inspired by a Tarot card painting, with a Woman and lion in the foreground

Gratitude is the sign of noble souls – Aesop

Griselda was in trouble. It wasn’t unusual for her, but this was the worst trouble ever. This last witchy prank hadn’t gone as she intended, and a lot of damage ensued. So the leaders of the covens had ruled that she be put to death. She sat in the magically protected prison room, dejected and alone, deeply regretting her foolishness. She sighed. ‘I really shouldn’t have tried to hang Randy Mason from the flagpole by his suspenders,’ she thought ‘But really, how was I to know the buttons would break on one side and he’d end up hanging by his neck? Good thing Witch Hazel came by, or he’d have died. And I will be dead tomorrow.’

She could see the sky through the small, high window. Night had fallen, and she saw hundreds of sparkling stars, and a sliver of moon. She sat and thought about all that she could have done in what should have been a long life, if she had only controlled those silly impulses to pull tricks on people. Then she heard a sound, and straightened up, turning her head, wondering what it was, where it came from.

It came again, “pssst!” Slowly, she stood, and moved to the door, pressing her ear against it. “Is someone there?” she asked, softly. A voice answered “It’s me, Rusty Reade, Griselda. I’ve managed to distract the guards, and have the keys. I don’t think you have been fairly tried and just can’t sit by and see you put to death in such a horrible fashion.”

“Oh, Rusty, you dear man. If you can get me out of here, I’ll head off into the wild lands. I just hope you won’t get in trouble.”

“Don’t worry, Griselda, I got a potion from a friend, I told her it was to make my girlfriend forget I wasn’t with her tonight. Instead, I gave it to the guards in some wine. All they will remember is that I stopped by for a chat and shared my wine with them. Hold on, now, while I get the door open.” She heard the grating of the key in the lock, the rattle of the chain as he lowered it to the floor, and then the door opened, and there he was.

She stepped out and hugged him. “Rusty, I will never forget this. Thank you. I can’t say enough to thank you properly.”

“You’re welcome, Griselda.” He leaned down and picked up a backpack. “Here, I packed some supplies for you, food and such. And I managed to get into your room and get your magic kit. Just a minute while I relock the cell.” He replaced the lock and chain and soon all looked as it had. “Ok, now follow me. I know the fastest way to the edge of the wild lands.”

She took the backpack, settled it in place on her shoulders, and followed Rusty up the stairs and out into the night. They hiked for about an hour, and then they were there. The border was distinct – on one side, neat grass and flower beds, orderly rows of trees, on the other, wild forest, rampant growth, and the sounds of wild animals hunting.

She looked out over the wilderness, and sighed. Thanking Rusty again, she took the fateful step over the line, turned back and waved. He waved back and wished her good luck, turned and left. With another sigh, she gathered her long skirt in one hand, and set out walking.

Keeping a sharp eye on her surroundings, and using a protective spell to keep off any wild animals, she trudged on. Griselda was a witch. She had graduated from the Seven Rathgows Witchling Accademy last year. She should have received a summa cum laude, but due to her pranks, she got the lowest, just a cum laude. Shaking her head, she wished she had learned her lesson from that and stopped the pranks. Anyway, now she had to try to get to safety. She kept on trudging, her bare feet becoming bruised and scratched from the rough ground cover. I only hope I’m going toward the border with Ozland. I don’t want to spend a night here.

She walked on, watching and listening for possible danger. It wasn’t much more than half an hour later when she heard a very odd sound. It was partly a lion’s roar and partly like the lion was choking. She moved on carefully, heading toward the sound. She just couldn’t leave any animal in the kind of pain that sound seemed to indicate. Soon she came to an opening, a very small, weedy glade, and in the middle was a majestic lion. At least, he would have been majestic, except that he was tossing his head and pawing at his mouth, moaning and roaring in pain.

With the protective spell, she knew she could approach safely. When the lion saw her, he stopped moving and stared then he moved toward her, almost crawling. She saw the pain in his eyes, and a pleading look. Cautiously she reached out and touched his head, and he rubbed against her hand.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she said quietly. “Will you let me see what is wrong?” The lion’s head nodded and he turned so that she could see his mouth. Something was stuck between his jaws, holding the mouth open, and there was blood mixed with the drool running down.

