Ever Dreaming
Written for Challenge #24: The Stuff of Legend over at writerverse.
Word Count: 1635
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: Original
Pairings: None
Summary: A girl tries to convince her cousin that nothing supernatural exists in their little corner of the world.
"Let's go to the pond by the withered brier bushes," my cousin would say to me.
Sometimes he said it when we had a lazy spring afternoon to fill, and our only alternative was to sit and watch his mother's knitting needles work their tedious magic. Sometimes he would say it when the harvest was at its dusty peak, and all we wanted to do was run away from the grain-laden fields and the work that awaited us there.
Regardless of the time and place, in those childhood days that seemed to speed and linger by turns, he always added, "Let's see if we can coax the pond spirit to play!"
I would protest, begging him to look for fanciful adventure in my house's cozy but stale attic, or better yet, to be the knight in my games of dolls and make-believe. But even after I suggested we vanquish dragons with daggers made of sapphires and rubies in the attic, he never relented. He always insisted we visit the pond, and together, even when it took him nearly an hour to coax me into following him down the winding trail that led to the pond.
One day, when I was nearly tripping over my own skirts trying to match his stride as we half-ran down the trail, I marveled that he always managed to drag me away. It was as predictable as the sun and moon parading across the sky in alternating vigils.
So I thought to punish him by laughing at his belief in myth, despite being three years ahead of my mere thirteen. We had been running to the pond ever since we were six and nine. In all those years, nothing had ever emerged at the pond, unless you counted an occasional frog or toad. The pond never altered, save that the withered briers spread further as years trudged along.
"We never see this spirit," I said, still struggling to keep up the pace, "yet you still believe she is there, waiting for the right time to appear in a form like unto an elf--"
He stopped his brisk trot, turning heel to face me almost angrily. "No, not an elf--a dryad!" he chided. "How many times have I told you so?"
"I care not--I never see her in any form, and right glad I am of it!" I answered, glad to stop and hoping to keep him talking instead of walking. "I do remember you telling me that one look into her eyes of sapphires and rubies ensnares you in a waking dream from which no one can ever escape."
"Her ensnaring eyes are neither sapphire nor ruby," he protested.
"Oh, am I not allowed to embellish your legend? You shouldn't grudge me that--I've played along with you all this time. It's as much my story as it is yours."
He looked at me with labored patience, as if I was the one courting delusions. "No, it is not. It has always been my story alone, because you never paid heed to it."
"Why should I? It's just another fairy tale."
He turned back to the trail and pressed onward again. "You're partial enough to other fairy tales."
I reluctantly fell in step with him. "I play fairy tales all the time--but I only play. I'd be happy enough to play along if you would pretend there was a dryad in the water, waiting to trap us in dreams woven from pearls and shells--but you never would have it. You've always insisted on taking it as fact, with great solemnity. And now that you're nearly grown, why, such childishness is beneath you."
"Go, then, if the pond bores you so," said my cousin irritably. Now that we were no longer lisping sprites of six and nine, allusions to his age were the easiest way to affront him. "Go to your dragon in the attic."
Without another word, I smiled and trotted back up the trail in quest of my house. My head was already filling with a particularly long adventure involving several dragons and gnomes, all gilded in blinding gold. I knew it would be an hour or two before my cousin's pride would recollect itself.
I had not taken ten steps before I heard my cousin running to catch up to me. I kept on looking straight ahead, determined that he would not coax me to skip to the pond after all.
He called to me, his voice almost harmonizing with the sounds of the meadow grasses rustling in the breeze all around us. "If I do not come to find you within the hour, you will know the pond spirit has found me."
"And then I must fly so that I may shake you out of dreams deep and dark, yet warm and bless'd," I called back to him with a wave of my hand. "Yes, I know the counter. You've warned me enough."
"No, you are mistaken!" He touched my elbow and turned me so that he could look at my eyes. It was the same way that the pond spirit was supposed to gently arrest the attention of those unprepared for her spellbinding greeting. "You must bring a third person with you, and no more. The pond spirit can only be frustrated by groups of three--one bound, two free."
"Oh, yes, that is right. Perhaps you should make a poem of the whole thing to remind my memory of its duties?" I stared at him, eyes wide and brimming with the vacant, yet fathomless look he probably thought the spirit would choose.
He merely said, "Come for me with my mother if I'm not back within the hour."
I waved my hand again and resumed walking.
When, finally, I skipped over the threshold of the front door into the house, I smiled at my mother and my aunt, each knitting furiously and talking almost as swiftly while sitting in rocking chairs by the window.
I mounted the stairs up to the attic, pretending the railing was actually the massive tail of a dragon that had strayed into the house, and was now trapped. Its bulky torso and long neck were most likely taking up every inch of space in the attic. I would have difficulty finding the room to take up a seat to watch. How were the gnomes to hold a council on banishing the dragon from any man-made structure? There would be no space for any dignified meeting.
