SS3: Klive and Trea

Tip-toeing on a time-worn wooden chair, I watched the things happening outside through the big window in my room, seeking to ease a bit of boredom in me. I glimpsed at my funny nanny, who usually ate her snacks under the shade of a tree, as she enjoyed the delicacies she stole from the kitchen.

From here, I could smell the sweet budding scent of the beautiful flowers, the wind sharing its essence with everyone in the mansion.

Peeking through the edges of the window, my nanny would always make me laugh because of her antics. One time, I caught her sneaking out from our kitchen, her steps silent. Despite her sneakiness, she still always ended up caught by the cold-looking chef auntie. It’s funny since the two of them looked like they were playing a game called the cat and the mouse.

My dad and mom were always away because of the work given to them by Uncle Baron. So our caretaker was the one attending and caring for us. She also assures that we were always happy—me, my big sister, and my eldest brother loved her very much.

Before nighttime, my nanny would come to each room to bring some leftover snacks she hid away from the kitchen’s auntie. Her arrival smelled like a parade of flowers in spring as the fragrance seeped throughout each of our rooms.

I really liked that smell.

Every time she came to my room, she would read me a story from an odd-looking book. It was a wood-laden book unlike those that I saw in mom and dad’s library.

The first time I saw it, I ogled the queer-looking book with my eyes wide open because of curiosity. Since then, I would always rubberneck the thick book if I saw my nanny carrying it.

Until one day, I built up my courage as an urge struck me while staring at it.

“What -ish that?,” lisping a little I asked her.

“Pftt… Little master, this is a storybook from my family,” she said. She giggled at me. Her laughter made my face feel funny and hot, like a chili.

“Oh… a storybook?” I felt a little silly.

“Little master, this is a book where you could read many stories. There are funny stories about drunk dwarfs, fluffy beastman, mighty dragons, witty gnomes, uncanny fairies, and many more.” She smiled as she gazed deep into my eyes.

My eyes went saucers and my mouth was wide open you could stuff an egg on it. On tiptoes, I reached out towards the thick rigid book on her lap, a pulse of itchiness calling my fingertips to lunge towards the book.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

But when I was about to reach it, I remembered what my mom taught me about basic manners.

My mom told me that if you need something you need to ask them kindly first. So I asked her.

“Really? Can I Look at it?”

“Of course, little master now spread out your two hands.” She giggled while carefully putting the odd-looking book towards my wide-open grasp.

Bound in bizarre wood, rugged and dry with age, the thin papers smelled faintly of cedar. The cover was like silk. It was smooth and velvety. Yet, it was as heavy as the books in my mom’s library. Upon opening the book, there was a gleaming yet familiar zigzag appearing out from nowhere. It was just like the ugly scrawls my mom and older sister used to teach every time.

Just thinking of those sleepy and boring sessions which they forced on me, I felt dizzy, my eyes swam away with my thoughts. Yawning my head towards my nursemaid, she had a smirked drifting on her lips. My eyes went round and my cheeks turned like a red apple.

She thinks I’m funny. Humph.

I puffed up my chest to show her I wasn’t someone you could just ruffle up. Still, I could feel my cheeks searing in funny heat. In jitters, my shaking hand pointed at the wriggly letter and said. “This a line is free, that is dwarf, hm… a tree. Yeah, a tree, hm.”

“Hahaha! Cute, Little master. That’s right, it’s a tree, a tree alright. Pfft, wait a moment, Hahaha!”

She took her time chortling despite my protest.

“…”

“Humph!”

I gazed at that letter and felt dizzy. Nevertheless, I promised myself that I was going to memorize it, burning the image of the squirmy lines to my mind. Later, I’m going to ask my great older sister about this tree thingy.

A few moments later I could still hear the tiny peals of giggles coming from our caretaker. It seemed like she was finding it hard to restrain herself.

Squinting my eyes to stop her from laughing, I tried to copy my mom’s cold mannequin look every time my dad does something funny and stupid. This always worked against my dad, shutting him up every time. Maybe this would do the job.

Yet, it wasn’t effective. I could still hear her titters across the room. Instead, her laughter turned louder.

Spotting at the wooden book, another idea to make her stop struck me.

“Hey, stop laughing! Read it.”

I pouted my lips to express my discontent.

She would definitely find it hard to read such wiggly letters.

Who could read it! I’ll laugh at her face later.

“Read what? Oh. Fine, fine, little master. Wait for a minute. Sit here,” she said, as she tapped the bed near her. I immediately took the seat beside her.

“Okay, let’s read, little master,” she said, her lips arched as she unlatched the cover of the strange book. “Let’s see, hmm. This story will do.”

She inhaled and exhaled slowly as if trying to recompose herself.

Suddenly, silence engulfed the room as the cool spring wind crept through the open windows. The sweet wind caressing my face.

My nanny’s gaze lingered for a moment on the setting sun through my window, and then to the newly flickering candle on my table. Finally, she settled on the craggy-looking old wooden book. Then the room fell silent again. I couldn’t even hear the buzzing of the insects in the nearby trees, nor the croaking of the frogs.

Bereft from any of its fetters, the wind whispered to the trees, its leaves like an orchestra, playing a waltzing tempo for its audience.

It was strange, as if nature itself seemed to wait for her words, acknowledging her existence.

It felt like we had arrived at a different place, a land full of unknown and mysteries.

She then stared at me, her pupils shifting hue from crimson to a mystifying lilac and her lips curled.

Trea then patted my head. In a soft hum, she asked. “Klive, did you know elves didn’t always have pointed ears?”