Stormchild: Emeline and the Forest Mage

20 Dry

Erdil

Drops of dew decorated the forest, hanging from giant leaves, ferns, and even clinging to moss. They gleamed when the early morning light filtering through the trees shone on them. Dust particles floated in the air, exposed by beams of sunlight. Färin breathed out and they swirled in unintelligible patterns, mesmerising him. This was why he'd always loved the Gruwoud. His heart belonged here in its moist, luscious beauty.

    Exuberant with joy, Färin all but danced through the forest on his toes. His mood was only slightly dampened by the simpering toddler following in his wake. Her bright blue eyes seemed less blue. Her sandy blonde hair seemed duller, flatter, and listless. She dragged her tiny feet, through the mucky rotten leaves and dirt of the forest floor, languidly. Färin would stop to watch a drop of water gather on the tip of a bright green leaf, before it fell to Erdil. But the child. She dragged her feet past him, completely apathetic to these small wonders.

    I miss Sheia, she thought. Her young mind could not deal with her separation from the only mother she'd ever known. Färin did not understand it. He knelt before her, lifting her chin to look into the eyes he had come to love.

    'Oh Sheyå... Don't be sad. Look! Here under our feet is sand.'

    He dug his fingers into the ground, first scooping away rotten leaves and wriggling larvae.

    'Here.'

    He held out his hand, in it a heap of dark brown soil. He pulled a slimy earthworm out and threw it aside. Sheyå looked away dejectedly.

    'Don't you like it?' Färin asked, sounding like a desperate father as he extended his reach, moving the handful of dirt around, as though it would suddenly tempt her.

    She shook her head.

    'Why my lovely little one? Soil is the same as sand.' he reasoned with her, his arm still stretched out towards her.

    'But it's wet.' she whispered.

    Oh, that.

    Färin remembered how Sheyå had screamed with terror at the river's edge. She would not cross it. He had explained to her for what felt like three hours that they needed to cross the river, before she had conceded to have him carry her across, in one of its shallower parts.

    He recalled that he'd been trying to explain about the dream the Fathers had given him, when she finally agreed. She had sat on his shoulders, clinging to his face, her arms wrapped around his head in terror, and her nails digging in to the skin on his cheeks. When the water had reached his chin, touching her curled up toes, she'd screamed and screamed until they were out of the river and her young voice was hoarse with exhaustion.

    He shook his head, running out of ideas to lift Sheyå's spirits.

    'Oh, Sheyå...' he threw the dirt out of his hands and reached towards her shoulders with uncertainty.

    'Listen, I know it's hard for you, but the great Fathers know what they're doing. We have to hurry before more creatures try to attack you. You are very important.'

    He held her one shoulder with affection. She turned into his arms, her sadness obvious on her face. Färin hugged her, patting her back. He was after all a compassionate man. It was the least he could do in the situation.

    After a lengthy cuddle, Färin stood, still holding Sheyå's petite hand. They kept walking, Färin not as exuberant as before, and Sheyå not as sad. He lifted her mood, and she sobered up his hyperactive energy. Together they could face Sheyå's struggles, armies of dark creatures, and anything the Fathers placed in their path.

© Joy Cronjé 2015