The Heartwood oh, adi, don't you know you're still number one?

The breeze brought her his scent. She told herself it was wishful thinking just to steal a few more moments of peace. Just to steel herself that much more, because she would need it, she always needed it —

Ishara.

She let out a long breath. Turned to face him and saw someone who was almost a stranger but was not, could never be. His face was more familiar than the faces of her family — all but their beautiful children. Yet he was changed, as he changed every year. A little more gray. A little less vigor.

A fear that had been growing in her for months by then was released in a startled little sob.

"You are late," she accused him, but this was more lament than anger. It was not his fault, she knew, but looking at him and seeing all these physical signs of his advancing age tore through all the poise she'd built up over the years. She came forward thinking she wanted to fight him, but knocking into him, it was clear she wanted only to be held.

"It was time and you weren't there," she cried into his chest, embarrassed already by this hormonal tantrum. But the tears were flowing, now.

It was really no wonder he never stuck around long.