Every Little Memory

Entry #25: Dandelion

I find myself standing outside Alifen in a large, grassy field. The city and its large cathedral can be seen in the distance, the tall spires stretching up to the heavens. The whole place looks as though it were covered in a blanket of shadow, as I can only see the silhouettes of the buildings from here. However, the gatehouse is clearly visible, standing large and imposing beside the sprawling city walls. I see church guards walking to and fro about the parapets, watching for anyone trying to enter the city.

When I turn around, I am greeted by a campsite. There are brown, sturdy tents spread out through the site. There are quite a few of them, as they are a part of a community. The tall blades of grass brush against their sides, as if they were trying to get in. A large fire burns in a pit located in the center of the site. A cooking pot hangs over it, boiling some kind of mouth-watering broth. I feel my eyes start to water a bit as I soak in this scenery. This place…it is my home… Or rather, it used to be.

I can point out some people who live with me now in Tayri. Annette, the kindly wife of the baker who I help out from time to time, but she is without her unruly children. This must be before they were born. I see a younger Terin, Rory’s friend, who he works with at Tayri’s docks. There’s old Rogan, the grumpy fisherman who the kids like to bother.

Then I see the people who no longer exist; the people who were Seers. They often assisted people in the city when they were having trouble with spirits, or just needed a medium, but also had regular jobs. I spot Chester, the middle-aged baker who always made me delicious sourdough bread. There’s Catherine and Juliette, two other flutists who I would form trios with on occasion. I find my grandfather, Nyrin, sitting by the fire telling stories to some children. He died before we were persecuted; he was extremely lucky to have died in peace and surrounded by loved ones.

I hear a dog bark and sure enough, little Jack comes running through the camp site, playing with his fluffy dog, Nestor. Well, he’s not really a dog; he’s a tamed wolf. Jack found him as an abandoned puppy and raised him as a pet. He’s pretty loveable, and loves playing fetch. We gave Nestor to old Rogan after Jack was executed with the rest of the Seers. Rogan works at the docks in Tayri now, and he takes good care of that wolf.

It warms my heart to see everyone again, even if I cannot interact with them. I loved these peaceful days, filled with joy. I wander out into the field. If my hunch is right, I’ll find father out for a stroll. After a bit of walking, I see a little child dart through the grass, giggling loudly.

Curious, I follow her. The child stops in front of a man with light blonde hair and shimmering emerald eyes. My father. He looks just as I remember, with his square face and muscular build from days of hunting. He bends down and picks up the child, laughing. My heart skips a beat. I am staring at my six year old self.

I feel nostalgic as I look at my dirt covered face. As a little girl, my brother would always pick on how short I was. Now, I remember just how tiny I was. Everything seemed to tower over me, even Rory. My parents used to worry that I would be too frail to go out hunting or do any work. I never agreed with them, but now as I stare at my childhood self, I see what they meant.

I watch as little Anima blows her long blonde bangs out of her face and looks up at her father. Then, she holds out her tiny little hand and presents her father with a single dandelion.

“You blow on it and make a wish, papa! It’s your birthday, so make it a good one!” she says with a smile.

“No, no! Anima, I told you, that’s just a weed! Don’t give papa weeds for his birthday!” a nine year old Rory exclaims as he runs up to father and my childhood self. I can’t help but laugh at his appearance. His hair is matted like a birds nest, and he wears dirt like a tunic. I remember we had been playing hide-and-seek and tag in the field, and he kept tripping over his long legs. He went through an awkward phase as a kid, as his legs grew faster than the rest of him. I was always able to outrun him during tag. So, there are some advantages to being short.

My younger self pouts and gives Rory a raspberry. “It’s for papa to make a wish!” she retorts angrily, much to father’s amusement.

“Ha ha, now Rory, Anima is right. They’re not weeds if you use them to make wishes,” he says in between chuckles.

Rory crosses his arms and frowns, glaring up at me. I can barely contain my laughter. That pouting face he used to make always looked so ridiculous! He watches as father accepts the dandelion and blows on it. The white pieces of fuzz fly off into the air, flying farther and farther away.

“What did you wish for, papa?” Rory asks, his face softening a bit.

“Don’t tell him! You’re not s’posed to tell!” little Anima says angrily, putting her tiny hand over father’s mouth.

Father gently takes her hand away and says, “Don’t worry Anima, I won’t tell.”

Her face lights up then, happy to have her way. Rory shoots daggers at her, which just makes me laugh even more. We were such silly children.

“Come on now, let’s go back home. I’m sure your mother has almost finished dinner,” father says. He starts to walk and beckons for Rory to follow. I watch as they return to the campsite, my younger self in his arms and Rory trailing close behind. I watch them go with a smile. I feel tears well up for a moment, but it passes. I sure do miss these days, but I just have to keep moving ahead. It’s what father would want.

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A/N: To celebrate the 25th theme, I give you a memory of Anima's father (and her childhood). I'm sure you wanted to know more about her past, right?

Theme 25 was 'dandelion'. Don't you remember blowing on those fuzzy white dandelions and making wishes as a kid? I do. They used to grow all over my front yard.

Dedicated to KizzyLoserBrain for being awesome and reading all of the story so far! :D