“All right. Be still, and I will see what I can do.” She kept her hand on his head, moved to his side, and quickly straddled him. He stiffened, and he turned his head and his eyes rolled back, looking at her. “It’s all right,” she said as she stroked his mane. “I need to be here so I can remove that stick or bone. Steady, now.”

Reaching around, she grasped his upper jaw in her right hand, the lower jaw in her left, and pulled hard. The obstruction was loosened, and she was able to grasp it with her right hand and pull it out. “Hmm…it looks like a piece of bone. Hold still now and I will use a magic lotion to heal the injuries.” Carefully, she swung her leg back over him, and shrugged the backpack off. Reaching in, she found her magic kit, took out a small bottle, opened it, and rubbed some of the contents on the two open sores. The effect was immediate. The lion’s body relaxed as the pain went, and he lay down at her feet, licking her hand as he did.

Shortly, he stood again, and nudged her, then started walking off into the forest. He paused, looking back, and moved his head in a ‘come along’ gesture. She shrugged into the backpack again, and followed him. Soon he had led her to a clean, dry cave, obviously his den. She was tired, so she decided to accept his invitation, and gratefully settled down against the wall. He stood for a moment looking at her, touched his nose to her shoulder, and left. In a short time, he was back with a dead deer, and indicated that she should help herself. Not liking raw meat, she used the big knife from her pack and cut a large chunk off, cast a spell, and was soon eating hot, well-cooked venison.

Griselda and the lion lived together for several months. He hunted regularly, and shared his catch with her. There was a stream not far away, so she had water to drink, and to wash in. She thought several times that she should continue on her way to Ozland, but wasn’t sure she would be welcome there. She knew Rusty came from there, and he had saved her, but were the others like him? Would a disgraced witch be accepted? She pondered the question often, and always put off a decision till later

And then it was too late. One day, while Griselda was at the stream, a large net came sailing over her, and she was caught. The seven head witches came out of the forest and stood, gloating over her. Behind them, she could see the lion, also caught in a net, unmoving, but she could see that he was breathing.

“You thought you could escape your punishment, Griselda, but we tracked you, and now you will pay. And this time, you will be kept in a cell no one can get to, except us and our guards.” Delphina, the leader of the central coven gloated. “We put the lion to sleep so we can transport him.” Turning to the guards, she ordered “put them both in the cart. We’ll carry out the sentence when the beast is fully ready.”

Two months later, a weary and dishevelled Griselda was shoved roughly into the pit to await her fate. I shouldn’t have stayed so long with the lion. Now he is captured, too. I guess I am just a jinx, and deserve to die. She stood waiting, shoulders sagging and head bowed. She heard the door to the animal pen open. Looking up, she saw an obviously starving lion come, rushing and snarling, ready to rend her body. But as he neared, he slowed, stopped, and sniffed. Then he came to her, licked her hand, and settled down at her feet. All of the witches stared, and gasped. Then Delphina stood up. “Griselda, how have you bespelled that lion?”

Griselda turned and looked up, her hand resting on the lion’s head and explained how she had helped the lion soon after her escape, and had then lived with him, and how he had kept her fed and protected. “I have not cast a spell on him, other than the spell of kindness. He is grateful to me, and will not harm me. Gratitude is the sign of noble souls!”

“It is, and it is true even of the dumb beasts. Griselda, your sentence is remitted. You are free to go. It is our earnest hope that you have learned your lesson from this.”

“I have,” Griselda said. “The lion and I will live in the border between here and the wild lands. Thank you for our freedom.” They walked together to the gate, and out to a new life.

inspired by a real event and transposed to the late Iron Age

It happened on the day before Samhein, when I was out hunting. It was late afternoon, the clouds had covered the sky, and the day was rapidly darkening toward night. The temperature was dropping, and I could hear thunder growling in the distance. I was worried, this was not a night to be out in; I recalled the time, some twenty five years ago, when the chief Caoilte Cruithne was out, and one of the Sluagh got him. He became cruel, beastly, and tortured and killed his people. It took four Druids and the High King to cleanse him, but he died at peace. I did not want to become like him!

