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   Chapter 176 No.176

The WeatherMaker Hearts Desire By Lady Lilium Characters: 5205

Updated: 2018-07-11 19:03


White Feather glanced into the room, seeing between the curtains a spacious bedroom where one man was alone. Lying with his back to the window on a large four-poster bed, the man was still, seemingly in a deep sleep.

White Feather stepped lightly off the ledge, descending in the air, fluttering his wings until he reached the ground. As his feet touched the stone paving before the door, his wings receded into his back and he straightened.

He intended to shrink in size to fit through the keyhole, but saw there was no need, after finding the front door was left unlocked.

White Feather crept through the door and entered the home. It seemed utterly deserted, and he found himself thinking how strange it was for only one man to live in such a large home. As he looked around him, moving through the rooms, he saw neglect everywhere. Dust layered the many ornaments, the coat of arms, the weapons on display; the pictures. The marble floor below him, once perhaps beautiful, was now filthy with dirt and muddy footprints, which had long since dried and hardened.

The rooms felt cold, not only because of the wind that howled through one of the shattered windows nearby, which had not been repaired, but from a lack of love. This home, was barren.

White Feather passed a large painting as he headed towards the stairs, a painting of a small family; farther and mother, and a young child that stood between them.

This must be Amaia White Feather thought as he glanced at the young girl. They all looked so happy in the painting. They were all smiling, and the tall figures standing behind the child, stood close to one another, each with an arm around the other.

White Feather ascended the stairs, heading to the bedroom he had seen through the window, and to the man sleeping in the bed.

He entered the room and approached the bed at the back wall.

White Feather felt sadness well inside him as he saw clearly. The man was truly alone. There was no woman by his side, no mother.

She must have died.

White Feather sighed deeply, pushing aside his sombre thoughts. He reached forwards, and touched the man at the temple, sending magic into his dreams. The man began to stir, as White Feather placed a spell upon him.

It was late the next day when White Feather returned to Amaia's side. She was fast sleep on her bed. The night was hot and she had left her window open, perhaps to allow a breeze to cool her down, or perhaps she left it open for him to enter by.

White Feather leant over her, shaking her gently awake. Amaia groaned, turning her head towards the d

isturbance. She opened her eyes, sitting bolt upright at the sight of him.

'Oh thank the gods you're back' she cried. 'Are my parents ok? Is my mother?'

'Your father is well' White Feather answered hastily. 'I placed a dream inside his head, a spell. When he wakes he will be driven by a strong desire to find you. The spell I placed upon him will make you always in his thoughts.'

'And my mother?' Amaia demanded. 'Was she there?'

White Feather pursed his lips, frowning at her. He shook his head.

'No' he said. 'She was not.'

Amaia turned from him, laying on her front back on the bed and hugging the pillow.

She began to cry.

Chapter Fifty Two

The Father

Over the next few days Amaia and White Feather spent their time together, whiling away the hours in talk. Amaia would tell White Feather of her early life, and he would listen with deep interest. Since the moment he had returned, White Feather had never left her side.

'Precious treasure' Amaia was saying. 'That was what they used to call me.'

She glanced to the side, seeing White Feather sitting on the edge of the sofa beside her, eagerly leaning forward as he listened, chin rested on his palm.

Amaia laughed quietly to herself.

'I remember one day' Amaia went on, 'I had to wear my best dress, because my father had hired a painter to paint our little family.' She smiled to herself. 'How I hated it. It was so boring for me to be standing in one spot for so long, and I complained bitterly. I remember how annoyed my father was becoming; eventually my mother let me go outside. The painting wasn't finished, I think the man had done most of it already, and painted the rest from memory. When I was eventually shown the finished piece…well' Amaia shrugged. 'I didn't care for such things back then, but if I were to see it now' she sighed. 'I don't know…'

'I believe I have seen that painting' White Feather began, 'when I visited your father's home.'

'I was a beautiful painting, was it not?'

White Feather smiled. 'It certainly was.' He lay down, resting on his back as he stretched out on the sofa, gazing at Amaia. 'Tell me about your cousin.'

'Gracie' Amaia said. 'My father's brother's daughter. What fun we had together. I remember the days we used to play in the park, and in the woods. One day my mother made a tree house for us to play in, and we sat in the branches behind the wooden walls she had built, with hats made out of leaves, and we pretended to be pirates. We…' Amaia went on. 'We….'

Her eyes began to well up in tears, and she buried her face in her hands.

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