Their Little Secret Place

She was just passing by when she stumbled across his little secret place. In retrospect, it should have been obvious- she’d noticed that he prefered heights, and he’d picked up woodworking from his father all those years ago. Of course it would only follow logically that he would build himself a treehouse for him to escape to whenever he felt the need to retreat into himself.

He seemed surprised that she had come, at first- the sturdy little oak was tucked deep inside the forest, where it would be hard to come across it by accident. But he must’ve been so lost in his thoughts each time he wandered down the path that he hadn’t realized how his footfalls had worn the dirt and left behind a light trail: faint, inconspicuous, and barely discernable but not quite invisible to her curiosity.

Nonetheless, he allowed her to enter, and even though they didn’t talk much she recognized that he didn’t mind her presence. At first she was afraid it might bother him: she knew that he prefered solitude, and that he liked the quiet natural hum of the forest, but still- perhaps it was too quiet and too cold, even for him. Maybe she recognized, even then, that there was something missing.

He told her she could return whenever she wanted to, under one condition: that no one else saw or followed. Because for him, it was their little secret place now.

So she kept his secret. Even when their best friend probed for answers, she deflected the questions with a little smile and a shake of her head- what he wanted to keep private, she would not reveal. Raiwen eventually gave up, as he always did out of respect, but not without a warm little tease about the growing number of secrets the two shared.

~~~

A few weeks later, she came back to the tree, looking for him. She’d seen it on his face when the messenger reported the news of the attack- that look of shock, regret, and the tiniest bit of fear that only she and Raiwen could see before he abruptly stood up and walked out without a word. And true to her prediction, he was seated against the wall, staring up at the roof of the treehouse with that distant look of remembrance of the last war in his eyes.

Even then he wouldn’t crumble under the weight of what he knew would follow. He just barely acknowledged her with a slightest dip of his head, and listened as she spilled out her own fears. He accepted her and her words and, when she was done, he pulled her close and the two of them just sat there in the cold and the silent, chilling understanding that once again, they would have to face the oncoming war- and they would face it together, with Raiwen and all the others.

His fortitude and silent suffering was still evident to her after that, even if no one else noticed it, even if Raiwen didn’t mention it. But she could never bring herself to bring it up to him, because she knew that he would deny it every time she tried.

~~~

She ran away to the treehouse herself, a few days later. She brought a flute with her- one carved from wood, gifted to her many years before. Among the low boughs of the tree, she listened to the quiet natural hum of the forest for a moment before she began playing a song, one she had been taught by her sister. A song of and for the people, she called it, meant to draw them together and bring them peace. It was long, and fluid and clear, calming and content yet solemn and true, even if a little lonely. It pierced the air like a bell chiming in the wind, neither fighting nor resisting but instead feeding off the sounds around her, bringing them together and uniting them in melody.

She had just finished the song when she suddenly became aware of someone behind her. It was him; he had come to the tree of his own accord when he heard the music, he said. He was drawn to it. It reminded him of his old home, when his mother would play in the town square on a flute made just like her own. 

It was, he said, the first time since the outbreak of the war that he'd found something peaceful.

When they left that night, she left the flute. She had almost wanted to go back and retrieve it, as it had been his gift to her- but he promised it was alright. The flute, it seemed to him, had found its home in the treehouse, where its melody could weave with the forest wind and reach out without fear of being scorned. All that was left to find now was the warmth.

~~~

They came and went a few more times. Even as content as they were, they knew there was still something missing- the energy like a blazing fire and lively flame that could bring warmth to whoever passed by- but they couldn't find it.

When the fateful day came, they still didn't know- but they couldn't stay. The tempest descended on the capital and the crown was stolen, and they were forced to leave. They left, and they left behind the flute in the treehouse in the little oak in the forest.

They didn't return, and the little warmth they had there died out. They would never return, not until years later, when the war was over.

~~~

In the end, she showed Raiwen his little secret place- she knew that he would've shown their friend at some point. It was cold the day they visited. Raiwen carried a small candle with them, careful to keep the little flame alight and burning bright, and they stayed close to absorb whatever heat it could provide. She had forgotten her jacket- but Raiwen was always the selfless type, and he quickly shrugged off his own and wrapped it around her shoulders as they trudged through the snow.

She was afraid that the treehouse might have changed in some way- harmed by ice, or caught in fire- but when they got there, there was nothing but her flute, still left there, still waiting for her to return and play the song once again.

Raiwen smiled when she finished. She knew it was because this was so completely their place, with the flute and its music and the oak and its treehouse. He didn't want to intrude on their little hideout, he said.

But she laughed and shook her head. His little secret place was all of theirs, she said, and he would have wanted Raiwen to leave something- a mark, an object, a presence- so that he would have something of them both, so that he could keep something of them both.

It was his something- his warmth- they were missing, she told him.

That day, when they left the little secret place, he left the treehouse in the reliable oak, she left the song in the peaceful flute, and Raiwen left the warmth in the glowing candle.