled the tree, now they were joined by her artwork, filling every table and every inch of the wood walls. Macaroni sculptures, paper murals, tiny folded hats of velvet and hanging lanterns. The air was filled with the sound of wind chimes hanging above, and instruments made of empty bottles.
And there were bracelets. So many bracelets, each and every one of them beautifully woven by hoof. Luna spoke of them as friendship bracelets, to be given to those one treasured most, and in the years that went by Izzy made enough for all of Bridlewood.
It was unfortunate that no matter how often she tried to address all the other children in Bridlewood, none showed more than a passing interest in friendship or her bracelets. Her hopes rose when one gloomy poet took notice, but all she had to offer was a somber line or two on the futility of life. And although Alphabittle offered a trade, Izzy knew very well what sort of trade it would be – and it only took one bracelet lost in a little bet for her to realise it.
At best, she was an outlier. At worst, she was an outcast. And Izzy had the tiny suspicion that the others grew to see her as such, the harder she exerted herself. Who knows how often she had crossed them, for here and there she’d drop a mention of mayonnaise or whatever and all her words on friendship would be drowned amidst the usual pushback.
Luna, naturally, had only kindness to offer, withdrawn as she was.
“Then let it be for now, Izzy,” the gardener reminded her one day, patting her back. “You have many years ahead of you.”
So the matter passed, with some pains, and Izzy went on with her arts and crafts in the shade of Luna’s garden. It was true – she was growing taller, her mane grew more lush, and her skills only grew more refined. And so long as she kept herself well-fed and held her head high, she’d have all the time she needed.
But just as Bridlewood hardly changed, neither did Luna. The mare was as youthful and sprightly as ever, even as her flowers bloomed, withered, and were replaced. Her mane remained full of life, her coat shone beneath the light, and her eyes were sharp and graceful. Even Tiberius looked much the same, still the same adorable little possum, with the energy to match. Much as Luna humoured her by claiming a healthy life begets a longer youth, there was that odd, distant look on her face the few times Izzy had bothered to ask.
As the seasons passed, the same longevity could not be said for Izzy’s mother.
Whereas Luna looked not a day older than the afternoon Izzy had glimpsed her from inside the cottage, her mother slept longer, ate less, and moved slower by the day. Her cheeks, once so full of subtle vibrancy, grew sallower and her eyes sunk further and further.
Seven Winters after they had first met, when her mother could no longer leave her bed, Izzy had but one question to ask Luna.
* * * * *
“How long has it been?”
So sudden was the question that it made Luna pause in the watering of her flowers. “I beg your pardon?”
“When you told me your name,” Izzy added. “You said it’s been so long since anyone’s asked it.”
Sharing a glance with Tiberius, Luna set down her watering can. “Yes, it has been,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, nothing,” said Izzy. “It’s just… Do you have anyone? Family, I mean. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I guess I’ll just go back to painting.”
She returned to her work, picking up her paintbrush. Pebble looked a far cry from the drab, grey little rock she had been once, so colourful ever since Izzy had painted her with many shades of blue. When she looked back up, she saw Luna standing before her.
“Long ago, a sister of mine gave me this cloak,” said Luna. Her gaze was forlorn and contemplative. “She told me that, just as it had accompanied her travels, so too should it keep me company now.”
“That’s kind of her,” Izzy said, smiling brightly. “And, um… did you have to say goodbye to them? Your family?”
Luna nodded. “Of course I did,” she said. “Every single one of them. My big sister was the first one to leave, and one by one they left, until the time came for…” She shook her head. “It was a very long time ago, and I do not remember it all. But I’ve shared many goodbyes, far too many.”
The corners of her lips twitched ever so slightly. But Izzy did not press on. Luna was never one to answer once she decided not to, and so Izzy kept mum, simply nodding along.
“Your mother,” Luna began, kneeling down in front of her. “How fares she?”
“She’s not getting better,” Izzy said hurriedly. “She doesn’t leave her bed for dinner anymore and all her paintings aren’t getting finished and, and now she can’t even do that.”
