"As We Walked in Fields of Gold" for a_shadow_there
Title: As We Walked in Fields of Gold
Gift for: a_shadow_there
Artist/Author: peskywhistpaw
Pairing: Rowena/Helga implied
Rating: G
Warnings: Colored pencils?
Genres: Gen, implications of romance
Artist's/Author's Notes: I don’t usually do art, but I couldn’t quite get this image out of my head. Rowena is wearing her diadem - it’s a little hard to tell. It's also rather gen-like, but I hope that Helga's leaning provides a bit of subtext. There's a little drabble to go along with it, as well, so I hope you enjoy. :)
Summary: A journey to the Wand Tree as summer ends and autumn begins.
Helga sways with the grasses in the wind, body bending like a willow branch. She has a song woven into her yellow plait and secret smile, and a basket full of more than simply flowers; she is summer.
Rowena is autumn: crisp as biting breezes. Her heart beats with the steady thump of old oaks as her eyes pierce through the clear sky. She clings to her staff like evergreen.
Helga twirls, petals falling from her flower crown. Her feet stamp out Rowena’s whispered name.
“Can you not feel it?” she asks.
Rowena, Rowena, Rowena. Or is it something else to which Helga refers?
Rowena’s thin lips curve in reply, and the magic of the Wand Tree calls them home.
Gift for: a_shadow_there
Artist/Author: peskywhistpaw
Pairing: Rowena/Helga implied
Rating: G
Warnings: Colored pencils?
Genres: Gen, implications of romance
Artist's/Author's Notes: I don’t usually do art, but I couldn’t quite get this image out of my head. Rowena is wearing her diadem - it’s a little hard to tell. It's also rather gen-like, but I hope that Helga's leaning provides a bit of subtext. There's a little drabble to go along with it, as well, so I hope you enjoy. :)
Summary: A journey to the Wand Tree as summer ends and autumn begins.
Helga sways with the grasses in the wind, body bending like a willow branch. She has a song woven into her yellow plait and secret smile, and a basket full of more than simply flowers; she is summer.
Rowena is autumn: crisp as biting breezes. Her heart beats with the steady thump of old oaks as her eyes pierce through the clear sky. She clings to her staff like evergreen.
Helga twirls, petals falling from her flower crown. Her feet stamp out Rowena’s whispered name.
“Can you not feel it?” she asks.
Rowena, Rowena, Rowena. Or is it something else to which Helga refers?
Rowena’s thin lips curve in reply, and the magic of the Wand Tree calls them home.