Sunday, 07 December 2008

• Currently The Chronicles of Narnia - The Horse and His Boy (The Horse and His Boy, Book 3) By C.S. Lewis see related

  The Legend of Miteal: X-Chapters 11 & 12

  Yes, my friends, two full X-Chapters of my fantasy novel. I won't be posting every little bit of the story as I write it (that would rather remove the mystery of what all I am writing about!) but I wanted to give you a stronger taste of how the story is developing now and get those imaginations and wondering thoughts rolling. Within these two X-Chapters is a more refined sense of a plot and character introductions. They still need much work, but then that's why these are just my first rough drafts and you're my guinea pigs. *grins* Please feel free to leave your (constructive) feedback. Tell me if you liked it or didn't like it, if you felt something was great or needed more detail, did it flow nicely or did it drag... Did I make some grammatical errors?
  I will keep the story going in the direction I so choose, ultimately, but if you have any ideas that you think would be nice to have in the story, please share them. Let me know what you think.

  On a personal note... Sharon is my official editor/critic and has been reading everything I've written so far (she's the only one who has 100% access) and she loves it! She described herself as not unlike Simon from "American Idol" in that she can be rather difficult to impress (however, Sharon is much sweeter compared to Simon's bitter remarks). So for Sharon to give such high praises, it's definitely good. (She would tell me if she didn't like it and would say why. So there's not any bias going on.) So, hopefully you will enjoy it, too.

  Merely as a request (and until I can at least get a Plugz set up...either my comptuer or Xanga is having issues and it won't let me submit one), would you mind giving this entry a recommendation IF you truly find it worth passing on. I like free recs, but at the same time, I want you to do it because you feel this is a worthy entry. My reason for this is simply because I would like to get as much feedback as I can so I can get an idea of what other readers like. I know I can't please everyone and I won't try, but it will be nice to know if, overall, I'm writing towards the masses in a a fashion that keeps people's attention. Thanks!

  Happy reading!

  NOTE: These entries below have been slightly modified from the original written and typed documents in order to be better in grammar and spelling. The main content, plot, characters, and settings remain the same. All copyrights remain in full.

  Additional note: It's weird and refreshing to read my story here, almost as if it were already printed in a book. I actually found I was able to read it as if I had never read it before, something I've found difficult to do because I'm in the middle of the whole adventure as it unfolds, both mentally and physically as I write it. Ah, it feels good.

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  All entries for THE LEGEND OF MITEAL
  A Legend in the Making: Ideas and Concepts
  --> Chapters 11 & 12
  Chapter 13: Tenth-Grade Troubles
  Chapter 14: The Fall of Miteal; part 1
  Chapter 14: The Fall of Miteal; part 2

  ---

  X-Chapter 11: Leaving the Kingdom © August 9, 2008 - October 16, 2008

       "Sire, you will be dearly missed," the guard lamented.

       "And I shall miss you, Asher. Your friendship and service have been an indispensable joy in these hard times," praised the man.

       "It is a duty I would never give up, Sire, or a delight I would betray," said Asheer, proudly. He was the man's personal guard in the throne room of the man's grand castle, and he took his role very seriously (and he loved it, though he would not openly share that fact).

       "I have never doubted that," said the man heartily. But Asheer could sense the heavy tone in his master's laughter. They had spent many centuries talking, exchanging counsel, and sharing thoughts about the world. If there was but one person the man could trust in his whole kingdom, it was Asheer.

       "Thank you, Sire," nodded Asheer. While most would have bowed, Asheer was always on guard, even though the last attack on the castle happened over twenty millennia ago. To Asheer, a bow was a sign of open weakness given to the enemy. To risk letting that weakness being exploited was unacceptable to him. But the man knew that Asheer would drop to his knees if the situation called for it, and his years of unwavering service was worth untold bows of reverence.

       "The throne room could make anyone feel at home and would warm the heart on the coldest winter night. But even the sun giving its summer rays through the sky light could not make the air feel less chilly in that bittersweet moment. Both men were silent as they contemplated the future.

       "Asheer, dear friend, speak your mind. You have never been one to hold back a thought before," said the man invitingly.

       "Asheer allowed his worry and concern pour out, "Sire, please! Allow me to assemble a small entourage to go with you, for your protection. I—"

       "Asheer," said the man with a calming smile, "ease your mind. Do you forget who I am? After all these years?"

       The man's most loyal subject allowed a rare sigh to escape his lips, "No, Sire, I have not."

