Athena's Wood

The night is quiet and still, just as I have asked it to be. A cool breeze wafts through the clearing, rustling leaves and filling the air with the comforting sound of a forest at rest. I sit patiently amongst the branches, enjoying the silence as I wait for my beloved. I have taken the form of a barn owl this evening. I believe it will amuse her. I hear the hitch of her breath before I see her; she has been crying recently, tonight has not been easy.

“Athena?” she calls nervously, scanning the forest for me. I coo a reply, enjoying the smile that pulls at the corner of her lips. I swoop to the ground before her and shed my feathers with ease.

“An owl, huh?”

“They are the wisest of creatures,” I laugh, kissing her forehead gently, “hello, love.”

She breathes a contented sigh and wraps her hand in mine, “shall we?”

I let her lead the way into the forest, where we walk in blissful silence. The woods are a beautiful place at night. Fireflies dance amongst the trees as their branches sway to autumn’s rhythm, and the moon shines brightly in the distance. I admit, the forest’s beauty is wasted on me tonight; I have eyes for her only.

I love the way she walks - as if she owns the ground and sky. I love how the light catches in the emerald of her eyes and how those same eyes come to life when they see the forest. I watch her every move, enthralled by the way she fits so perfectly in the world around her. She is beauty incarnate.

We speak of little things, of the weather and her poetry. I ask about her garden, she asks about my weaving. I do not ask about the fresh scars on her wrists: she will tell me when she is ready, though I cannot help but wonder what has brought her here. She does not visit often.

She interrupts my thoughts with a tug towards the water and a mischievous grin. I had intended to stay dry tonight, but such is the way of things. I let her pull me into the forest pool, where we dance amongst the waves like children. She laughs as I trip on seaweed; I laugh as she tries to catch minnows. I let her lead the way, trailing dutifully behind as she explores the forest. We sing off-key melodies and trade half-remembered stories. We are happy. And when the night gets dark, and her joyful visage falls, I am there.

I gather her in my arms as sobs wrack her body and the truth comes spilling out. I listen as she speaks of the woman who put her hands where they were unwanted and the men who left her black and blue. I hold her as she weeps for the friends she has lost and the mistakes she has made. I listen as she describes the pain the world has caused her.

She deserves so much more than this. She deserves to dance and sing unashamedly - to walk head high and unbowed. She deserves to be free.

I am not the god of healing; I cannot fix her broken pieces; nor am I the god of vengeance, I cannot give her justice. I am the god of war, and what greater war is there than that of a victim fighting to stay alive? She fights against her mind and body as they seek to damn her. She fights against her circumstance as abuse becomes routine. She fights when every breath is a battle, and every step is a struggle, but even she cannot fight forever. She has come to me because she is weary. She is tired of fighting to stay alive. She wants to be free now; she wants to live.

I ask if she is certain, and reassure her that the change will only last as long as she wills it. She nods and says she understands,

“I’m ready,” she says with a nervous chuckle, “I always wanted to fly.”

I smile and cup her face gently as I wipe the tears from her eyes. She will not be alone - there have been others before her, men, women, and every gender in-between. Some return to their lives with renewed strength, others never change back, but I have loved them all. In a world that beats and breaks them, they choose to survive.

“Then fly,” I whisper, as her body shifts and contorts, shrinking and sprouting magnificent feathers. She has always been fond of owls; I think she will be happy as one. She coos and hoots in delight, swivelling in every direction as she admires her new body. And with a cry that sounds remarkably like ‘thank you,’ she flys into the night.

I am Athena, goddess of wisdom and war, and they are my beloved. They are fighters and survivors, warriors who persist in the face of pain and abuse. They come to me for care and respite, and I give it to them gladly. Not all of them change their forms; many only need a place to rest. After all, in a world so full of suffering, sometimes all anyone needs is to be heard.