A pair of blue eyes peeked over the hillock and blinked at the scruffy, dark headed boy who nervously picked his way among the rocks. The eyes vanished behind the hill and narrowed in thought. They were blue-blue eyes, close enough to sky blue that they seemed to catch the light and the limitless space of the sky but they were a strong blue not pale or washed out things. Cymbeline closed her eyes before opening them again slowly.
This boy, young man, she corrected herself was not the one she’d been waiting for. His hair was too dark and the hills made him look over his shoulder and at his feet twice before he took a step.
“Hullo?” The boy’s shout startled the girl and the blue eyes peeked around the hillock this time. “Is anybody here? Cymbeline?” the boy-man started muttering and kicked at a tuft of grass. She bit her lip.
“You know my name?” she asked still hidden behind her hill. The young man started and whipped his head around looking for the voice. Then he raised his right hand and began to make a symbol before he stopped himself. Cymbeline knew that symbol. The hunters and wanderers used it in the hills when something frightened them. Usually it was just one of the Little People playing, but sometimes it was buck or other large creature.
“I,” the boy cleared his throat and started again, “I’m Kirt,” he said to a largish rock nearly two paces away from her hiding place. Kirt, she smiled. It had a good ring to it. She flipped herself up to the top of the hillock; her bare feet were sure as they gripped the rough dirt and rocks. Up out of the little hallow created by the hillock, the wind caught at her long pale hair and blew it about. She tossed her hair impatiently. She didn’t have time to play with the wind just now.
Kirt turned towards her and he gaped. Then he shut his mouth and scrubbed a hand through his dark hair looking anywhere but her. Although his eyes seemed to be stuck as they kept peeking back at her even when he was ‘looking’ away.
“You don’t like the hills,” she said simply. His shoulders hitched a notch higher and she wondered if they’d ever climbed off of his back before and what he’d had to do to get them back.
“Well, I’m none too fond of the things that live in them, usually,” he added hurriedly, “I’m here for, well, I have something for you.” He held up a bundle. She frowned. Gift giving could be tricky. Sometimes the Little People weren’t quite playing fair, and they had warned her to be very careful of humans offering gifts. They were usually traps.
“Err, I suppose I should have said this first, but ah I kinda forgot. You really are as pretty as he says. I still think he’s mad I mean losing your soul over a farie isn’t a fair deal no matter how pretty-” he shut his mouth suddenly and turned an interesting red color. Her cheek dimpled a little as he smile at him. He spoke too fast and all the words got stuck.
“Raphael sent me,” Kirt finally said, mostly to his shoes. Cymbeline hoped off her hillock and danced nearly within Kirt’s arm reach.
“Raphael? Is he alright?” she didn’t quite like how her voice didn’t sound normal more pinched, but then her chest suddenly felt odd too. It was tight and fluttery at the same time. Kirt stumbled back and nearly fell.
“Well, yes, kind of,” he held up a hand either to ward off more questions or to keep her from coming nearer, “he’ll be okay. But he caught a summer cold, and his master won’t let him out of the shop until it is completely healed. I think it’s making him more sick trapped up in that wood shop and worrying,” Kirt smiled for the first time and it brought out the warmth of his brown eyes. “He said he’d made an appointment with you and he didn’t want to miss it. So he sent me.” Kirt was suddenly nervous again, but Cymbeline didn’t care.
Her boy had wanted to come and see her. She felt very light as if she could jump off a cliff and fly without any help from the Little People’s wings. She laughed and her voice sounded alright again, bubbly and quick. “But he’ll get better and come again?”
Kirt nodded and seemed to be smiling despite himself, “He wanted you to have this, while you waited.” He offered the wrapped bundle and Cymbeline took it without question. Raphael had given her things before the blue ribbon that was twisted into her hair. There were no traps to him.
She pulled off the wrapping. It was a small statue no taller than the length of her palm. A little faun was playing to a flower that was slowly blooming. It made her breathing catch. One pale finger brushed against the polished wood of the wild rose, her favorite.
“Kirt,” she said, and again her voice sounded funny, “would you do me a favor? Would you take something to him? So he knows, that-that I miss him too?” Before he could say no she pulled a tiny silver knife from her pocket and cut a long strand of pale gold hair from her head. She twisted it so the end knotted and held together. She offered it to Kirt who simply blinked at her for a moment before sighing and taking the hair.
“He’s really going to be useless now. But I’ll take it to him,” Kirt promised with a long suffering sight. Cymbeline just nodded and held her figurine close before dancing back up and over the hillock.
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Thieves abound. My friend stole the first line of this story for her own adorable piece of fiction which can be found here. Some days our brains think in very similar directions, but she wrote her story with only the first line of mine. Great minds really do think alike. 🙂
The Gate In The Wood 