It hadn’t been a particularly successful hunt, but I did have a cony to cook up for supper, if I could find shelter. And I needed to find shelter soon, for it would be a cold, dark, and stormy night. As I made my way out of the forest, hoping to find a charcoal burner’s hut, or some kind of shelter, a huge white stag leapt into the path ahead of me. Instead of leaping away again, it stopped and looked at me, then turned and trotted along the path. After a few steps, it turned its head and looked back, and moved its head as though beckoning me. A white stag is magical and I knew it wanted me to follow, so I started obeyed, as one should when faced with a magic animal.

I followed it uphill through a thinly forested area, and as I rounded a bend in the path, I saw the silhouette of a building on a hill to the right of the road. The stag stopped a bit ahead of me, touched its nose to the ground on the right, and then leapt away. In no time at all, it had disappeared. I turned off on the narrow lane it had indicated, and found that it led up toward the building, and as I neared it, I could see that it seemed to be just ruins. But I knew that there was something I must do there, the presence of the stag made that clear. As I got closer, I saw that some parts looked reasonably whole. I went on, I knowing I would find shelter from the coming storm there.

I reached the building and made my way through the ruined section. When I came to an area that was still partially roofed, with walls that seemed solid, I lit a torch I had fashioned from some wood I’d gathered on the way, and investigated. As I continued along a hall, I passed a doorway to my left. I felt an incredible aura of evil emanating from the room beyond. I hurried on by, and found another room, solid and safe from the weather, with a good sturdy door to shut and bar. I decided this would do nicely for my night’s shelter, and went back out to gather bracken and pine boughs for my bed, and some more wood for a fire. Soon I had all I could carry, and went back in.

The evil aura was stronger than ever, stretching out, but unable to break whatever bond it was that held it tied to that room. As I hurried past the doorless room, the evil aura was reaching out toward me, trying to ensnare me. I almost decided to look for some other shelter, but there was that stag, and a very strong compulsion that told me I had to stay.

I settled down in my safe room, with the door shut and barred. I prepared my bed, lit a small fire on the stone floor, cooked up the cony and after I had eaten, I banked the fire and settled down to sleep. I was very tired, and it felt good to lie down, but sleep would not come. The memory of the stag, combined with the compulsion that was growing stronger by the minute, wouldn’t allow me to sleep. The room was very dark with the fire banked, so I took a stick from the pile, and coaxed it alight and set out to examine my surroundings. I had just done a cursory look around before. Off in one corner, I saw that one of the stones in the floor was softly glowing. As I neared it, the feeling grew that this was why I was here. I needed to lift that stone, and remove what was hidden under it. Outside the storm was coming closer. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, and the wind was rising and I could hear the patter of rain on the floor where it was being blown in through the broken windows.

Ignoring the sounds of the storm, I took out my knife and pried at the stone. After some time, I was able to lift one corner, but could not raise it high enough to get my fingers under it. I went to my pile of firewood and found a sturdy stick, about the width of my thumb. When I again raised the corner of the stone, I slid the stick in, and pried with it. Eventually, I had it high enough to get the fingers of both hands under, and gave it a heave. It dropped back with a crash, revealing a hollow beneath. Shining the light into the hollow, I saw something wrapped in a rotting cloth; I worked the bundle out, opened it, and stared. There sat a beautifully carved gold torc, the ends formed into lynx heads. It was beautiful, and I knew it had belonged to a powerful chieftain and was dedicated to the God Lugh.

