The Master sat before her workbench littered with twigs, leaves, and various bits and bobs of twine, string, and twist-ties. At least one thousand years old, the Master worked silently, swiftly, and with a seemingly effortless dexterity, which was a testament to her skill.

Bramble knew better than to ask the Master to illuminate a particular twist or turn of a twig or to explain the addition of a stone or Sap. There would be no response if Bramble did. Nor a pause in the work, nor a change in a breath. The Master understood that her role was to teach and Bramble knew their role was to observe and learn. 

Bramble’s apprenticeship lasted 100 years. There was ample time to ask questions or to clarify a point. But as Bramble looked at the Master working, the expressionless face, the flawless bright eyes devoid of color, clear as a mountain spring. White, Silver, Glass, Starlit. There was no way to describe the color or lack thereof. It was common for Sprites over 500 years of age to have clear eyes. Compared to Bramble’s eyes of bright blue, which was indicative of Sprites in the formative years before the expression of gender and the Ceremony of Names. Bramble had no sense of their own identity, and though still at least a decade away, had no interest in being male or female. There was, of course, no pressure either way. Gender only served to define if one would physically be able to reproduce. One could always choose to be Neodrach. Choosing to represent the In-Between. Those who walk with and apart from the other Sprites. There was heady freedom in this path. No family responsibilities, no pain of loss, but also no joy in the familial ties that Sprite families enjoy. 

Children had never interested Bramble and possibly never would. Bramble was impatient with life. And wished to speed through every lesson, every conversation, or every encounter. Children were by their very nature cultivators of patience. Being raised as an orphan after the Sadness perhaps gave Bramble a more cynical point of view, being cynical was a part of the very blood that flowed through Bramble’s veins. Like apathy, detachment, and loss. A shiver flowed through Bramble’s body, the only outward expression of the inner turmoil of thoughts and emotions and caused briefly a pause in the Master’s work. Inwardly appalled that there was such a lapse in propriety, Bramble held their breath and wished inwardly that the Master would ignore the shiver and continue working.

Minutes passed. Silence. Birds chirping. The gentle wind brushing lovingly past the chime by the door. The skittering of Harvest Beetles over the mound sugar cane and heavy branches on the Transition table conversing casually about their families and the complex drama of Beetle life in between mouthfuls of plant matter. The buzzing of BotFlies in the small glass container housing them, arguing about which type of putrescent meat was more succulent. The Botfly tradition of speaking the name of each Flykin they respond to makes it easy to follow the conversation. “ Bzzzzt, in response to your comment about the succulence of rotting bird meat, I have to disagree, I, Bbzztt feel that fish meat is more succulent and easy to burrow into if the day is short and I must eat before the In-Between.” Botflies were rarely rude and exceedingly patient in conversation.

Immersed in the bustle of activity around them, it took a moment to realize that the Master was quite frankly, staring at Bramble. “ Do you understand the Botfly language Bramble?” the Master asked softly as if the sound of her voice might disturb the thin layer of dust on the shelf behind her. “Yes Master, Bramble replied quickly, I also can understand the various sub-dialects of the Willow and Apple dialects, as well as the dark buzzing of the Hawthorne dialect.” “May Fall hasten to Spring!”, hastily adding the traditional response to the mention of the West. “And may the Mother welcome us into her loving arms, not before our appointed time” the Master replied. “Have you visited the west Bramble?” the Master asked. “No Master’,  Bramble replied in a confused tone, my Initiate Journey around the Garden doesn’t begin for another 5 years. 

“Ah, replied the Master, I had forgotten that things are different since The Sadness. When I was young, we took the Initiate Journey at 10 years old.” The Master paused for a moment, looking around the room slowly, resting her ancient eyes lovingly for a brief moment, as if she was caressing fondly a memory that resided in each seemingly mundane object she let her gaze fall upon.

“Master?”Bramble asked quickly, hoping to achieve in circumstance and spurred on by youthful courage what they had never been able to address before, “What was the Sadness, and why would we change the age in which we begin our Initiate Journey?” “That dear one is a story for Winter. And having not visited the West, you could not hope to comprehend.” Upon seeing Brambles round inquisitive and joyful face turn into a look of dejected defeat, the Master said kindly; “The Sadness was what made our world, and also destroyed it. It is the reason the Mother’s Moon has a belt surrounding her made of rubble, it’s why Father Sun shines so bright it burns your skin. The Sadness revisits upon us to remind us of the fragility of life and our responsibility to nurture and protect that life. The Sadness gives us life, takes away that life, and makes everything around you possible.” 

Bramble contemplated this, momentarily forgetting that the Master had never spoken this much in all the years they had known her. The Master simply looked at Bramble as they struggled with this gift of knowledge, or perhaps a curse. Knowledge attained too young could never be assimilated without the wisdom of experience to temper its impact. The Sadness was proof of that. For too many things were learned in her youth, too many losses, too many crystal tears shed that turned her blue eyes gray, and her heart to ice. She stood and walked purposely to the shelf filled with Jewels, and picked a glowing gold Jewel entwined in tiny elegantly composed twigs. Bramble started, almost rising from their chair, Bramble could tell by the sheen and smell that the wood gave off when activated by the Master’s body heat it was Hawthorne. A wood only used to remember the dead.

“This.” the Master said in a voice tinged with emotion, loss, and longing was the last memory of my Sister, Lily.” “You remind me of her.” “She could speak to any creature that lived and some that didn’t. She carried a small pebble around in her skirt pocket and would sit for hours just listening to it. When she Budded, she had two children, who also would take turns with the pebble in their pockets, and would listen for hours to the pebble. They were innocent and not meant for a world such as ours. The Sadness took them from me. The Sadness took your parents from you and changed the world for a thousand years. The Sadness will change it yet again in another thousand years.”

Poppy extended her hand, the Jewel dangling from a thin white finger. “Take this and learn about the Sadness, but be warned, you will forever be changed.” “You will journey West, and never will Winter be gentle, Fall will never again be sweet, the Summer will never be as kind and Spring will never be filled with Joy.” “The Bright Twigs you weave will be tinged with melancholy, the Dark Twigs will bend willingly to your whim.” “Choose now child of Spring, for the moment is upon you” 

Bramble sat transfixed and rose to make a choice that would define their lives forever.