Today, not yesterday or everyday or esterday…mommy said esterday don’t exist but that wasn’t right.
But-
Today is hot. Grass, lotssssssssss and lots of grass and rocks. Lots and lots and lotsa rocks
Good friends
Kick
kick
kick
kick
Something smelled sweet.
Lilly Wind dragged a current of cranberry through his woods.
He sat on a frog and closed his eyes.
Hot hot, too hot, so hot skin bubbled like broth and fangs bleached white, smells sting and cherries char inside like him. Cold, soft hands, old but strong, like a raisin, hands wrapped round him good good.
He likes her, she's good, he knows he knows but not how but he knows like he knows his bush and Lil Wind and Lilly air
He likes her but her finger he burnt, bubbled and seared white.
Lil' Air tapped his nose with her skin he stole
.
.
.
Left, left, forward. He knew now.
He rose, knees knocking together.
walked.
walked.
tripped and ate an ant hill
crawled up
swallowed a grunt when the ouchie on his arm ached
walked.
and an elderly house rose to meet him.
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‘What, is that’, the thought flit past her old skull as she mechanically rested a still-steaming pie 'pon the windowsill.
A tiny body wrapped in linens and coats stumbled out from the tree line, blacks and greens sliding off them like oil as the sun gave them light. A very, very short them, at that, barely high as her hip and she’d not fancy herself a tall lass.
Not to mention that drunken gait, from one foot in front the other to one foot and then the same foot, trip onto said foot and them hop-skip onto the other one like he didn’t almost bash ‘imself against a tree.
Oh, and he was a boy, a little guy walking with broken bowlegs in December.
“W’ose child is ’at,” she muttered angrily as her wrinkled lips stretched into a thin frown, ‘still, the pan’. Languidly, she drifted to the other side of the kitchen, idly washing her wares as she waited for the child’s footsteps. Old age had given her much to be grateful for. A full table at thanksgiving, grandchildren, mobility, independence.
Cat’s ears.
Crunch
Thus, none could blame her heart from almost keeling over right then ‘ there.
Her eyes shot to the size of dinner plates and neck twisted towards her windowsill in a snap. An odd ache radiated from her breast but she ignored it in favor of gawking at the tiny, wiggling worm-heads who poked above the windows edge.
CRunch
They disappeared and reappeared a second later, rising and falling in rhythm like waves rolling cliffside. A following crunch made them rise once more, just out of reach of her piping hot pie.
The tree line was two house-lengths from her home.
Two.
Houses.
.
.
.
.
.
It hadn’t even been a minute and she wasn’t so old that her youngest grandchild’s ‘accelerated time’ nonsense were a worry but…
No, no, there ‘s a child outside ‘er house.
Perhaps washin’ the old cast-iron had finished earlier or ‘er wares cleaned themselves; it would certainly explain how them dishes were drying. Indeed, a slip of time.
THE CHILD!
She hurried to the windowsill just as small feet made a sharp ‘Crunch’ once more and gazed down.
And immediately wanted to pinch his cheeks red.
Staring up at her pan was the most impossibly cute frown she’d seen since her second daughter. A tiny fella couldn’ be older than 5 wrapped in a red winter jacket, a grey scarf and a beanie which kept slipping over ‘is bright lil’ eyes.
He seemed to have given up on jumping ‘is way to thievery and settled for rubbin’ ‘is hands together while menacingly glowering at her pie. . Finger-less gloves tapped on his own cheeks and sunk into baby fat as the little man pondered his next move.
Oh she could eat him up!
Tiny green eyes hardened and he stooped down, palms scrubbing the earth for stones. Quinn narrowed her eyes in amusement, having a faint idea of his intentions. One thing all children tried in lieu of using the front door.
Crunch-pak-pek-pak-pa-
He rest stone on stone, each smooth and flat and as big as her shoe. Forming a makeshift ladder up and up and up, one that teetered dangerously when he hopped onto it, not a worry in that head of his. His torso wobbled and swayed like rice grains panted top his tower. ‘There ‘e goes’, his body bent back ‘nough to tempt the Cailleach into yanking him down. Just as emerald orbs stretched wide in panic, a lucky current of wind pushed him to his destination. Her eyes clicked in surprise, and small fingers locked the pie edge before the bricks of his ‘tower’ found fit to return themselves to the earth.
He careened off to the side in a spiral, the pie falling first and his unyielding grip forcing him to spin around it.
CRUnch
His back crashed a distinctly child-shaped imprint on the snow, buried up to his nose with the pie saved from a snowy demise by both his arms shooting up, holding the pie midair at grabbing height if she bent enough. Which is exactly what she’d do if she were a spiteful old crone.
Or ah younger ole’ crone.
The boy was motionless for so long she grew worried. She studied him a bit closer, only now realizing he had no breath. Her feet itched and tensed to leap out the window, she had no idea if her knees were good enough to attempt such a thing but she’d be damned if she didn’t try.
At that exact moment his imprint shot up from the hip, blasting snow every which way.
After a second or two he blinked languidly, like a cat waking up. He even yawned and stretched, causing one bare hand to sink into the piping hot pie-
-Oh dear-
-his form stilled, and then sunk in relaxation, hand tearing a pebble of cran and nibbling on it. He shivered-
-she blinked-
Both hands pierced the pie rim, attacking it with a fierceness she’d rarely seen in wolves.
She puffed in relief. A gentle smile stretched ‘er dry lips, eyes growing two crow’s feet while her elbows protested their position as chin-props on hardwood. Fion, the ignoble bastard, liked the unique flaver ah havin’ wood windows on a stone house, she choked down a guffaw, lest she startle the lil tyke.
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Food complete.
Lilly air pushed the pan back upon the window ledge.
He shakily rose and yawned, stretching his teeth and swallowing the sticky, clay-like pie remnants.
His head turned side to side. Then up and down but no matter how he turned, he couldn’t see the nice lady who’d offered her pie. She was here, he could smell her burnt skin and happiness. Which was odd, he could see everything, every animal and snake and ant sand from here to His Woods, but couldn’t see a woman. Her joy tickled him; amusement rang sour on his tongue and his cheeks squooshed up, smiling for no reason at all.
Too much. Too much happy. Gift and go.
He yanked a squirming mass of rock salt from its den and presented it on a rather large rock a stone’s throw from the window. He squinted his eyes and scanned the brownish-grey stone that made up the homestead. Or what remained of it. Meals were had where he stood, but only ghosts and whispers of bygone banquets and loud laughter remained. Good, more land fer him.
He stared at the rock salt once more, leaning back as white-flame arrogantly blustered at Tara. It wilted quite quickly, before he scampered forward and patted the block, glaring up in annoyance. Ground-salt was annoying.
When she finally stopped assaulting his tribute, a small smile graced his lips and he proudly harrumphed, and immediately walked back towards the tree line.
Mom didn’t like it when he was out late.
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The next day Lilly Air tap-tap-tapped his nose all speedy like Mr. Woodpecker and dragged him back to the nice lady’s house. Resting under the pie, just beside the window was a little yellow ladder.