The Tears of Aurora

Berg

Aurora came down the mountainside as fast as she could, taking giant leaps. She was afraid of arriving too late. Too late for what? She wasn't even sure. But for her sisters to head for Berg, just after her nightmare, was no coincidence. Even if she could no longer stop them, she was counting on being able to convince them to return home as soon as possible. As for Igor, the leaps and bounds of his friend made it seem that he was flying, and woke in him a buried memory, a forgotten feeling. Each time that Aurora left the ground, he imagined himself with two brown wings on his sides. He was visualizing two long, thin, white mustaches trailing down from his scaly muzzle, and opening his mouth, ready to breathe out the fire burgeoning in his chest. He refrained from crying out in enthusiasm because he knew Aurora was anxious. The threat she had felt earlier seemed to him far gone.

But when Aurora stopped just outside the town, her breathing, strong and rapid, recalled to him the urgency of the situation.

Buildings formed a dense line that forbade the entrance to Berg. Aurora walked along them. A wall closed off a dead end between two houses. Several bricks were missing. Aurora pulled out more so as to create a passageway, then squeezed through, head first. She was holding Igor with one hand and looking for support with the other. The wall was squeezing her stomach.

When her palm touched the ground, she used it to help herself to twist and with a graceful pirouette, was on her feet again. Her shoes clacked on the pavement. The dead end was deserted. Sounds from the town began to reach her. Sounds of conversations, footsteps, and cars. Aurora advanced with prudence.

Berg was a small, busy town. Aurora liked its architecture. The homes all looked alike: triangular roofs, a ground floor complete with a big front door and a bay widow. Windows encircled in white were on the upper floors; the skylights in the roofs reminded her of doll houses. The bright and varied colors of the facades painted in yellow, pink, orange, red and green lit Berg up with a certain gaiety.

Aurora wrinkled her nose when she saw the streets filled with passers-by. Instinctively, she touched her pouch with one hand. She was always anxious that some bad thing might happen because of her. Especially with so many people around. It was not like in the forest....

Her dress was all covered in dirt, her feet sopping wet, but she didn't care about her appearance.

Aurora noticed two children who were clapping hands and singing. A boy and a girl. Both blond. Same size. Same dimpled cheeks.

"Hello," she said. "Excuse me, is the port in this direction?"

"Wow," said the boy in raptures. "Thy face paint is super!"

"Oh!" she said, lifting a hand to her cheek.

She had forgotten all about it.

"Thanks," she said smiling.

"Me, too, I find you very pretty," added Pernille. "You'll come to the port by following the main road."

She spoke with a serious voice, and seemed to want to show that she was the elder, and therefore the more responsible one. Aurora thanked her, and walked away rapidly. As she was leaving, she heard the little girl explain to her brother:

"Nikolas, one does not use 'thy' with strangers. One must use 'your.' Else it is not polite."

They went back to playing.

The windows were sparkling, filled with clothes and toys. She thought she recognized one shop, the one with the large multicolored letters where Vivian bought fabrics. Maybe she had even bought there the fabric her dress was made of. Aurora was not quite sure. All these boutiques seemed so alike.... And then most of the time, when her sisters went shopping, she preferred to wait outside. Staying in an enclosed, stuffy place caused her anguish. What she dreaded the most was shopping centers. She always got lost. Mariann often teased her: "You can find your way through the forest with your eyes closed, but here you can't even find the exit!" Still, Aurora found some satisfaction in these excursions to town, like pastry shops. Just then she passed in front of a bakery. The delicious aroma of baked bread and Viennese pastries followed her clear to the port.