       The man did not press Asheer further. This was an anxious time for everyone, even for one as sturdy of mind and heart as Asheer. "Your counsel has been wise and well thought, my friend. You will know the time to act when it is good to do so. Until then, I must go alone."

       "Mortal," said the guard, a mixture of his concern and dislike of the fact in his tone.

       "Yes, mortal," acknowledged the man, understanding flowing through his voice.
  There was another pause for a moment. The air seemed to warm up a bit and the tension become loose.

       "Sire!" burst out Asheer, as if he just could not contain himself, "I… I…"

       The man gave a small smile and waited patiently for Asheer to speak. He understood what was on his friend's heart.

       "Sire," said Asheer as he tried to collect himself, "may your journey be bountiful with success."

       "Thank you, Asheer," said the man in his resonate voice, "I shall see you again."

       Asheer then stood in his normal way, tall and riged, his body firm and strong. But then he did something that even the man was nearly taken aback: Asheer dropped to one knee as his right arm crossed in front of his waist and his left hand steadied his long, double-edge sword. For several seconds – plenty of time for any foe to deal a fatal strike – Asheer remained there. No words were spoken; none could covey the importance of that moment, or how deeply the man swelled with pride for the humility and trust Asheer had shown.

       The guard rose to his feet and faced his king and friend. The man could not stop smiling even as tears feel down from his eyes. He even laughed a small laugh as Asheer had stood in his normal serious way again and nodded, once again, his usual bow of respect. "My friend," said the man.

  And in a booming voice, Asheer called out to the whole castle, "All hail the Lord! All hail King Josoya!"

       King Josoya put his right hand on Asheer's shoulder in a sign of approval, then turned to the throne room door…eventually to the castle draw bridge and the land beyond.

       "All hail the Might Warrior!"
  The other guards and knights and the archers and young boys in training gave out a war cry of devotion.

       Josoya mounted his steed and slowly trotted through the courtyard.

       "All hail the Great Physician!"

       The whole castle, from everyone healed to the doctors who helped restore them to health, gave great applause of adoration.

       As people gathered together to see their king depart, he stretched out his hand to touch theirs. And sad and silent bidding of well wishes had shown on their faces.

       “All hail the Lord of Lords!”

       The wise men and teachers gave a shout of praise.

       Josoya’s horse trotted along to the castle gate. The slow steps of his horse reflected even his hors’s sadness in leaving. “I understand, boy,” said the king, as if reading the stallion’s mind, patting his neck. From the gateway to the other side of the moat, the townsfolk lined either side of the drawbridge. The children waved their hands and flags they made to honor his departure. The men stood tall, their solemn faces wrought with grief. The women, though offered consolation in their husbands’ arms, felt little comfort for their mourning. Even Josoya, who tried to remain strong, began to sob for the love of his people and hung his head as he thought of how much he would miss them all. The woman’s cries and horse’ clop-clop of his hooves were the only sounds that could be readily heard.

       The great king reached the grass at the other side and stopped. He turned his horse around to face the people and there Josoya could see his whole kingdom: his every brave soldier, loyal wise man, humble doctor, and beloved man, woman, and child who made this land their home stood in the windows and walkways. Not a soul would let a chance pass to see their king off; he would be gone for a very long and lonely time. His eyes gazed to each person there, and each one received a look that said, “Thank you,” or “I love you, too” or “I will dearly miss you.” Not a one was missed or forgotten.
  “Do not forget me!” he called out. “Remember my laws with love. Remember how you felt my presence even when I was not near you. As I loved you, love each other; by this you will know the presence of my spirit.” Josoya’s words soothed the people’s heart. “Do not fear the future… I will return!” The crowd was still hushed except for the few people here or there who heaved slow, heavy sighs and sobs and sad whimpers.

       Josoya waved one last goodbye and turned to be on his way. The people each called out their well-wishes and cheers and praises. They did not move until he was many miles away and could barely be seen. One by one, the people returned to their homes, mindful that they must continue on with daily life and trusting their king would return.

       After many hours, the king reached the edge of a thick forest. It was neither welcoming nor foreboding. But as the sun reached the horizon and the moon peeked out from it’s daytime hiding spot, reflecting its light through the forest canopy, the forest slowly took on a peacefully eerie demeanor. The horse gave a snort of indifference.