I crouched there for some time, turning the torc over in my hands, and suddenly I remembered. About twenty five years before, a jealous brother killed a clan chief and his family, and took over. There was an infant son whose body was never found, nor was the chief’s torc. Later, it turned out that the infant had been raised by shepherds, and when he came of age, he fought and killed the usurper and was acclaimed as the chief. But the family torc was never found. Could this be it? Is that why the stag directed me here? I knew that the usurper had built a large stronghold in this vicinity, and that he was a cruel and vicious man, capturing peasants and warriors alike and torturing them. That room, the one with the evil aura, could that have been his torture chamber? And had the torc been hidden all these years here where he ruled? The heir had asked about the torc, questioning everyone he could, and had sent men out searching for it, unsuccessfully.

That evil had to be cleansed, and suddenly I knew how, as though a voice spoke to me. I rose, carrying the torc in front of me, and went to the door. Unbarring it, I went along the passage until I came to the room with the evil aura. I could feel the evilness reaching, stretching, trying to break the invisible barrier that held it locked in the room. I knew it wanted to reach out and overpower me. I stood just beyond its reach, held up the torc. I called on Lugh, the God of Light to come and destroy the evil. There was a moment of stasis, and then something snapped. A blinding light flashed in the room, and the barrier sprang back, into the room and taking the evil with it. Then the feeling of evil started to fade, and a faint shriek echoed away to nothingness, and was gone. When it was over, I thanked Lugh for cleansing the room, and asked his blessing on me, went back to my resting place, re wrapped the torc and placed it in my pack. I then settled back in my bed and slept soundly for the rest of the night.

When I woke in the morning, I ate and packed the wrapped torc and leftovers in the pack, unbarred the door and went out. When I passed the room where the evil had been, there was no trace of it left. I stepped into the room, just to be sure, but it was just an empty room, with dead leaves littered over the floor. Outside, I found that the sun was shining in a clear sky, and the air was brisk. It would be a good day for walking. I had good hunting for the rest of my journey, and knew that I had been blessed by Lugh. After resting at home for a few days, I travelled to Tara and showed the torc to the high king. He admired it, and told me its story, and my memory was true, it was just as I had recalled, there in that old ruin. Then he sent me back to Cean Tir, where my home is. He told me that the torc belongs to out Chief, and as I found it, I should return it.

I have done so, and was given much praise and adulation. But I do not deserve it. It was the magical stag that led me to the torc. But it is a Samhein eve I will never forget.

As told by Sokni Hvitaskald to Florence Simpson (An Ancient World adventure challenge)

Hello, my name is Sokni Hvitaskald. I am the fourth son of Odovacar and Dagmar Hvitaskald. I have two older sisters, married and living far away, two younger sisters and an infant brother. My father and three older brothers were dead. I started training as a warrior when I reached my eighth winter, starting with a small, dull war axe, blunted dagger and lance. I also learned combat without weapons. By the time I reached manhood, none could surpass me with the war axe, and few could equal me in any of the other forms of battle.

I want to tell you of a thrilling adventure I had before I reached manhood. It was in my eleventh year when I saved the lives of my Mother, three younger siblings, and myself. Father and my elder brothers had been killed in a battle the fall before, and Granfer died six weeks after Yule. I was left as the man of the family in what Granfer told me was the most dire winter in living memory. It was three months after his death that I had my adventure.

By that time spring should have started and we should have been preparing the ground for planting, but the snow was still waist deep on me. The food was gone, all but some very tough dried meat. Mother and the young ones were ill and weak from hunger, and I was not in much better condition. We still had one old cow, but her milk was needed for the babe, still in his first year, since Mother could no longer provide enough. I determined to go out on a hunt, to try to bring back meat for us all.

I made the house as secure as I could, hauling in a good supply of wood and water. Mother could still milk the cow, and keep the fire going. She made sure I took a supply of the dried meat and two good fur rugs. These I lashed to my sledge, then kissed Mother goodbye, strapped on my skis and harnessed myself to the sledge. With a last look back at the house, I set off across the heath, headed for the woodland in the foothills several miles away.

It was hard going, but the snow was frozen solid in many places, and once I was able to find them, I moved faster. It took me two days to reach the foothills and the beginnings of the forest. The snow was not so deep there, so I removed my skis and tucked them under the ties around the furs. I made my way along a trail in among the trees, and just as the sun reached its highest point, I heard a great bellowing and thrashing up ahead. I pulled the sledge to the side of the trail, and made my way toward the noise.

