The walking stick.

II

Aren't you going to even try and talk to me? Where have you been living for all these years? Did you find a husband in the city?" urged her mother whose voice now sounded more adenoidal than usual. . She was on a roll now. There seemed to be no point in interjecting. Reassurance also had not been a particular quality that had grown on Ariel. You could obviously see her best years were behind her. With her winter white hair, blood flecked eyes and her time worn face. She also seemed paler, older somewhat if you could believe it. The lines around her eyes were deeper and there was a slight shake to the hand that was gripping the wooden stick. Old age was not being very kind to her. "I'm sorry mum, I should have come sooner, "Ariel murmured as she edged closer to hold her.

"You could have called. You could have sent a letter or visited when you settled." She edged on, picking up pace in frustration. "I am too old to move around looking for you in the city. I would have made sure to bury you before I went to my grave." The deep sadness was returning with every second her mother spent peering into her brown eyes.

Ariel began to stammer, trying to gather her thoughts into words. She had practiced this moment, thinking of every possible answer she may say just for this moment. Now that she was here, she couldn't conjure up the courage to utter a sane word. The tears came without warning. It was becoming hard to breathe. Her mother though seemed more versed in these matters for without a word, she grabbed her and enveloped her in a sweaty embrace. As her arms squeezed in, holding Ariel tighter making her breathe more slowly. And she melted into her mom's body, her every muscle losing its tension to that very moment. Slowly, all her worries faded away and for a split second, she knew it would be okay. The olive branch had been extended, Ariel began to feel herself calm down. She had passed the first test