Entering the attic and wiggling my way through make-believe coils of scaled muscle, I was just about to signal the gnomes to slip in and form a circle kneeling on the dragon's arched back. Then I saw something sticking out from behind a box of preserves on the floor, reminiscent of a broom handle, only tapering and glinting a subtle purple in the dim light filtering through the tiny stained window.
And this thing, whatever it might be, was not part of my vivid imagination.
I thought I heard a thumping sound on the stairs, but when I looked out the open door down the staircase, I saw nothing. Closing the door, I glanced back at the window. A chip was missing from the left side, just wide enough for me to thrust my fist through, if I wished.
I looked back at the little purple object by the box--it had disappeared. But on the next box crouched a dragon, the beady black eyes glinting at me over ripening cheese. Then the dragon sneezed loudly. I flinched.
I had always imagined dragons that gleamed as much as the gold they were said to hoard, and weighed as much as twenty horses. With this dragon, the eyes were the only thing that glittered--everything else about it was dull and greyish, save for that purple tint on the tail. And it looked too small to swallow a chicken, much less set fire to anything that gave offense.
Those eyes kept glinting at me, while I stared as one transfixed. I wished with all my heart that my cousin were with me. He wouldn't want to miss this for anything--save perhaps a pond spirit.
I had to bring this dragon to him. It was the only way I could convince him that I had gone to the attic looking for an imaginary dragon, and found a real one in miniature.
As if the dragon could read my thoughts (which I suspect was the case), the dragon scrambled across the wooden floorboards, scaled the wall, and slunk through the chink in the window. Its swiftness and grace rivaled that of any cat. I could only watch in admiration and disappointment.
Perhaps I could have jumped forward and latched on to its tail--but I wasn't in the mood to tease a dragon.
My mother's voice startled me. "What a pity we couldn't catch it!" I turned to see her standing in the doorway, hand clutching the knob like she'd never surrender it. In answer to my stare, she added, "I opened the door when I heard sneezing--I thought it was you. What a pity! Your creature, which you didn't even believe in, comes to life, and your cousin isn't even here to witness it and feel the appropriate jealousy."
I nodded. "At least I have your word to lend truth to mine."
My mother's fingers drummed on the door thoughtfully. "Should we tell him, or would it be better to keep it from him? Your poor cousin tries for years to meet the pond spirit he believed in so faithfully, and you stumble across a dragon you didn't believe in quite by accident."
I shrugged. I half expected to wake up from a dream of some sort at any second.
Word Count: 1635
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: Original
Pairings: None
Summary: A girl tries to convince her cousin that nothing supernatural exists in their little corner of the world.
"Let's go to the pond by the withered brier bushes," my cousin would say to me.
Sometimes he said it when we had a lazy spring afternoon to fill, and our only alternative was to sit and watch his mother's knitting needles work their tedious magic. Sometimes he would say it when the harvest was at its dusty peak, and all we wanted to do was run away from the grain-laden fields and the work that awaited us there.
Regardless of the time and place, in those childhood days that seemed to speed and linger by turns, he always added, "Let's see if we can coax the pond spirit to play!"
I would protest, begging him to look for fanciful adventure in my house's cozy but stale attic, or better yet, to be the knight in my games of dolls and make-believe. But even after I suggested we vanquish dragons with daggers made of sapphires and rubies in the attic, he never relented. He always insisted we visit the pond, and together, even when it took him nearly an hour to coax me into following him down the winding trail that led to the pond.
One day, when I was nearly tripping over my own skirts trying to match his stride as we half-ran down the trail, I marveled that he always managed to drag me away. It was as predictable as the sun and moon parading across the sky in alternating vigils.
So I thought to punish him by laughing at his belief in myth, despite being three years ahead of my mere thirteen. We had been running to the pond ever since we were six and nine. In all those years, nothing had ever emerged at the pond, unless you counted an occasional frog or toad. The pond never altered, save that the withered briers spread further as years trudged along.
"We never see this spirit," I said, still struggling to keep up the pace, "yet you still believe she is there, waiting for the right time to appear in a form like unto an elf--"
He stopped his brisk trot, turning heel to face me almost angrily. "No, not an elf--a dryad!" he chided. "How many times have I told you so?"
"I care not--I never see her in any form, and right glad I am of it!" I answered, glad to stop and hoping to keep him talking instead of walking. "I do remember you telling me that one look into her eyes of sapphires and rubies ensnares you in a waking dream from which no one can ever escape."
"Her ensnaring eyes are neither sapphire nor ruby," he protested.
"Oh, am I not allowed to embellish your legend? You shouldn't grudge me that--I've played along with you all this time. It's as much my story as it is yours."
He looked at me with labored patience, as if I was the one courting delusions. "No, it is not. It has always been my story alone, because you never paid heed to it."
"Why should I? It's just another fairy tale."