There, with its huge rack of antlers entangled in a large bush, was the biggest stag I had ever seen. It was as tall at the shoulders as a tall man, and big in proportion. This, if I could bring it down and get it home, would see us through until the first harvest of fruit and greens. I moved stealthily, to get as close as possible so that my spear would have enough force for the kill. But the unchancy wind suddenly changed and brought my scent to the animal. With a mighty heave, it broke free of the bush. Instead of fleeing, as I expected, it charged. With prayers to Odin, Thor and Freya, I threw my spear and leaped to the side. Its shoulder knocked me off my feet, and I scrambled back up just in time to see it coming at me again.

I lept out of its way. There was no way I could get to my spear, as it was incredibly fast in stopping and turning. With another quick prayer, I made ready, and as it came near, I jumped to the side again. When it was passing me, I gave a great leap, and landed on its back behind the mighty head. It started to buck and toss its head back, trying to unseat or gore me. I ducked under the flailing antlers and reached around until I had a firm grip on its throat, just under the muzzle.

Pulling with all my strength I encouraged it to bend its head back more. Then, taking a great chance, I let go with my right hand and drew my big knife. I had to grab its ear to keep from being thrown as it increased its effort to dislodge me, but I managed to stay on. When I felt more secure, I let go again, and struck with the knife, into the side of its neck. It gave a great bellow as the blood gushed out over my hand and I let go, allowing myself to be bucked off. I landed, rolled and was on my feet in one movement. The stag ran forward, ignoring me, and I took up its trail. It would not go far, with its life’s blood pumping out.

In a short distance it was staggering, and after a few more steps it dropped to its knees, and soon fell to its side, not very far from the scene of our battle. I waited until it was still then cut its throat. I cut into it and removed part of the liver, made myself a fire, and ate. I couldn’t leave it like that, or it would quickly be too frozen to move. I tied a strong vine around its legs, and with every bit of strength I could summon, pulled it back to the trail and the sledge.

I took everything off the sledge and after great strain and effort, got the carcass in place, and tied down. The moon was full, and enough light came through the trees so I could see to make my way out of the forest. Then I wrapped myself in the furs and slept for a while. I was more tired than I had ever been, but I was proud that I had brought down this Monarch of the deer family. However, it wouldn’t be of much use if I didn’t get it home.

I woke myself well before the night was over, with the moon still giving plenty of light on the frozen snow. I packed up the rugs, harnessed myself to the sledge, and set out. The going was not too bad during the hours of night, but after the sun came up, a warm breeze started blowing, and the snow started melting in the first signs of the belated spring. I trudged on, pulling my load behind me, every muscle in my body screaming for rest and release from effort. But in my mind I could see Mother’s thin worried face, and the little ones too weak from hunger to cry, and I forced myself to go on.

Finally, by travelling through the night when the snow had frozen again, I came at last to our house. But there was no sign of life, not even smoke from the chimney. I pushed forward, heart pounding, and dropped the harness at the door. Fearful of what I would find, I pushed it open, and found them, huddled near the fire trough where the last of the wood was almost burned away. They looked at me as at a ghost, then Mother smiled, and all was well.

Once more I prayed to Odin, Thor and Freya, asking for the strength to finish my task, and thanking them for their help. I chopped more wood, and soon the fire was roaring, and we were all sitting around sipping broth made from the rest of the liver and small pieces of the stag. A large pot of stew was simmering at the side of the fire, and the rest of the meat was hanging in the back room, where it would stay good until Mother could look after it.

I was praised as a hero, and got a new vest, breeches, and new boots made from the skin, and Mother got several bone utensils that I made from the antlers. The meat stayed good, the spring finally came, the crops grew and we had our first harvest. And that is how I saved my family, in my eleventh year.

