The crack shocked me and then froze me in place. It was followed by another seconds later. It was sharp, followed by the sound of smoke— NO! It—it couldn’t have, I refuse to believe. I leaped out of the wagon, the blanket cover wrapping around me as it jumped and ran. I tripped, almost falling, before throwing off the blanket and completely sprinting. My blood, it was both red hot and freezing, my mind both focused and in a scramble, nothing made sense, it never did. There was metal clanking, the sound of metal boots. I almost immediately knew what happened when I heard the metal boots. That's when I heard the sound of hooves— familiar hooves— Jingle’s hooves, rushing down. He was sobbing and screaming now. That's when I noticed the blood. The pool of blood flowing onto the street from the door of his wagon. Deep, red blood. I knew. But I needed to see. I looked up, I saw the bullet holes in the wagon. I saw them too, two Dominion inquisitors wearing the Ringmaster Insignia. I knew I couldn’t see. I screamed, and then another shot rang out, and I heard the crack of stone next to me.

I switched my direction immediately. I bolted, right hoof, left hoof. I sprinted as fast as I could.

I could see the face of Liddle rushing me, screaming at me to come back, “THITTLE, RUN! WE HAVE TO LEAVE!”

I was already running. I leaped into the coach, the wheels starting, and for the first time I saw him actually whip the keythongs. Their beaks squalled, and their talons ripped to action, as they pounced forward with powerful sprinting. The entire caravan, every single wagon, every single keythong, whipped forwards. I heard the Kelks scream as it jolted them up into the air. I could barely breathe. Two more shots. They both ripped through wagon covers, as we bolted to exit the town. The inquisitors weren’t too far behind us. Just mere feet away.

I heard them shout in Human, a language I had learned in the Telki schools, “RUN, TELKI! RUN!”

The chase continued. Liddle steering the keythongs with his reigns. Everyone was terrified. I clung to Liddle, trying to find any comfort. I was sobbing, wailing, I was trying to process what just happened, even though I already knew. They killed Papa. They had tried to kill my Uncle too, but they missed. The argument, it must’ve drawn them. I tried to keep up my optimism. I had to keep my optimism. Liddle was shaking. Liddle had never been the type to take stuff like this well. He was holding it all in, just to have what it takes to drive the caravan. We were already at the back gate. The guards were going to close it, but Liddle quickly whipped the key thongs with his reins and we managed to get through.

We rode at that pace for about 10 miles. The entire time, I was in shock, terror. I tried to keep my mind on the kelks. I tried to keep my mind on Liddle. My mind kept wandering back to Papa Whistlebatter. It keeps going back to the fact that I’ll never see him again. I will never get the chance to hear him say he loves me again. I will never be able to tell him I love him again. The keythongs were beginning to wear themselves out. Liddle steered us into the woods, weaving through large creakwood trees. They squawked and chirped in exhaustion and fear. I understood them well. I was scared & exhausted too. Still hung-over.

Liddle stopped the wagons in the middle of the creakwood forest. It was cold. The leaves and branches hung over us, and though it was only midday, it was close to pitch black from the dark green canopies of the forest. We were about a mile into the forest. That’s when Liddle, my calm & collected Liddle, let a blood curdling screech and then bashed his hands hard against the wood until the wood was dented and there was blood leaking from his hands. He cried and screamed like I had never heard anyone ever done.

I tried to pull him away, he was scaring me, I cried out, “STOP! Please! You’re bleeding! Just stop! Stop!”

He mindlessly, sadly, waved his hand as if slamming it into the air. I had seen him get sad, I had seen him get frustrated. But never like this. I feel my own body start shaking. After I knew he wasn’t hurting himself, my own emotions started flooding. My papa. Tears flooded down my face. I could hear the kelks in the back of the wagon. They were all crying as well. I couldn’t freak them out anymore. I just couldn’t, so I just got up, got on my hooves, and ran. I ran deep into the forest, until I didn’t see the caravan. I felt the grass, the leaves, the sticks, against my bare hooves as I sprinted through it. It just grew darker as I dove deeper and cried harder. I wove around the creakwood trees, where they grew thicker and thicker. I looked down while sprinting to wipe away my flowing tears. I felt and heard a loud THUD as I smacked head first against a large creakwood I didn’t see. I felt my butt smack against the ground as I fell, my head throbbing in pain from the creekwood tree.

I grasped my head. Finally, alone, I thought to myself, I can cry now. So, I did. I cried. I sobbed. I sobbed for the man who had taken me in. My papa. He had taught me to be happy in the face of it all. Now, I couldn’t even see his face at all. The deep deep pain. I keep crying. I couldn’t think. I can’t think. No time to think. Only time to cry. Barely time for that.

I felt the trickle of something wet down my head. How hard had I run into the tree? I wiped my fingers through my mane to my scalp. I took my hand and saw the red on my fingers. I must’ve ran pretty hard into the tree for me to be bleeding. I whisked my hand through the air, the projection of a snow globe appeared before me. I took the projection in my hand. I shook it. Then, I took the projection, and whisked my hand through it, and with that I had some of my own snow globes snow, that way I could cast. I took the snow, wished hard for the bleeding to stop and my head to be healed, and then blew it away. I felt the sting of healing on my head, then the pinch of my heart. It hurt— bad — really REALLY bad. But then it was gone. Casting like that always hurts, but it was better than having a head injury in the middle of the forest. I got up, sniffling, phlegm, blood, and tears covering my face. I took a particularly big leaf, and wiped it away.

I HAVE TO BE STRONG, I reminded myself, I have to stay happy, my family needs me to.