       “Hey now, boy, said the king to his horse, “it’s just a forest of tress. Nothing to worry about.”
  “I’m not worried,” said the horse.
  “Oh? Then what was the snort for?” asked Josoya with a bit of a chuckle.
  “I just don’t like it. It’s not fitting for a horse to have no room to run.”
  The man smiled, “Aah, I see. Well, we shall be to the other end in a day. And the trees will be mindful of making a way for us. They only stay so close for their protection…as well as for friendly travelers, such as us.”
  The horse muttered to himself, “Doesn’t seem natural…trees moving about.”
  And I suppose a talking horse is?” laughed Josoya.

       The horse snorted, knowing he had been bested. He was a proud horse.

       Within the hour following their entry into the dense wood, the sun had fully set. The moon gently let all its light drift down to the earth below. The sky was black, laced with long strands of grayish-white clouds floating lazily on the warm whisper winds. The edges of the clouds lit by the moonlight could be seen, making it look as if someone had stuck light bulbs on the backs of each one. The foliage of the trees gave way to slanting columns of moon light which faded in and out as the trees waved their arms, seemingly to dance in a sleepy daze to a pleasant midnight lullaby.

       The farther in the two companions went the larger the trees they found; taller and thicker pillars of brown and green. Soon, though, the quiet wisps of wind and the tender brushing of leaf against leaf began to give way to whispers of a different kind. Too far away to be understood, close enough to know they were not likely to be spoken by friendly sorts. The horse’s ears were flat against his head, a sign that he was alert and not happy.
  “Easy boy. They won’t come near. They are more afraid of me than you are of them,” Josoya assured his friend. “It is merely a scouting troupe, at any rate. If it were an army, the trees would have warned us.”
  The horse relaxed a bit, calmed by his master’s voice, but he remained ever-ready to dash ahead at the slightest threat. I never did like the tree, thought the steed.
  The man looked about. The bright moonlight that shone through the leafy ceiling that seemed so serene had now become like a tease. As there was between every threat of light a shadow, and behind each shadow lurked many pairs of eyes. Eyes as black as the sky beyond the moon.

       “What do you suppose they are whispering about, m'lord?” asked the horse.
  “This and that,” replied Josoya.
  “Nothing of the friendly sort, I’m sure,” huffed the horse.

       “No, nothing friendly.” Josoya was listening close. These were no mere whispers.

       If you have ever walked home late at night when the air is still and cool and the clouds play hide-n-seek with the moon and all seems strangely quiet, then you would have a sense of that eerie night. Except they were shadows that watch you with dark, beady, angry eyes.

       The two continued along their way. Though they grew tired late into the night, they hardly noticed. Their minds were too aware of the scampering of the shadows high in the trees mixed with the soft crunching of hooves on dead leaves and dry dirt and tiny fallen branches. This is no common night, the horse thought to himself. Josoya gently patted his steed’s neck, as if he knew his thoughts. The horse sighed the way horses do. He was still uneasy with his surroundings and disliked the scampering shadows even less but his master’s touch helped him to forget his worries for a moment. Somehow he knew all would be alright…he hoped.

       Many more hours passed, so many that you might think the wood was the land of perpetual twilight. As the two traveled along, though, they came to a peculiar sort of clearing where the trees became more scarce in number the farther on they looked and oddly arranged in rows. No fog could be seen but the trees seemed to fade into the distance, as if ghosts came in the guise of plant life. And where this strange collection of trees began a wall of the faintest mist could be seen. Any average person who came near might overlook it where it not for the tiniest specks of sparkling light that strobed and floated by.

       “We’re here,” said Josoya, looking past the sparkling mist.
  Neither one spoke for a moment. Even the whispering shadows quieted down, but their hushed words were merely in anticipation of the two traveler’s next move, not thoughtful contemplation. They wanted an excuse to attack.

       “This leads to the realm of man?” asked the horse.
  “The realm of man’s dreams, yes.”
  “And that is where you shall save them?”
  “In a way,” replied Josoya, “It is where I shall make myself known to a few from the realm of man. The shadowlings have been gathering their numbers near here. They aim to turn it to a land of fear and despair.”

       “Nightmares,” snorted the horse.
  “Yes,” nodded Josoya, “nightmares. The war has begun.”

       “Then lead me, my King, and I will follow!”

       Josoya motioned for his steed to trot ahead through the mist. Not but a second passed when they heard a blood-boiling screech rage and anger and evil delight. Josoya turned to see a wraith-like, transparent creature come flying straight for his head. Were it not for its black-turned-red glowing eyes and sickingly metallic, mangled teeth exposed by its snarling mouth, it might have reached Josoya easily, even as the moonlight shone through its body.