I do have an odd problem, though, that started after I reached the age of manhood. I am completely inept and clumsy when sober. Yet when I have had at least six large horns of beer or mead, I am steady, and can do many fancy stunts with my war axe, and never harm myself or anyone else. This began to cause problems, and eventually I was forced to leave home, after I accidentally injured the son of the chief of our town.

My family gave me as many skins of beer and mead as they could gather, food enough to last me to the nearest port, and many gems and as much gold and silver as they could spare. We were second only to the Chief in terms of wealth, so I had wealth enough to last for years. I have been home again several times over the years. My mother was still living and healthy the last time I was there. She had remarried and had two more sons, and my sisters are married to good, prosperous young men. But they still praise me as a hero and recount the tale of how I saved them all, in my eleventh year.

Inspired by an abstract oil painting

Maverick-mongrel Mac’s ears were perked up as he scampered through the woods just at sunset, looking for adventure. Suddenly a big, golden hare leaped out of a bush and went hopping off at full speed. Delighted, Mac went after it, barking in glee. Chasing rabbits was fun, but this hare was so much bigger, and he’d never seen one that colour before. Surely it promised the best adventure of his young life.

It was not that Mac wanted to kill the Hare – he never killed the rabbits he chased. It was the fun of the chase that he wanted, and this should be a really wild one. Barking joyfully, he raced full tilt after the fleeing Hare as it flashed in and out of sight among the undergrowth. He went racing around a bend in the track the hare was following, and suddenly tried to stop. His feet scrabbled,  trying to stop, even as they tried to go backwards, earth and debris spraying out around him. Staring at him from less than the length of his body away was a grinning wolf.

It was big. In Mac’s eyes, it was huge, since he was a small dog, and it was a bluish gray colour, with pale blue eyes that glared down at him. “And where might you be off to in such a hurry?” the wolf growled. There almost seemed to be a faint blue glow around him, and Mac was so scared he could hardly breathe, let alone make a sound. “Not chasing my Hare, are you? That wouldn’t be healthy for you, you know. If anyone is going to kill it, it will be ME!” the last was almost shouted, as the wolf’s head stretched so that his nose almost touched Mac’s.

“Ah…uh…er…I….I was just .. just having some fun. I wouldn’t kill it, I just was ch..chasing it. I…I never saw a hare that colour. I..I think it must be magic. I don’t think anyone could kill it.” Mac stared up at the wolf and saw the frown deepen. “Except maybe you, sir!” he panted. Both heads lifted suddenly as a great crashing sounded, coming toward them. Another beast charged into the path, snarling, teeth bared. Mac and the wolf stared in shock at the creature. It was a bit bigger than Mac, with very sharp teeth, brown fur, and an aggressive attitude.

“That hare is mine!” he snarled.

“That’s what you think!” the wolf growled back. “He is mine, and always has been. You don’t even belong here! Get back to Tasmania, we don’t want any of you devils here. Nothing in our Canadian woods belongs to you.”

Mac slunk back and under a bush; anything to get away from the two very dangerous looking animals. He thought it would turn into a fight at any moment, and he very much did not want to be caught in the middle. He cowered there for a moment as the wolf and the Tasmanian Devil glared at each other, then started padding slowly in a circle. Cautiously, he moved, step by slow step out from under the bush and off along the track. Just as he was rounding a curve, the battle behind him started. The growls, howls, yelps and snarls rose high and loud, and he put on a spurt of speed. Whichever of them won, Mac was sure he would start looking for him, and he wanted to get as far ahead as he could.

The sounds of battle faded behind him, and Mac forgot about it as he spied the hare again. Yelping excitedly, he took off on the chase again, the hare hopping rapidly ahead. At another curve in the track, they came to a river. It was certainly too wide for jumping, yet the hare did just that. It gave a mighty leap and soared over the water, landing safely on the other side. Mac hardly paused, he plunged into the water and swam as fast as he could. He clambered out on the other side, and the hare was sitting on a stump at the top of the bank. Mac raced up the bank and skidded to a stop

“Nice going, Mac,” the hare said, “that was a good workout. And you have destroyed your scent going into the water, so the wolf and the devil won’t know where you’ve gone.”