Izzy paused, drawing in a sharp breath. “I’m just– do you know anything that might help? You know lots of plants. Anything. Anything that can make her feel better?”
Luna shook her head once more. “I am sorry about your mother,” she said, “but healing this advanced is no easy feat, and whatever spell or concoction she needs is long forgotten.” She looked around the garden. “This garden has thrived, in no small part to your help, but I cannot aid you in curing her.”
Before Izzy could reply, to cry out in protest and dismay, Luna had stood up and turned away. Not to depart, though, as Izzy saw. She crouched down and with a single swish of her hoof retrieved one of her lavender pots.
“The scent of lavender has aided many tired souls in achieving a good night’s sleep,” she said, putting the pot in Izzy’s satchel. “May it bring comfort to your mother’s days.”
Izzy stammered, feeling her eyes water. But she shouldn’t cry here, not before Luna’s eyes. Before she could spill her heart out in an inelegant stream of babbled words, she felt Luna’s hoof on her shoulder. The gardener had taken off her hood, revealing her lush blue mane, sprinkled with the golden stardust.
“Go, Izzy,” Luna said firmly, warmly. “Know that whatever happens, your company is what she will treasure most.”
* * * * *
“Who is it?”
The frail voice of her mother echoed out throughout the house, piercing deep into Izzy’s heart. She’d never been the most energetic or lively, but she was her mother, and her mother had once spoken so highly, so vividly of painting and all the colours that decorate a canvas.
“Hey, Mom,” she said. “It’s me. Can I come in?”
It was a silly question. Her mother needed her, as she needed her in the past few weeks. But it couldn’t hurt to be polite. So she waited until her mother said yes, before pushing the door open into the bedroom.
She hadn’t been here in a long time, since she’d moved into her own room when she turned six. But it was certainly more lively then than it was now, for her mother’s paintings had been moved to make space for various medicines their doctor had prescribed to little avail.
It was the sight of her that ached Izzy further. Her colours had faded, her once-full cheeks gaunt, and her eyes, at one time so bright and thoughtful, now looked dim and tired. Upon seeing her, though, her mother allowed a weak little smile.
“Izzy,” said her mother. “You’re home early.”
“Mhm!” Izzy replied, with as much cheer as she could muster. “I figured you needed company. Luna said it was alright. Oh, I um, I brought you something too.”
With a skip in her step, she sat herself down on the seat next to the bed, smiling to match her mother’s own. From her satchel, she unveiled the little lavender pot, putting it upon the nightstand. Her mother’s tea had gone cold, Izzy could tell from a glance, but she pushed the thought aside to present the flower.
“This is lavender,” she explained. “Luna said the scent makes it easier to sleep.”
Her mother turned to look at the flowers, taking a whiff of its scent. “My, it does smell nice. Give my thanks to her, would you?”
“Well, when you get better,” Izzy said, wincing a little though her smile remained, “maybe you can tell her yourself?”
That got her mother to laugh, before it devolved into a hacking cough. Wordlessly, Izzy offered her a glass of water, one she drank promptly. When her mother finished, she looked at Izzy with longing and regret.
“I’m sorry,” said her mother. “I should have come with you, should have… should have met your friend. She sounds lovely.”
“No no no, it’s okay, Mom, don’t feel bad,” said Izzy, still keeping up her smile. She glanced at the one painting her mother had insisted on keeping in the room – the grassy field on the hillside, now much livelier than ever. “I’ll show her your painting. I’m sure she’ll love it.”
She leaned forwards, pressing her lips against her mother’s forehead.
“You’re right though. She’s pretty lovely.”
“I believe you,” said her mother. “Give her my thanks for taking care of you.”
“Mom, c’mon, you did pretty fine too,” said Izzy, laughing softly. “It’s okay. Hey, did I ever tell you the time I told her about the painting? She got really excited about it.”