       The attacking shadow was within three arm lengths when a bright arc of light flashed, filling the woods with a near-blinding light for as far as the eye could see. The moment the arc of light flashed, the shadowling’s scream sounded with one final, high-pitched cry before fading away in dying echoes. When the light dissipated and the night was as it had been as before, Josoya sat on his stallion posed for battle and his sword drawn, with slowly fading trails of light following the same path of the arc of light. Josoya had slashed the fiend clean through.

       “I don’t believe he liked that much, eh, Sire?” said the horse sarcastically with a proud huff.

       “No…” began Josoya.

       The other shadowlings began to scamper through the trees with growing agitation and their whispers becoming louder grumblings and growlings and screeches of anger and hate.

       “…I don’t think they did,” finished the king.

       Josoya dismounted from his horse and urged his four-legged friend, “Run! Now! To the realm of man’s dreams!”

       “Sire?! You mean to stay? I cannot—“
  “You can! And you will! Find Magnus!” And with that, he gave the horse a firm slap on his hindquarters to stress the urgency. The horse turned and sprinted ahead through the mist. He did not look back except to glance for a moment to see a horde of shadowlings leaping down and flying at Josoya. Flashes of light were met with fading cries of agony and anger as Josoya’s sword dance and flew and glided through the air in his hands. As the flashes of light continued, the swarm of shadowlings soon surrounded Josoya. That was the last the stallion saw of his master before crossing fully into the realm where man’s dreams were reality.

       The horse ran swiftly through the trees. Despite the moon to light the way, the horse ran so fast that each tree seemed to suddenly appear out of no where before his eyes. He raced and darted and dodged with a frantic pace, nostrils flared and mouth gaping and aching for breath. He ran until the light of his master’s blade and the shadowlings’ screams could not be seen nor heard, and even then he ran. He did not think of anything else.

       No one could say how long the horse had run nor how far, but eventually he sense he could finally stop. His tired body thanked him as he walked weakly to a pool of water and lay down.

       With his eyes closed and half-asleep from exhaustion, he lapped at the cold water. His lungs burned still from the running he did, and it was hard enough to lift his head to drink. But with the cold water spilling down his throat, the searing pain in his lungs began to leave. And the pounding heart in his chest began to calm. He wished for just a few more laps of water – his thirsty mouth begged and pleaded – but his body had no more energy to comply, and his head collapsed on the damp earth below him.

       The tired steed drifted somewhere between the land of dreams and the land of wakefulness. He could not have told you whether he was sure he was dreaming or oblivious to the moment he woke up, so random were the images and the thoughts that ran through his mind. One instance he dreamed he was the rider and Josoya trotted very curiously seeing as he was human, and the horse rode on his back quite happily, laughing and chuckling the whole way. As the horse dreamed, the pair came to a golden lake. Unseen were the causes of the slow-moving ripples in the water which brought about fading bursts of light as each tiny current drifted from its point of origin. More curious and strange than the sight of Josoya and the horse trading places was the sight of large fish flittering about, scooting this way and that way, above the surface of the water, much like dragonflies. And every moment or so, tiny flying bugs would leap out of the water and the fish would dart after them. A rare lucky bug had more than a second’s time to try to dive back into the water. An even rare bug succeeded. While the horse watched this odd bit of nature unfold, the grass slowly began to grow and grow (or perhaps it was the horse who shrank and shrank). The blades of grass began to take the shape of trees and soon loomed high over the horse with long, leafy branches. The air lightly danced through the leaves until soon it sounded as if the trees were having a quiet conversation with each other.

       “What do you suppose it is?” came a faint whisper of a woman’s voice. She sounded very curious and sweet and kind.

       “I rightly can’t say,” replied a man’s voice. His voice was deep and gruff, but didn’t sound mean. “I’ve never seen the likes of it before.”

       “What should we do with it? The Elf is sure to hold it captive without trial…what with the phantoms raiding these parts.”

       “We’ll have to hide it – quickly, quietly, sprinkle your leaves over it. That’s it. Gently now. Wait for the wind,” instructed the gruff voice.

       “Do you think we should tie it down? It could be dangerous,” asked the female voice with an almost childlike curious tone of caution.

       “No, but be steady on your roots. No telling what this creature can do.”

