Will she . . .

She pushed harder, now she pulled with her free hand.  She could feel the warmth on her face, breathe, just breathe, as she attempted to will her eyes open.
     Wee-One had not known how long she had slept nor how she had fully escaped the hole.  She awoke to find herself surrounded by the familiar bevy.  They had tended her wounds once again.  She now wore sturdier coverings and bandages had been carefully applied.  She recalled a time with tears, that spear bearer would dress her scrapes, but that was a time long since passed.
     Her favorite member of the bevy, Terba, was stroking her hair and had affixed the most colorful bandage.  Soon the bevy parted as the Traveler arrived.  Her tears were unmistakable.  These were not tears of fear, but tears of gratitude and hope.
     Traveler knelt beside her bed.  Wee-One was too fragile for him to pick up and rock her closely.  He encouraged her to move closer as he read a familiar story.
     She strained to hear through the wrappings adorning her head and to remember where she had heard the story before.  She heard the rain falling down the windowpanes outside the cottage.  The water fell at a steady pace, then it was hard to distinguish the individual drops.  It streamed over the eaves . . .
     The water bounced over the rocks playing hopscotch in the wind.  It skipped over the edge before crashing into the pool below, flowing toward the forever fields before escaping the eyes.  This waterfall was familiar.  It was safe.  It was her solitude as she listened to the story.  No one saw her behind it.  She breathed to the rhythm of the cadence of his reading the story.  Her panic of the moment had subsided as a tear streamed down her check.
     The waterfall disappeared as Traveler kissed her tear assuring her she was safe.  She turned her head as if to say, “I cannot trust.  The wounds are too deep,” but this time his eyes were different.  She saw calmness, peace, and laughter.
     Wee-One had seen those eye before, but this was somehow changed.  The wisdom seemed deeper, the courage more steady, and the joy beyond compare.  She forced herself to focus on his eyes, to not turn her head. As she did, more tears began to come.
     She remembered a time when she hated that taste.  With each teardrop, another wound healed.  She was unaware the bandages were falling off until she was able to hear Traveler with more clarity.  Then, she realized she was able to see out of both eyes as the bevy continued to remove bandages and clean her wounds.
     Traveler held her tightly as he proclaimed proudly these were tears of healing.  She knew this would not be complete healing, but enough to help her stand again.  “Now?” asked the Traveler.  The wee-one understood his question, for yet, again, he was asking, if these were tears of love.  She again held her head in shame as she wept.
     Traveler lifted her head.  “Fear not, little one.  For your path has not been for the weak-hearted.  You have struggled and fought.  When you are ready, you will be ready.  I will not rush you.”
     Through tears, she lifted her eyes.  She stretched out her arms as she allowed Traveler to hug her.  He is the first man she has ever allowed to touch her since the appearance of the Rock Monster.
     “I am frightened,” Wee-One admitted, “how do I do this?  So much has been taken away from me.  How do I know you will not be the same?  I want to, but the others were kind and gentle at first in the beginning.”
     She put her head to his shoulder, but stopped.  She wondered, “What if he wants to hit me?  What if he really does work for the Rock Monster?”  He felt her body begin to shake.  Almost instinctively, Dweller and Terba were next to her.
     Terba held wee-one’s hand as Dweller lifted her into the healing springs.  She fought at first, but Terba never let go of her hand.  Wee-One shook violently as most of the bevy could not watch.  Even Traveler knelt next to her as the stench filled the air.
     The wedge circled higher and higher protecting wee-one from the possible onslaught of the grove lest the rising smoke blot out the sun and draw them in for an attack to the trembling one beneath.  Terba sang softly as Dweller stroked wee-one’s hair.
     Wee-One continued to fight as the venom seeped out of her pores left there by the Janimglys.  The more it oozed, the stranger the cloud became.  It began as an orange cloud, then green, then hazy purple, before settling on green with pink polka dots.  The wedge had to work hard to keep the grove away.  The Janimglys would have nothing else to do with her.  They would not even admit wrong doing.
     As the venom left her body, first it felt like relief, then grief, as if an old friend had just died.  Now, it is nothing more than a worn-out pair of shoes the dog has chewed that should have been thrown out with last year’s Christmas tree. It is overdue, but now they are being used as gardening shoes.
     Wee-One knew she must submit to the water, but with each wave, the sting was deeper still.  The words written upon her soul were deepest of all.  She resisted the water for fear all that she was would disappear with the next wave.  Wee-One had heard these things so frequently and so vehemently, she had adopted them as her identity.
     This shroud enveloped her being and would not easily be removed.  Dweller determined it would take more than these waters.  He had not seen this before . . .