Cricket Creek Bog a gentle breeze or lightning in a storm

HELLO I SUCK.

Maiira’s eyes opened in surprise—shock, more like. Her talk of magic and ghosts had not been to open the floodgates for a small child to miss her mother. This was territory Maiira had almost no experience in. She shifted, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, and tried to bring her brain back down to the earth, trying to think of what someone more normal would say. “Hmm…” she began, looking around to try and give herself more time. “Maiira thinks that… that your mother is always near you, in a way.” She expelled a breath, squinting as she thought about it more. “Yes. Your mother’s spirit can always hear you, child. She cannot respond, not like she could in life, but you can speak to her always.”

She looked around, listening to the wind in the trees. “Close your eyes and listen, child.” The coywolf herself closed her own eyes, then. “Hear the wind in the trees. Hear the sounds of the insects in this swamp. Hear the water. Feel the earth.” Each word was spoken slowly, deliberately. “That is your mother. She is always there; she has simply become… a different form than before.” Maiira opened her eyes again, hoping that had been enough. Hoping she hadn’t just messed up this child’s life.