       The horse was now unsure if he was not dreaming as images danced in his head of trees moving unlike trees and leaves gently falling like snow over him. He tied to shake his mind clear but if these were truly dreams, they were too strong for him to shake loose. And yet, it all seemed quite real. He thought he nearly felt the ground rumble just a little when it seemed the trees moved about, but he could not manage to ponder it anymore and feel asleep deeper than where the mind dreams.

      

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  X-Chapter 12 – Strange New Friends © October 19, 2008 - November 29, 2008

       The night seemed to have no end as the horse began to come out of his slumber. His eyes were still quite tired and the world seemed to dance about through his half-opened eye lids. He was sure that he was not dreaming now, yet nothing was making any sense to him like earlier in the night.

       “Shh, shh! The creature stirs!” hushed a high-pitched, raspy voice.

       “It lifts its head it tires,” said a similar-sounding voice.

       More voices could be heard, speaking here then there and there then hear and all sounding very curious about some creature, though the horse could not fathom what it could be.

       The horse began to awaken still more and noticed mild fire light flickering from somewhere close. He became aware of its head on his back and partially noted it must be behind him. As is normal with fire light, the shadows it cast danced and weaved about. Given the darkness of the night and that his eyes were still adjusting, he could only make out the shapes of thin trees standing close together and two larger-bodied trees…which almost seemed to be leaning over him. He thought this to be ridiculous and put it out of mind. Trees that can see, he thought, I must still be dreaming.

       Then he prompted his body that it should get up. But his body replied in a disgruntled ache as if to say the horse should leave it alone, it was still sleeping. The horse would not hear any of it and replied back by trying again and the horse’s body complied, but not without much grumbling and whining.

       The raspy voices that seemed always on the move, never sitting in one spot for long, all became a slightly-hushed chorus of excitement and alarm, “It moves. It moves,” they said to themselves. “It moves it does.”

       “Hush now, little ones. Hush. No telling what it may do,” said a familiar, gruff voice.

       The horse mumbled with a bit of confusion. But so tired was he that not even he was sure what he said. He was still arguing with his grumpy body and he mumbled some more. The hushed whispers of the “little ones” brought back the memory of the shadowlings and of Josoya’s battle with them. A new debate flashed in his head as his instincts told him to run from the danger and his mind told him to hold a moment for these were not the same hushed voices.

       The mumbled sounds of the horse gave a curious startle to the “little ones” and they began to chatter again, “Words it speaks?” “Say it what?” Our tongue it knows?” Their coming-and-going seemed to slow down, which left the horse feeling as if one big, quiet whisper had surrounded him.

       “Where…am I?” asked the horse, his voice sounding almost as raspy as the “little ones” only deeper. The horse had no sooner lifted his head and opened his eyes to the fire-lit wood and gasped when the “little ones” erupted in a murmuring flurry of surprise and excitement. It was good for the horse’s sake that they did not resume their activity of coming and going as he was already in his own moment of shock. The sight of many tiny, little people actually made sense to the horse: tiny people, tiny voices. Yet they were unlike any creatures he had seen before. They looked like gnomes with their busy beards (some had no facial hair and still others had no hair at all) and floppy, pointed hats of bright greens, deep blues, and rich reds. They wore simple clothes of the same array of colors. But it was their slender bodies and pointy ears and nimble movement that made them seem more like miniature elves.

       To add to this unreal moment, one of the larger trees which “leaned” over him spoke, “Well now, are you feeling better…er, whoever – and whatever – you are?” The voice had a familiar gruffness to it, deep and rich. The tree spoke with its own sense of caution and curiosity, neither friendly nor unkind. The horse thought he heard the tree give a sort of chuckle as it watched the horse struggle to stand fully. At least, by this, the horse knew the tree did not intend any harm.
       The little ones eagerly chimed in.
       “Yes! Yes! You are who?”
       “Be what your name?”
       “Be what are you?”
       And on they went.

       “I don’t remember my name,” said the horse, still weak.

       “Oh, dear,” said another familiar voice, “the poor creature has amnesia.”
       “Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” said the little ones in response, “who his we’ll know not.”
       “Little ones! Little ones!” Calm yourselves,” said the second familiar voice, whom, by now, the horse recognized as the feminine voice he heard in his dream and which came from the other large tree. “D o not startle the poor thing.” The little ones became more active again but kept on with their chatter in quieter tones. (“A name he needs.” “No name?” “Is he what?”)