Her mother waved her off. Or tried to, at least, as another bout of cough quieted her.
“You’ll have to tell me some other time,” she said, straining as she did so. “I think I’d like some sleep for now.” She chuckled. “You can blame Luna for that, these flowers are nice.”
“Okay, Mom,” Izzy whispered, holding her forehoof. “I’ll be here.”
She stayed there for some time, holding her mother, as the vivid scent of lavender guided them both to a night full of dreams until the Sun rose again.
* * * * *
The first time Izzy had gone to the Bridlewood burial grounds, it had been with her mother. She didn’t understand then, why her father had gone silent, why her mother told her to say goodbye. Now, watching the wooden coffin lowered into the earth for only the second time in her life, Izzy realised just how lonely it must have been for her mother then, as she felt it now.
When the last stone was placed, the crowd began to depart the grounds. Her fellow unicorns had little to say about one another in life, much less in death. But here and there, she received a nod or two, and a melancholic yet touching poem for her mother. Even Alphabittle gave her a solemn nod, and for Izzy, that was enough. The silence that had bothered her for years was almost a blessing now.
She was the last to leave, waiting until the Sun dipped beneath the horizon and the Moon’s light fell upon Bridlewood.
The walk into the garden proceeded in a long, dreary silence. The forest noise had long faded in her ears, muffled and distant. Now, for the first time in many years, Izzy felt awfully alone.
She remained quiet for some time, even as she pushed the vine curtain apart and passed by Tiberius, without bothering to answer his greetings. She did not say a word, nor whisper a greeting, until she had placed the painting she’d been carrying on her back.
Where once it was a simple grassland field beneath blue skies, now trees dotted the landscape, of varying heights and shapes. Most of all though, there were flowers. Dandelions and daisies, chrysanthema and lavender, all gently swaying in the wind, their many colours woven together to create an enchanting view, lit by lanterns and the moonlight.
“My mom liked to paint. They were beautiful paintings. Like your garden,” said Izzy softly. Luna remained quiet, joining her in beholding the painting.
Izzy glanced at Pebbles and Chip. They were where she had left them, by Luna’s flowers. “I think I’ll leave them here for now. They seem to like your garden, and… and you need friends too.”
She tore her gaze away, looking at Luna. Though she’d grown taller in the intervening years, Luna still stood taller.
“Thanks for the lavender. Mom liked them.”
Luna nodded, and all was quiet, so very quiet. Izzy wasn’t quite sure what to say, what to think. Only the crushing feeling of distance and loneliness, that no more would she hear her mother’s voice nor feel her embrace…
“You said goodbye a lot, didn’t you?” Izzy asked, keeping her voice steady.
Luna nodded. “Yes. More than I’d have liked.”
“Did it ever get easier?”
“No. It never does,” said Luna, sighing. “I am truly sorry, Izzy. It must have been a lonely funeral, and I regret that I could not accompany you.”
“Oh, no, actually. Quiet’s more like it,” Izzy said, letting out a short, sparse laugh. “No, they all came. It was very sad.”
“… I, ah, expected otherwise.”
“I don't blame you. We only come together when someone passes away,” Izzy said. “But it wasn’t always like this, I’m sure. I think you know.”
“Things were different,” Luna said simply, to which Izzy nodded. “Things were different,” she repeated. “I just… I just wish they weren’t.”
Her words and Izzy’s thoughts were coming apart. Nothing left to think of, no paintings nor flowers. Even the letter felt like a distant memory.
“Luna?” asked Izzy at last, setting herself down upon the grass, letting Tiberius hop onto her back. “Can– may I sleep here tonight? I don’t feel like going anywhere.”
The mare beside her moved a little closer. Izzy felt her eyelids grow heavier. She was so tired.
“You may, Izzy,” said Luna, in the gentlest of voices Izzy had ever heard from her. “Sleep well.”
So she did, leaning against Luna, her eyes closed, and soon after she had no more to think about but the everlasting scent of lavender all around her.
