Idlebones

Tiny Dancer 7

 

  

 

Gracie and her father pushed through the undergrowth that surrounded
the castle and pulled apart a small clumb of grass that hid their little boat from the prying eyes. It sat with oars tucked into its sides, hidden away under some tightly
knotted brambles, disguised with a layer of brown flower peatals and leaves. Throwing their bags into the little wooden vessel that Damione had carved from a broken branch, they pulled and pushedto the waters edge and gently lowered it into the moat. Damione
climbed in first and then helped Gracie down, holding her thin waist
in his big strong hands as she stepped down from the bank. Gracie took
her place at the bow as Damione sat on root stump and lowered the oars
into the still waters. With long lazy sweeps he pushed the oars
through the silky skin of the moat, scattering water walker flies and
insects as they fished in the early morning light. Gracie loved to
lean her head over the bow and watch the water ripple and curl in
softly rolling V before the boat, letting her hands trail along either
side, enjoying the cool feel of it between her fingers. At the other
side, the boat was pulled up into the reeds and hidden away under more
brambles and they began to walk towards the forest, taking one
overhanging mouse trail after another until they reached the foot of
the first trees.

They walked for an hour, Damione striding purposefully ahead, pushing
aside wayward grassy slips for his daughter who skipped happily behind
him, picking forget-me-nots and dandelion seeds and decorating the
satchel on her fathers back as they walked. By the time they had
reached the clearing, Damiones back was bouquet of whites and blues,
with the odd buttercup yellow thrown in for effect. Gracie beamed
proudly as her father stopped for a rest, and, taking off his back
pack, grinned back at her upon seeing her handy work.

“Camouflage to keep you safe!” she said happily, and set off to
explore her favourite nooks and crannies of the small clearing. “My
garden”, as she liked to call it.

Damione sat down beneath the canopy of a tall mushroom and leaned back
against its soft trunk. Taking a mouse skin bag from his satchel,
brushing away the Dandelions to find its mouth, he took a long sup of
the honeydew nectar it contained, as he watched Gracie skipping across
the large, flat stone that occupied the center of her garden like a
dance floor. His old eyes followed his daughter as she approached the
stone, but remained fixed upon it as she passed on towards the small
pool at its farthest edge. He paused for a moment and thought of the
last time he had seen Dremila, dancing upon that very spot.

Letting his head fall back against the mushroom he gazed momentarily
at the sunlight as it dappled through the high beams of the forest
canopy, sparkling against the dewy leaves, before closing his eyes and
drifting into sleep.

Dremila had been dancing.

 The morning light seemed to seek her out and
shine against her long golden-red hair that fell in gentle curls
caressing her smooth pale shoulders, as she span in small circles,
holding her young baby daughter crooked in one white arm, holding the
other above her head a subtle white reed arcing gracefully in the
wind. She held her delicate chin high and smiled as she closed her
eyes and danced to the sound of the whispering leaves above her. She
seemed to Damione, to almost dance with the wind, lifting it with her
arm, and folding it behind her as she turned and bowed to his admiring
eyes. Her beautiful sea green eyes had met his for just a moment, and
he had felt his breath catch in his chest, as it always did.

For some moments, they had left behind the troubles that had been
pursuing them. The jealous rage of the black witch that had made them
leave their tree top home for the sake of their fellow Fairies, now
stripped of their wings and angry at Damiones bargain. But the witches
wrath had not been satisfied. Even now as Damione rested after their
long walk, and as Drimila danced with their only daughter to sooth her
into sleep, he knew that the Witch was out there somewhere, looking
for them.

Even now as they sit and sup dew drops from the leaves Dromad is
circling the forest, looking for his masters prey.

Even now as they caress Gracie’s cheeks with loving palms as she
drifts into sleep, the forest is giving up it’s secret to the dark
shadow that has silently come to a rest on a high bough above the
clearing.

Even now as Dremila is rising to her feet and brushing down her fine
white gown of spider silk and thistle down the shadow is spreading its
wings at falling into the air above her. Even now as Damione watches
her graceful, dreamlike figure as she steps from under the protection
of the overhanging mushroom cap to retrieve her babies fallen bonnet,
Dromad’s wings are fully extended, swooping down towards his prey.

Even now as Dremila turns and smiles to Damione and their child, a
dark shadow is falling across her. There is a rush of black wind that
buffets Damiones face so hard he has to avert his eyes and hold Gracie
tight into his chest.

Even now, as he jolts back into wakefulness, starting at the sunlight
above him with wide forlorn eyes, he knows she is gone.

Before him, Gracie is turning slow circles on the centre stone, one
arm raised aloft, bending slightly over her head, smiling quizzically
at him as he gathers himself enough to return her smile.