       “Do you have any recollection at all of your past?” asked the gruff tree. His bark was rough and fairly jagged, like a plant version of an old man’s wrinkles. His movements were slow but unlabored.

       “I remember things from the last three years. I was very young when a man named Josoya—“

       Everyone suddenly became dead still. The little ones were, for the first time, quieter than a mouse and more no more than a hair’s width – statues they nearly were.

       “King Josoya?” asked the trees in unison.

       “Uh, yes,” replied the horse, taken aback by everyone’s hushed response. “He lives beyond the starry mist…somewhere.” The horse looked over his side and turned a little, realizing he did not know where he was, nor from which direction he came.

       No one spoke for a moment.

       “So, you know Josoya?” inquired the horse.

       “Aye,” said the gruff tree, “we were among the first seedlings planted by the King.”

       “And barely more than saplings able to wiggle our roots before we saw him last,” added the kindly tree.

       “Why has he been gone for so long? That does not sound like the Josoya I know,” said the horse.

       “It has been many years…many years,” began the gruff tree, remembering days of old. “Tales of the King were as bountiful as the sand in the ocean. But there came a day when the land began to change. The air slowly became tainted of stale scents. The sky grew darker even as the sun shone high above. And even the stars went into hiding, which was strange for they loved to shine for all to see. The more the world changed, the less we heard of King Josoya. Now all that remains are the tales of those who knew him, the rumors, and the hope that he will return.”

       “The last I saw of him he was fending off a swarm of shadowlike demons. There were so many that it is hard to tell what became of him,” said the horse.

       “Oh, don’t sound so doubtful,” cheered the kindly tree.”

       “How can I not be? There were more shadow demons than you have leaves,” countered the horse.

       “I don’t think you could possibly know how many leaves I have,” giggled the kindly tree, “(I don’t think I know how many I have)” she said, suddenly considering her own words with more thoughtfulness.

       The gruff tree gave a sort of old-tree sigh that seemed a cross between exasperation and a chuckle. “What the sweet lady is trying to say is that Josoya is not as easily defeated.”

       “I don’t understand. How can you know this?”

       “My good creature, after all this time, have you not learned what sort of being the king is?” asked the gruff tree.

       The horse was flustered for a moment, “I…I’m not sure that I follow. He is a good man. A great king! His people live without a single need unmet. Even the beasts are tended to as if each were of the noblest blood. And his enemies…” the horse stopped mid-thought, “…his enemies never once attacked. Only threats and insults and lies and promises never to have seen the light of day.”

       “Do you begin to see now, dear?” asked the kindly tree after letting the horse ponder his own words.

       “I am not sure. This is all so much.”

       “Ah, never mind then. It has been a long night for everyone. Let’s sort it out come the morn,” came the gruff tree’s reassurance.

       “Hold on now,” realized the kindly tree, “we’ve not introduced ourselves. It wouldn’t be proper going on not knowing who we are.”

       “You always have been one for making friends,” chuckled the gruff tree, in the old, tired way that old and tired trees tend to chuckle.

       “Well, who else are you gonna lean on in a time of need?” said the kindly tree with an innocent matter-of-factness.

       “I don’t think he will want you leaning on him much at all,” teased the old tree with the first sign of playfulness to him.

       The horse gave a nervous laugh as his eyes went wide at the thought of being leaned on by a giant, walking, talking tree.

       “Oh, dear,” said the kindly tree, as she realized the old tree’s meaning. “No, that wouldn’t do at all.”

       The gruff tree just chuckled and grinned.

       “Well then, I suppose I shall begin,” said the kindly tree, smiling and collecting herself with a small shake that ran from her roots up to the tips of her twigs. “My name Idresa. I’m a Fara tree. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

       “Likewise, Miss Idresa,” said the horse with a nod.

       “And I am Olnu, also a Fara tree,” said the old tree, “and one of the four remaining elders of the Fara clan.” The horse was puzzled; he knew nothing of the land, let alone what a Fara tree was, but he nodded and returned a kind greeting to Olnu, as well.

       Idresa then asked the horse, “And who are you? I have never seen a creature of your kind before.”

       “Ever since my loss of memory, I have not been able to remember my name. So I was given the name Ednel. A stable boy said it seemed to suit me. As for what I am, I do remember that: I am a horse.”

       “A horse? Asked Idresa, the word seemed like a faint dream in her memory, but more so it simply sounded peculiar.

