(Three Years Later)
A lovely day: when you're living, the sun bright and gleaming, the ersatz shimmering in the ripples—calm was the musically flowing crystal turquoise lake.
A timber of lush green bushes, the vines creeping with fruits, the grasses and wildflowers, trees: their branches a veiny art.
The earth was blossoming, breathing—the early leaves swaying with each nectarous flurry.
The birds were chirping, the song dripping in ambrosia; they were coupled, sat on the branches, serenading how beautiful this inflorescent spring was.
A bed of grasses and shrubs, the peak yellow green in the sun—untouch darkening to the roots, aborning flowers with flickering glow lay sprouting from the dirt.
Over the flowers in bloom, danced in joy—the buzzing golden bees, fluttering kaleidoscopic butterflies, drinking in from the honey enriched nectar.
A leering mature river birch tree looming, the branches heavy from leaves rustling—they were almost tumbling.
The shade blessed a peaceful bearing to rest, and under the tree, Neva hummed a melody—a symphony with the pulsing earth in a warm spring afternoon.
Her fingers stroking, playing with her husband's soft hair—who laid tranquiled than ever on his beloved's lap, his eyes.
He was wearing a serene face.
She was drifting him into a dream world, but he was adamant to stay awake; for this reality could not be compared to any Utopia he had ever painted in the wildest of his chimaera.
A blanket was sprawled beneath, a wicker picnic basket on the side, two skilled coloured canvas of a scenery lay on the side. The paint brushes and the water in the transparent cup inked, tiny dots of watercolours splattered in the blanket.
"Love?" Ishmael ushered. Neva halted her chorus, "Hmm?" She answered, her curious gaze on him.
He looked up at her, a lover boy kinda grin in his face, and it lightened up a smile in her own.
"I love you." He murmeres, staring with clear and lucent eyes. A breeze swirled around, the hair strands a curtain to her features, floating like feathers.
She was a miraculous dream; the most beautiful life to live.
Unchanged and eternally young; she was his; his precious woman.
"I love you too." Neva whisperes back.
The curved of his lips arched higher, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he sat up. Her mysterious orbs swilling in his face beaming.
He captured passionately her efflorescent lips, smiling into the kiss. His large hand cupping her jaw, drifting up fingers weaving in her hair—he was deepening the art... Watering their love.
"Mumma!"
An elated voice called running, and the married couple slipping away in ardour with Neva's widened eyes and a push to Ishmael's chest—immediately seperated,
A boy with round red cheeks adorning the milky skin, the wavy hair ruffled up, and a heart screaming smile in the cheeky face stood before—underneath the shadow of the river birch tree.
Neva and Ishmael sat there peering at him, with their back straigtened and face flushed in surprise.
"I made this for you." He chirped, huffing really, sonorous almond eyes sparkling in excitement.
Neva's gaze thawed in adoration for the bouquet of wildflowers, messily, yet gorgeously tied in those tiny fist. The stubby hands holding it out to her.
She wore a gentle air, caressing the child's face, she placed a doting kiss on the heated cheek—wafting giggles out of the boy.
Her heart a warm haven from his giddiness, she accepted his kind present.
"Thank you baby." Neva uttered, and she was taken aback as he enfolded her into after in his arms.
She wrapped her arms around his small frame, hand stroking his head with lush hair. Glancing at Ishmael, he held her eyes, mirroring twirling smiles on the burnished features.
"You didn't bring me anything Isaiah?" Ishmael asked, his tone teasing.
Pulling away from his mother, Isaiah looked at him, "But boys don't like flowers Papa."
"Who said boys don't like flowers?" Ishmael urged, his brows raised.
"I have never seen you getting one." Isaiah replied, his mumbles spinned in wonder.
"And you just assumed?" He persisted.
Isaiah nodded his head firmly. "The only boy I know is you." He shrugged his shoulders, then promptly went to settle down on Neva's lap.
She glimpsed at Ishmael, a guilt ridden frown rumpled between his brows. Reachinf she lightly squeezed his hand, his gaze stringing to her.