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I weaved through the forest of creakwood trees, trying to remember which way I came from. I remembered, the thickness of the forest waned the closer to the caravan, so, I weaved towards areas with lesser trees. It was quiet, really quiet in the forest. It had been hours since we entered the town, and through the canopy I could see that the sun was still at midday. Wait, it’s still midday? That can’t be, it should’ve been at least noon, right? It was strange, but not a question for now. There are only two things right now, the caravan and the kelks. Those are the only two things that matter right now. I kept shifting through trees. I wasn’t running anymore, I didn’t have the energy to run after all that crying. I didn’t have the tears to keep crying either. I only had the will to keep believing, keep trying, and keep going. It had been about 30 minutes of weaving through trees and forest, dodging branches, and looking for the caravan that I finally found them. I saw liddle, still just curled up, still sobbing, his hand still bleeding. It was really bashed up and there was quite a few splinters in it,

I thought I didn’t have any more tears, I was wrong. I had a couple more. I shed them and then I knew I had to do something. I walked over to Liddle, and just got him to sit up. His face was just absolutely devastated. He was crying, but like me, he had no more tears.

“He’s— He’s— He’s—” He couldn’t even bring himself to say it.

He wasn’t wrong, but he also wasn’t right. Papa wasn’t, well, alive. But nobody dies. Not really. As long as we remember their memories and tell their stories, I tried my hardest to believe, just like he told me, that nobody truly dies. As long as we keep telling the story of Papa and the stories Papa told us, papa would never truly be gone. If we kept telling them, then The Toymaker would be forced to write them over and over. He’d be forced to keep Papa’s snowglobe.

“I’m here…” I repeated over and over as I wrapped my arms around him, “It’s ok…” I repeated again.

I kept repeating that to him. I heard hooves from the wagon come out, and then I heard Uncle Jingles, his voice distraught and pained, reassure “Ladle in the Soup,” he had a small smirk, “Take a sip of the soup, or you’ll be empty.”

Uncle Jingles bent down and took Liddle into his arms with me.

Then, Uncle Jingles took me into his arms as well, placed his forehead against the side of my head and said, “And my little soup,” I looked down, I felt my whole body shiver from the bottled up grief, “How are you expected to be tasty if nobody warms you up too?”

My head went limp. I leaned my head against my Uncle’s. I couldn’t hold myself together. Soup and Ladle was what Papa used to call us. Those exact sayings were things that used to come from Papa when either, or both, me or Liddle were sad. Me and Liddle had always been inseparable. I sniffed, recomposed myself, and sat back up. I tapped both Uncle’s and Liddle’s shoulders, and then whisked my hand through the air. A mere visage, a faint image of Papa’s snowglobe appeared in my hands. This once bright, filled snowglobe, now dim and barren, was now before us.

I was struggling to keep my optimism, with this bleak sight, as I squeaked out, “See, it’s not cracked, it’s not broken! That… That has to mean that The Toymaker still wants his stories. He’s not gone… He’s not gone fully yet.”

Uncle Jingles simply nodded his head, and got up, helping up the shaky, still choking up, still struggling Liddle. I walked into the actual wagon myself, that's where I saw Auntie Ziggles and her bright, shiny, magenta mane and purple robes. She was showing the kelks all sorts of magic tricks. She’d whisked her hand through the air and whole miniature circuses would appear. I could see her face lighten up, and the kelks just lapped it up. There were mini party-men running around in traditional Keleksai dress, giant wooden shoes with a flowy rainbow colored dress. Even I was encapsulated in her magic. I’m pretty young, and my magic is pretty rudimentary, but Auntie Ziggles, she must have been one of the most powerful sorceresses if she could do this. I sat down next to her, and laid down my head on her shoulder. She turned to me, softened her smile, and booped my nose.

She took out a bright pink party and red squeaky nose and whispered to me, “Liddle, he isn’t going to be able to steer the caravan. My magic is good, sure… But you know what the kelks REALLY love?” she poked at my stomach

I took the hat and nose, steeled my still shocked nerves, and said, “A clown of course.”

I carefully walked around the kelks, still encapsulated in the miniature circus, and took out a unicycle, some balls, and a little water-shooting flower. I hopped on the unicycle, peddled with my hooves, purposefully keeping little to no balance, and began to juggle. The kelks were almost immediately watching me. I kept a balance, as I leaned down and let a kelk squeak my red nose.

I felt the keythongs start to claw back to their feet. Auntie Ziggles got up from the floor and headed to the cab of the wagon. I almost fell off as the caravan moved to turn around. The kelks went hysterical when I struggled to regain balance . Soon enough, we were back on the road. I kept it together, kept all the pieces of the puzzle that's me together. Sure, I was important, but the kelks were more important. It was a breath of fresh air to see smiles and hear laughs. The pain didn’t disappear, the sorrow didn’t leave, the suffocating fact that he was dead didn’t change, but I smiled and laughed anyway. I felt the caravan pick up pace, and slipped off the unicycle. I thought hard about what would be the funniest thing to happen, felt the pulse of life back into me, and I felt a faint pulse across me as I was able to cast a light self-telekinesis spell that allowed me to do a flip and then land on my butt and spin around on the floor like one of those light-stone cartoons. For a little bit, somehow, even with everything that had happened just within the last few hours, I felt good.

Soon enough, they tuckered out, so was I, but I had to keep doing something. Keep the energy up. I need to keep my mind occupied. So I hopped wagon to wagon, before reaching the cooking wagon. I needed to bake. It was about the most distracting thing I could do. Especially if I did a gladness crackleberry cake, since alchemy is such a fickle thing. It might help with the overall mood too.

I felt the sparks and fragments of magic building on me. I need to harness it, my family needs me to harness it. It could really help.