       “Yes, a horse,” replied Ednel, “of course.” He still was not sure how they could not know what a horse was. He normally thought it was commonplace to know such an animal.

       “Hmm, yes, yes. Of course,” said Olnu, also pondering the word, and just as confused.

       “You mean…you have never even heard of a horse before?” said Ednel.

       Olnu replied, still unsure why this sort of a creature seemed so faintly familiar, “neither a horse nor a talking horse, I am afraid. I cannot say that your kind exists in this land.”

       But dear Olnu, do remember we have not strayed far from the eastern border for many years,” chimed Idresa. “Suppose there are…eh, horses elsewhere in the land.”

       Olnu nodded as he considered this, “Tell me, good Ednel, are there other talking horses in Josoya’s realm?”

       “Do pardon my pride, but I believe I am the only talking horse in the king’s land,” said Ednel proudly. “We rode to all four corners of the land together and in between. Even in between the in-betweens.”

       “Are you sure? Not even a whisper?” asked Idresa with innocent curiosity.

       “No whispers at all. Nothing more than a horse’s neigh.”

       “A…horse’s neigh?” asked Idresa. “I must say, none of the stories of Josoya had such strange things as this.”

       Well then!” said a now-eager Ednel, “do allow me to demonstrate!”

       “Oh, would you?” Idresa was quite easy to please, thought Ednel.

       The horse then tapped his hooves in the dirt as if to steady himself. He lowered his head a bit and drew in a deep breath. Poised and ready, he then threw his head back as he let out a magnificent a neigh as he could, his main flowing and splashing on either side of his brown neck, The little ones – who all this time had managed to remain quiet and relatively still (one or two would leap here to there once ever minute or so) – were so surprised and excited (not a difficult thing to do, Ednel would later learn) by this new sound that they instantly began hopping from branch to branch to ground to rock to branch; anywhere they could hop to, they would – even to and from Ednel’s back. And all the while they cried out cheerfully, “Neigh! Neigh! The horse, it neighs!” Still others sang out, “Nee nay hee hay! Hay nay! Neeeiigh!” or “Horses neigh! ‘Neigh’ horses say!” (A few even tried to imitate Ednel’s sound, but instead sounded more like a playing card in a child’s bicycle spokes.) It was a chorus all their own.

       “Oh dear,” sighed Olnu, a mite exasperated. Idresa just giggled as little one after little one leapt to and from her branches. “Horses neigh, horses neigh,” she quietly sang along with a happy harmony. “That’s right, that’s right. Horses neigh.”

       Ednel, already worked up by the good neighing, was finding himself happily drawn in by the silly banter of the little ones and their bountiful numbers. It was then that he noticed how very much like a dance their leaping and hopping and skipping was. There was no actual order or reason to their manner – none that he could make out anyway. Rather it was like watching a flurry of loose flower petals ride on unseen breezes swirl all around. Like a storm of beauty instead of danger.

       “Since we are in a moment—“ Ednel laughed, which sounded more like a succession of quick, short neighs, as several little ones leapt to his back and one to his head before leaping away again, “—who…who are these creatures?”

       Another little one landed on the horse’s head and bent over to look the horse in the eyes, “Snips we are.” (“Snips! Snips!” echoed the rest.)

       “No, we be Stips!” called out another from somewhere in Olnu’s branches, and others echoed that back, also.

       “Snits!”

       “Snats!”
       “Staps!”
       “Smats!”

       “Oh my,” said Idresa, “they’ve forgotten again.”

       “Again?” asked Ednel, surprised.

       Olnu sighed, “Yes, They once thrived in number, but over the many centuries that have gone by they began to care less about their own history – their adventures, wisdom, mistakes – and even their own individuality.”

       (“Careless. Less care!”)

       “So now,” continued the old tree, “all that is left of them is what you see here, both in number and as a people.”

       “What a shame,” said Ednel, shaking his head. Another little one landed on the ground in front of him; they looked at each other for a moment and the horse thought aloud, “Here I have lost my memory and you have forgotten who you are. We’re more alike than appearances would assume otherwise.” The little one seemed to ponder this for a second or two. But his only reply was a sort of giggle that would make you wonder if he thought the idea to be ludicrous or merely amusing. There was no way to tell. And with that, he leapt away.

       “So, what do we call them?” asked Ednel.

       “It changes every time,” shrugged Idresa with a grin.

       “I think it would be a good time to change that,” said Ednel.

       “What do you propose?” asked Olnu, curiously.

