The Gift by cuarthol

The Gift

Morwen stacked the wood her father split, retrieving the pieces as he set a new log.  The rhythmic swing of his axe was almost like music, the crack of the wood echoing slightly before the two pieces hit the ground with a satisfying thump.  The image of her father, tall and strong, able to split wood with a single blow, was one which she cherished like a promise that he would never let anything harm her or her mother.

It was one of Morwen’s favorite chores.

When she had finished, she picked up a piece she had kept aside, for it had caught her notice and got her mind thinking.  She turned the piece over several times, examining the shape closely.  

It was a small enough piece that it had not needed to be split.  The knot-end where it had broken from the tree looked like a face within a fur-lined hood, she thought.  It seemed a good size for a toddler’s hand, also, and not too heavy.  She could remove the bark and smooth out the rough edges with little difficulty.  

At last she felt satisfied with it.

“Papa?” she said, holding the piece up.  “May I have this one?”

Baragund wiped the sweat from his face as he considered her question.  “If you like,” he said eventually.  “What are you intending?”

“I will make something for Rían,” she said.  “For her birthday.”

“That is thoughtful,” Baragund said, giving his daughter a loving touch on her head.  “Do you need anything more?”

“I think I have everything else,” Morwen said.

“Don’t neglect your chores,” he cautioned, but smiled warmly.  “You have a good heart, Morwen.”

“Yes, Papa.”  She was never quite certain what to do with such compliments, a slight blush touching her cheeks before she gave an awkward smile and retreated to the barn.

She continued to examine it for some time, letting the idea settle into a solid plan before she found a small hatchet and began her work.  It was easy enough to strip the bark, and before dinner she had the body roughed out, pinching in at the middle to form a place to grip.

Not daring to leave it untended lest one of the dogs take hold and chew it, or it be accidentally tossed into the fire, she tucked it into her satchel which she hung just inside the door with her coat and hood before seeing to the rest of her chores.

Over the next several weeks, whenever she had a bit of spare time she was working on the gift.  Shaping gave way to smoothing, and then the intricate work began.  She used the tip of her knife to carefully carve lines of detail into the wood, then went over them with the still glowing tip of a small stick she held in the fire to burn the details into dark lines.

The final touch was a mass of spun yarn knotted through a hole in the top, each strand accented with a wooden bead so that they clattered when shaken.  

When all was finished she brought it to her mother.

Arnwen inspected the wooden doll for anything she felt might be a problem for the child, but it was well made.

“It is a fine gift,” Arnwen said.  “I am sure Rían will treasure it.”

Morwen wrapped it in a bit of scrap cloth with sewn up edges, which had the benefit of doubling as a wrap for the doll or useful as a handkerchief.

That night, Morwen lay in bed holding the doll up against the field of stars and whispering good things to it, things she hoped her cousin would feel when she held it.  She fell asleep with the doll on her chest and dreamt of women holding hands, feet moving to dances only they knew, passing wisdom from mother to daughter.

When the day came, having been excused from her chores for the day, she tucked the doll into her satchel along with a bit of bread for the journey, and began her walk.  Her Uncle Belegund and Aunt Lichiel homestead lay an hour’s walk to the north across heather-thick hills, and while the late spring weather was sunny and clear, it was still cool, and the blossoms had not yet come out.

She arrived before noon and was welcomed inside to a cup of honey water and a small fruit tart.

“I brought a gift for Rían,” Morwen said to her aunt.  “May I give it to her?”

Lichiel smiled and nodded, and Morwen presented the small bundle to the bright-eyed toddler.

Rían did not quite understand the idea of her birthday yet, but she took the gift, unwrapped the cloth and looked at the doll with delight.  The beads in the hair went clickity-clack as Rían shook it, the yarn hair flopped back and forth, knocking against one another and the body.  She giggled and beamed, then wrapped her tiny arms around her cousin in a huge hug.

Over the years beads fell off, the decorations were worn down, a dog had chewed one end a bit, but Rían kept it with her always.  It was her favorite toy.  It was only in the days of their desperate escape from Ladros in the Dagor Bragollach that the doll was lost.