Dragonfly Web: Whitestuff

Three | Elsewhere is Where?

When the light flashed, for just a moment, Ciara saw a whole other view of their farm and then she found herself somewhere else—somewhere high up in the air!

Whitestuff—no—bigger, not totally white, moved beneath her.

Am I imagining this? Or dreaming?

She rubbed her eyes, and everything came into focus. She was flying!

'They' sailed and found themselves in the Highlands. There, remote red roofs on houses nestled in groups, far apart from each other. Ciara saw villages too, but the higher they flew, mountains grew larger and houses grew small.

Very quickly, the last village was long left behind for smaller abodes. Her fingers clutched tightly, but this wasn't real. It couldn't be. No one would live here. Or, at least, no one in houses.

It was wide open space.

She watched the landscape—fading settlements of shed-sized patches, rocks, fields, and great white wings, brown-grey underneath. How? The wings came up and they pushed back down; all the while she felt confused. What happened?

˜ ˜ ˜

The next thing she knew, Ciara felt dizzy. There was grass under her fingers. Her face was pressed into earth. Waking, she tried to focus on the side of a hill.

The winged creature had vanished. From her sideways position, she could make out some sort of an elaborate tunnel that disappeared into a mountain of rocks.

Four pillars held up the opening into a fortress of creamy white marble that led into the rock. There was a large platform of stone and a young man in long robes sweeping it off. She squinted. He talked with a hunched over woman who petted the shape of a crow.

They hadn't noticed her yet.

Ciara stayed quiet. She pushed herself up and slipped along the edge of the bank, remaining unseen. She felt dazed. She looked for somewhere to sit—and to think!

Her mind was foggy, and her stomach complained. She hadn't had dinner. Her homework—she remembered— Her lunch. She'd left it in her jacket at the bottom of the tree. Tree? What tree? Where am I? I don't remember. She still had a snack in her pocket.

I'm somewhere else, but—where else—is elsewhere? Where am I from?

She stood up to look around, and the woman called to her, "Hey! You should be in your camp."

Ciara didn't know what she was going to do, but her eyes followed the direction of the woman's outstretched arm. "Thank you." I shouldn't talk to anyone, until I know where I am, maybe? Ciara walked down the hill, still chewing her snack-bar from its silver, plastic-foil packet.

She heard a squawk and ducked as the crow sailed fast over her head. For a moment she thought of Whitestuff, because she could see this crow was white. Arvy. Ciara shoved her last bite of bar into her mouth to look at the bird. Is Arvy someone I know? Who's Whitestuff?

She reached for the lump on her head. "Owh!"

The crow sailed on the currents that carried him forward. Then, he landed on a large boulder on the rear of the hillside, well out of sight from the people above.

She kept moving closer to him as gravity pulled.

"Caw!"

"Wow, you're loud," she blurted, clutching the side of her head.

The crow sat in front of her, yelled, and then kept on yelling. "Caw. Caw. Caw." He yelled directly at her, into her face. His eyes wouldn't leave her. She looked back at him.

"Only crumbs left. I'm sorry."

Ciara put the plastic-foil wrap onto the ground at her feet. "You can check if you want. See?"

He stayed where he was. "Caw. Caw. Caw." Then, she picked it back up, so he wouldn't eat plastic. She gave him some space and kept going around. He tilted his head as she passed. "See ya, Arvy—or whatever your name is."

Leaving the crow and the sounds of pecking where she'd dumped out the crumbs, Ciara wobbled down the mountain. I must spot signs where people must live. She could watch whomever was at a hut or a camp from a distance to see what she'd learn.

In the clean mountain air, sloping meadows floated on birdsong, topped with honeyed pollen—from millions of wildflowers. Miles of empty land lay all around her.

Her view was otherwise empty, sunny, and fresher than marshland that twigged at her mind—coloured as bright as the sky.

She'd gone a bit further and noticed the crow. "Caw!" He was still with her. "You're coming, too?" Together they travelled.

There was nothing here but wide open space—like paintings in books, but somehow more sacred—waving and calling to her.

"What do I do? You know this place. Where am I, my friend?"

"Caw—caw!"

"That's not that helpful, you know. Should I keep going? Or should I go back?"

"Caw!"

Ciara wrinkled her nose at him and slowed down, completely unsure. If she went any further, she'd just have to climb back up again, if this didn't help.

The hill wasn't steep, but she knew even gentle climbs felt a lot more difficult, when the going was—up. And there might be nothing to see going down. Perhaps she'd missed signs. Where is the camp?

But, before she could think, a whisper on sweetgrass murmured to her, Look carefully now. There! Something—not part of the landscape—

"Caw."

"Shhhh."

Across the slope, nearer to the opposite rise, the tops of tents showed. They were hidden in the tallest of grass. She studied them closely and could soon just make out some sort of a circle. Is that the camp? It was arranged from tent shapes, some of them different—mostly the same—a dull or soft brown, green or the colour of shells.

There was no sound of voices. She soon realized those would only be carried off down the valley with the way of the wind. Any heads that were there would be lower than the height of this grass. It was so tall. The campers were hidden. Who is down there? Do they want to be hidden?

"Squawk."

"Would you give me a minute? My head still really hurts." There is no way to know who is in there. She felt nervous, unsure.

"The woman thought that's where I should be."

She drew closer, one step at a time, and into the high grass, but this only helped obscure the tents even more from her sight. Each time she moved, the crow waited and followed—a plop with each step—until she got further ahead.

"Caw. Caw," he shouted, hopping behind her, where they joined a small path—worn flat by footsteps of whomever hid there.

"Shhh—"

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