       “The horse thought a moment. A funny thing occurred to him, though he would not understand its significance until much later.

       “The horse, it speaks! Our name it gives.”

       “How about Lepples?” suggested the horse to the little ones.

       The little ones, one by one, stopped their leaping and hopping and considered this. Some pondered the idea more audibly, “Hmm…hmm.”

       “This is a first,” said Olnu.

       “What would that be?” asked Ednel.

       “The have spent so many years with no identity – or forgetting the various names they attempt to set – they never really stopped to think about it.”

       “I can see how that would be strange.”

       “Hm, indeed.”

       The little ones continued to ponder the name for a while. Some sat cross-legged, scratching their chins or resting their chins in the palms of their hand and elbows on their knees. Others leaned back against the trees or the legs of the horse. All of them were in deep thought.

       “We should rest…I have a feeling this may take a while,” whispered Olnu after several minutes had gone by. Both Idresa and Ednel agreed. “And in the morning we shall hear more of your story, good horse.”

       The three companions set themselves down for the night: Ednel found a dry patch of grass nearby and kneeled down to sleep (with some of the little ones who followed and sat down at his side or on his back to quietly ponder his suggestion) and the Fara trees dug their roots in deep, twisting their trunks much the same way a child would twist his foot into the sand. All that remained was the fire as it danced and made tiny crackling sounds on the wood and making shadows leap and shift against the motionless forest around them. The moon played hide and seek with the wisps of clouds that tiptoed by. It was neither cold nor warm, save for the heat of the fire, but if you had been there, you may have still preferred your own bed. Ednel’s last thoughts were of his comfy stable back at Josoya’s castle before falling asleep.

       One of the little ones, though, who had been laying on his back as he pondered his approval of the horse’s name idea, sat up almost suddenly, for high in the moon lit sky a tiny shadow flew in front of the moon. Even as small as it looked up way up above, the little one thought how huge the creature must be. And, indeed, it was very big. The creature few back and forth in circles a few more times, as if merely watching with mild curiosity. Eventually, the little one lost interest and went back to thinking about the name Ednel proposed.

       Everyone slept very soundly that night. Ednel had no clue how long he had been asleep but he awoke feeling ready for a good trot. He stretched his long and slender legs and shook his mane. He walked a circle or two around the fire, which still had a few flames that kept on dancing, and was careful not to step on the little ones who found a soft piece of earth to rest on.

       “This is odd,” thought Ednel. “It feels right for morning breakfast but the moon is as it was before. What is this place?” He walked away from the camp a ways, being sure he could see at least the fire’s light no matter how far he roamed. The Fara trees must have carried him far beyond where he collapsed for there was no sign of the of the rows of thin trees he found when venturing through the mist, nor of the pond from which he drank. It was then that he remembered the voices he heard during his dream.

       “It was real!” he gasped quietly to himself. Though, he did wonder about the rest of his dream. “But who was the elf they were so worried about?”

       “I do believe they were talking about me.”

       The horse looked around and turned toward where he thought he heard the voice come from. Yet no one was there. The wind was still, making the night as quiet as when the whole adventure began. He slowly scanned between every tree trying to find the slightest thing that could tell from what or where the voice came from. This was a rather difficult task as the moon cast thick shadows through the forest canopy and the fire light was much weaker than before.

       “Who are you? Why are you hiding?” whispered Ednel just loud enough so the voice might hear. On his left, up in one of the trees, he heard a faint rustling of the leaves which was suddenly followed by another on his right in another tree, but it sounded harder, as if someone landed there. “Speak up now. What is this game?” Ednel was getting a mite annoyed.

       For a moment there was no sound and Ednel thought he was alone again except for his sleeping friends. He looked hee and there and turned his ears to catch a stray sound. After some time he gave up. He wondered if he was only imagining things but quickly dismissed the idea. “I know I heard someone,” he said to himself, as if setting himself right for considering such doubts. He went to lay back down and wait for the others to wake up but his mind remained vigilant for anything that would reveal where the voice came from.

       Ednel closed his eyes and his thoughts began to wander, thinking on this or that but of nothing particular. He drifted in and out of a light sleep, fully aware of the dreamy images that played about through his head. The quiet night seemed to fade, so when an abrupt sound of a soft thud came from the tender ground before him, he was quite startled.

       “I, horse, am the lord of the woods of the four corners of this land.”
  The horse looked up at the person standing over him. It was the elf, Ednel assumed, and he did not look very happy.

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