Neva tilted her head and blinked assuringly at him. He had done everything with a proverb in his mind; to protect them, preferring few selected people in their lives.
Ishmael returned a faint smile.
He will make it better.
Neva was plucking out sticky seeds and shreds of petals from Isaiah's hair, arranging his messy waves.
"Where's your sister?" She asked, combing with her fingers his tousled locks.
"Naya's very slow Mumma. I left her behind." Isaiah declared, his attention splitted on playing, scrutinizing the mechanical toy car in his hold. He held it up flying in the air, his voice making the engine noises.
"You can't leave her alone Isaiah. What if she's hurt?" Neva rebuked, frowning. Worry clouding her heart.
Isaiah ceased his motions, he glanced up at her, his lips sunken and eyes beginning to get glossy. "I'm sorry,"
Her visage immediately softend. Her son was loved and cared deeply, and he would be really sensitive, to even any slight indifference from her. Their bitter reprimands always were a pinch to the little heart.
"I'll go look for her." Ishmael said, already standing up.
Neva gazed up at him. "Come back soon,"
"I will."
Neva nibbled on her bottom lips, trailing his form walking away. She was getting anxious, although guards surrounded by close, obscured within the gloom, enough to strip their presence from their sight. It had always been this way.
She was used to this. They were never alone.
It was reassuring, but sometimes, it came as a bother.
"Mumma?" Isaiah grabbed her cheek. It drowned him in remorse, he's the reason his mother was worried.
She offered him a smile, brushing the bangs away from his face. "You shouldn't do that anymore alright? A good big brother always looks after their sister. Hmm?"
He dipped his head. He was an obedient child. "Okay,"
"Okay." Neva sounded softly, adorning a smooch on his cheek, gathering a syrupy grin in the sweet features.
---
Ishmael wandered into the woods, the scene umbrous and hushed from human's whereabouts. He was aware of every scene in the land. One of his belonging. He had put armed forces to watch over his family. They would be infallibly patrolling, close and from a distance.
Like the one men slyly slithering behind the trunk of a tree, blending in the darkened green wilderness his head to toe black attire.
He shouldn't be too worried.
But he couldn't help it as he had even surveyed her favourite spot by the lake, and still his destiny hesitated to grant him a glance of his little girl.
The glistening lake looking through the blue sky with flying cotton clouds. He was standing in the open shore, the shades of the grove brewing further over the lake—with the slow billowing sun.
The harsher wind cold, they made the shore overwhelmed with grasses waver smoothly, where the more white, purple and pink flowers sparked their heart out.
He got his phone out, second away to call the chief of the team. When through the apex of his eye a tiny frame in peach coloured couquette frock possessed the calm in his chest.
She was picking flowers, almost fading in the tall floret of shrubs almost her height. Long curls floating down her shoulders, forever wanting to have the flare just like his Neva.
"Naya," his voice echoed gingerly.
She instantly turned her head, searching for him.
When she spotted him walking over through the meadow, her doe eyes skintillated—and a smile prettier than all the florals bloomed in her beautiful face.
"Papa!" The girl with rosy cheek squealed at him. Through ways of the fluttering butterflies, those tiny legs excitedly racing to him.
She was his little fairy.
He chuckled, stooping himself low, arms spread about, catching the petite frame of his daughter in his arms.
He stood up with her in his embrace, her head nuzzled in the crook of his neck. "What is my pearl doing here?" He cooed, caressing her hair.
Inaya lifted her head, radiant she showed him the craft that kept her so occupied.
Brows raising, true admiration swimming in his orbs.
She had two beautifully, perfectly adorned flower wreathed crown carefully held in her hands.
"Is this for Mumma?" He asked with a tilt of his head. Inaya nodded eagerly. "One for Mumma, one for Papa." She clarified proudly. He laughed, rubbing the tip of his nose with her scrunching button one. Her hearty giggles, melting him hard.
"Papa put me down. I have still left to prepare." She declared.
"Will you let me help you with it?" He asksed, pinching her chubby cheek.
"Yes." She joyously nodded her head, and asked to be brought down again.