Work Text:
Deep in the rainforest sits a small shop. The letters over the door are hard to read because of creeping vines and the veiling mist, but if you look closely, you can make out a Q and a U. There is the sound of a small creek nearby. What secrets, dear traveller, do you bring to this place?
Inside, the shop at first seems empty--the gloom of the day invading what could have been a cozy space. There are large cushions and blankets on the floor beside a fireplace that takes on most of one wall, but today it is unlit. What appears to be a small stump serves as a table. It is not until you examine the counter (a structure that resembles the massive root of one of the trees outside, and just as covered in moss) that you notice the woman behind it. She is small and white haired, with skin the colour and texture of bark. But when you catch her eye, she smiles, and you are filled with a sensation of warm welcome that you have not felt in years. The woman will not offer you a cup of tea; no, for you, traveller, are not one of her guests. At least, not yet. But, if you would like, you can stay awhile and watch while she strikes up a fire in the hearth and fills the kettle. For soon, her first guest will appear.
The proprietress brings out from behind the counter a strange assortment of ingredients: ginkgo leaf, an ancient seashell, and feather moss. It has been two days since her last visitor, but she is expecting someone soon, so she must be ready.
A new person enters the shop, the open door showing that the weather has shifted: the mist thickening into thick, purple clouds. In the distance, thunder rolls. The newcomer sighs and says, "I'm not ready."
It’s difficult to make out this person's gender, for the main thing they are is dirty. Straggly hair is half tied back and half coming loose, there are bits of straw hanging about their clothing, and in the small space wafts the smell of something to do with horses. There's even a smear of dirt on one of their cheeks--or is that a bruise?
"It's not time yet," the old woman says. "Come sit and talk a while, my dear, and I will make you a cup of tea."
The young person shuffles to fire and flops onto a cushion. The woman hums something that could be a lullaby while she sets the kettle onto its hook over the fire. Her song is soft and soothing.
"I'm so glad I was able to collect some feather moss yesterday," she says. She ducks behind the counter and returns with a small tray containing a tea pot, two cups, and some dried leaves. She sets the tray on the stump-table and as she is adding the leaves and moss to the pot, she asks, "Now, my dear, you say you aren't ready. Is that perhaps because there's something you have left unfinished?"
They let out another loud breath, but this time it's more of a scoff. "My whole life was unfinished! What have I done with it? I was just a stable hand. I wanted to do more, but I ran out of time." They look away, trying to hide their face in their loose hair, but the woman doesn’t miss the tear trickling down their face.
The tea maker removes the kettle from the fire and pours the water into the tea pot. As soon as the hot water hits the contents, a delicious aroma rises up, like all the best things to eat from childhood. They are both silent while the tea steeps. In other company, it might have been an awkward silence, but between the tea-maker’s aura of grandmotherly welcome and the pleasant scent wafting from the steeping tea, it is a peaceful time. The woman pours the tea into the cups and gestures for the stable hand to take one. Once they have had their first sip, she continues.
“And what, my dear, would you have done if you’d had more time?”
“You mean if that horse hadn’t kicked me in the head?” They gesture to the spot on their cheek. “I think I’d have liked to have travelled—seen the world, had some adventures.” They sigh and sip again. “Maybe,” they pause and drink deeply. “Maybe I still could. I mean, I’m here, aren’t I? Death could be just some nothing place, but instead I’m here having tea with you. Did you ever read Peter Pan? Not the Disney version, but the original novel? There’s a point where he’s stuck on a rock in the ocean and the tide is rising. He has no hope of getting out of there and he says, ‘To die will be an awfully big adventure.’”
The woman sets her empty cup on the table and gives them a gentle smile. “I don’t know what is waiting for you when you leave this shop, but perhaps you are right, and it shall be a great adventure. Are you ready to find out?”
The youth’s posture changed while they drank, and now, instead of slumping despondently into the cushions, they are upright and alert. “Yeah, I think I am. Thank you for the tea.”
They both stand, and the woman pats the youth on the arm. “I wish you luck on your adventure.” The youth simply smiles, and sets out into the rain.