52
In the late afternoon of the following day, Falling Rain and Tree Wind stood before Boravar on the bank of the river, facing each other with their hands linked. Tree Wind’s hair was threaded with blossom and both of them wore garlands woven from grasses, leaves and flowers around their necks.
Shafts of deep yellow with motes of dust swirling within them, shone through the trees on the far side of the river to bathe everyone in an eerie golden light. Trees that had been covered in buds two weeks before were now sprouting forth with light green crinkly leaves, the woods were peppered with white and pink blossoms, and the woodlands rang with birdsong.
Despite his protests that he had seen more woodfolk marriages than anyone else, Boravar had been relentlessly drilled and knew to the syl
