A bluebird settles on the princess’s crown. It sings as its feathers molt, blue turns into gold, into a necklace that rings her throat. A feather for each of her sons—five boys that make her smile and break her heart—that will one day rule in her stead. None are ready; none will be good leaders. She needs a daughter, filled with wisdom, to lead when she dies. And she goes to the springs where wishes are sometimes granted.
“May she be kind,” she asks, as the first feather of gold is dropped into the ripping waters, for her first son is kind. Too kind, in fact, for he would lose himself to the demands of all that surround him.
“May she be righteous,” she thinks, in honor of her second son who is wholly given to doing what is right. And yet so driven is he that he is lost to reason.
“May she be courageous,” she hopes, as her third son quails at nothing. Fearless, however, he forgets that there are times when courage must be forfeited in favor of survival. A leader who sacrifices himself and leaves his followers unled is foolish.
In favor of her fourth son, “May she be intuitive,” she declares. He knows at once who is goodhearted and who wishes to dole out harm. With such a gift, comes great judgement and he is mired in grudges that push him far past the reaches of the rest.
A laugh of amusement blooms as she thinks of her youngest, “Oh, may she be playful,” because a life without play is dull indeed. The last-born however is all prankster and while meaning no harm, he would never be trusted.
Feathers gone, she drops a pink iris into the water, “May she be wise,” and then she kneels.
In the sky, a great star falls and the hoot of an owl cries.
The princess gives birth to a daughter.
Her brothers, relieved, lead the hopeful cheer, “May she be the keeper of wisdom.”