He turned back to the trail and pressed onward again. "You're partial enough to other fairy tales."
I reluctantly fell in step with him. "I play fairy tales all the time--but I only play. I'd be happy enough to play along if you would pretend there was a dryad in the water, waiting to trap us in dreams woven from pearls and shells--but you never would have it. You've always insisted on taking it as fact, with great solemnity. And now that you're nearly grown, why, such childishness is beneath you."
"Go, then, if the pond bores you so," said my cousin irritably. Now that we were no longer lisping sprites of six and nine, allusions to his age were the easiest way to affront him. "Go to your dragon in the attic."
Without another word, I smiled and trotted back up the trail in quest of my house. My head was already filling with a particularly long adventure involving several dragons and gnomes, all gilded in blinding gold. I knew it would be an hour or two before my cousin's pride would recollect itself.
I had not taken ten steps before I heard my cousin running to catch up to me. I kept on looking straight ahead, determined that he would not coax me to skip to the pond after all.
He called to me, his voice almost harmonizing with the sounds of the meadow grasses rustling in the breeze all around us. "If I do not come to find you within the hour, you will know the pond spirit has found me."
"And then I must fly so that I may shake you out of dreams deep and dark, yet warm and bless'd," I called back to him with a wave of my hand. "Yes, I know the counter. You've warned me enough."
"No, you are mistaken!" He touched my elbow and turned me so that he could look at my eyes. It was the same way that the pond spirit was supposed to gently arrest the attention of those unprepared for her spellbinding greeting. "You must bring a third person with you, and no more. The pond spirit can only be frustrated by groups of three--one bound, two free."
"Oh, yes, that is right. Perhaps you should make a poem of the whole thing to remind my memory of its duties?" I stared at him, eyes wide and brimming with the vacant, yet fathomless look he probably thought the spirit would choose.
He merely said, "Come for me with my mother if I'm not back within the hour."
I waved my hand again and resumed walking.
When, finally, I skipped over the threshold of the front door into the house, I smiled at my mother and my aunt, each knitting furiously and talking almost as swiftly while sitting in rocking chairs by the window.
I mounted the stairs up to the attic, pretending the railing was actually the massive tail of a dragon that had strayed into the house, and was now trapped. Its bulky torso and long neck were most likely taking up every inch of space in the attic. I would have difficulty finding the room to take up a seat to watch. How were the gnomes to hold a council on banishing the dragon from any man-made structure? There would be no space for any dignified meeting.
Entering the attic and wiggling my way through make-believe coils of scaled muscle, I was just about to signal the gnomes to slip in and form a circle kneeling on the dragon's arched back. Then I saw something sticking out from behind a box of preserves on the floor, reminiscent of a broom handle, only tapering and glinting a subtle purple in the dim light filtering through the tiny stained window.
And this thing, whatever it might be, was not part of my vivid imagination.
I thought I heard a thumping sound on the stairs, but when I looked out the open door down the staircase, I saw nothing. Closing the door, I glanced back at the window. A chip was missing from the left side, just wide enough for me to thrust my fist through, if I wished.
I looked back at the little purple object by the box--it had disappeared. But on the next box crouched a dragon, the beady black eyes glinting at me over ripening cheese. Then the dragon sneezed loudly. I flinched.
I had always imagined dragons that gleamed as much as the gold they were said to hoard, and weighed as much as twenty horses. With this dragon, the eyes were the only thing that glittered--everything else about it was dull and greyish, save for that purple tint on the tail. And it looked too small to swallow a chicken, much less set fire to anything that gave offense.
Those eyes kept glinting at me, while I stared as one transfixed. I wished with all my heart that my cousin were with me. He wouldn't want to miss this for anything--save perhaps a pond spirit.
I had to bring this dragon to him. It was the only way I could convince him that I had gone to the attic looking for an imaginary dragon, and found a real one in miniature.
As if the dragon could read my thoughts (which I suspect was the case), the dragon scrambled across the wooden floorboards, scaled the wall, and slunk through the chink in the window. Its swiftness and grace rivaled that of any cat. I could only watch in admiration and disappointment.
Perhaps I could have jumped forward and latched on to its tail--but I wasn't in the mood to tease a dragon.
My mother's voice startled me. "What a pity we couldn't catch it!" I turned to see her standing in the doorway, hand clutching the knob like she'd never surrender it. In answer to my stare, she added, "I opened the door when I heard sneezing--I thought it was you. What a pity! Your creature, which you didn't even believe in, comes to life, and your cousin isn't even here to witness it and feel the appropriate jealousy."
I nodded. "At least I have your word to lend truth to mine."
My mother's fingers drummed on the door thoughtfully. "Should we tell him, or would it be better to keep it from him? Your poor cousin tries for years to meet the pond spirit he believed in so faithfully, and you stumble across a dragon you didn't believe in quite by accident."
I shrugged. I half expected to wake up from a dream of some sort at any second.