Mac stared in astonishment. “You…you know my name!” he exclaimed. “But I have never seen you before. How can that be? I did? I destroyed my scent? I’m glad of that, I don’t want to meet the winner of that battle. But aren’t you afraid one of them will kill you?”

“I have seen you many times, chasing rabbits, and always letting them go unharmed. I needed a bit of exercise and I thought I’d give you a bit of fun, too. Remember, you said you thought I was magic?” Mac nodded his head. “Well, you’re correct. How else could I have jumped the river? And as for either of those lumbering beasts, there is no way they can catch me. I could have kept you running around all night, if I wanted to. But you’re a nice little fellow, so I thought I’d just have some fun with you. But it’s dark now, and you are a long way from home. If you follow the river that way, you’ll find a bridge, and it’s near the edge of the woods. You should be home before your family begin worrying about you. Thanks for the fun, Mac. Perhaps we will do it again sometime.”

“Oh, thank you sir. I would really like that. Except for the scare, it was a lot of fun. Good night. And thanks again. I do hope I’ll see you again.” With a quick nod of his head, Maverick-mongrel Mac set off along the riverbank, grinning at the great night he’d had.

 

inspired by a picture of a frosted window.

Alex Martin sat in his usual place by the window. He liked sitting there, because he could see out and watch the people, animals, butterflies and birds going by.  As he watched, he made up stories about where they were going, what magical things would happen to them, and how they would cope. Only today, he couldn’t see anything. Jack Frost had been busy during the night and had painted a truly magical scene on the window.

The day was cloudy and very cold, so the magic picture stayed, intriguing Alex. He was in his special chair, propped up and supported by pillows and dressed in warm woolen garments. There wasn’t much wood or coal, so the fire was low and the room was chilly, and he had been bundled in warm blankets, too. A bed table on his right held an easel with a canvas, a wide array of oil paints and brushes, and all the rest of the requirements of an artist. There was also a notebook and pen to write out the story idea before painting. He usually painted pictures of the people and animals he saw, putting them into his stories. Today the paint tubes were closed and the canvas was empty.

At first, he had been feeling depressed because he couldn’t see anything and had no inspiration for painting or storytelling. He sighed, and looked at the window again, and his gaze was caught. Suddenly he saw slender willow trees with trailing boughs, frosty white flowers and crystal butterflies. He stared for some time, and then reached for his pen and notebook.

‘One very cold day a fairy princess went out to look at the garden. She was dressed in caterpillar furs, with warm mitts and hat of dandelion and thistle down, so she thought she would be safe from the monster Jack Frost.’…. he paused for a while, looking at the window again.

As he stared at the window, it seemed to grow and take on some colour. Soon the trees were swaying gently in the light breeze, and he could smell the slightly minty odor of the flower. The leaves on the trees tinkled as they moved, and so did the butterflies and the flowers. Each had a different sound, so it almost sounded like harp music, coming from far away.  Alex looked around, and found that he was standing in the middle of the field of flowers, surrounded by the willow trees, the butterflies flitting here and there. As their wings moved they shed prismatic lights on everything.

Alex was transfixed. He was standing? How could that be? His legs were withered and useless since the accident. He hadn’t been able to use them for ten years. He looked around again, and saw a lovely young lady coming toward him, dressed in furs. She was so graceful he just stared. As she came near she smiled; “Hello, Alex,” she said. “It is so good to see you here at last. I have watched you many times, looking out the window, and wished you would come to walk and talk with me.”

“You have seen me?” Alex asked, bewildered. “I have never seen you, where were you? I cannot walk; I do not know how I can be on my feet now. My spine was damaged in an accident when I was five years old that is why I sit at the window. I watch the people and animals, and I make up stories about them, and paint pictures to go with the stories. This must be a dream; I can only walk in dreams.”

They walked on, her hand lightly clasped in his, while the trees butterflies flowers and birds chimed and the colours from the butterfly wings flashed and danced around them. It was all so beautiful, so strange, that Alex could only drink it in and enjoy it, pushing away all questions.

“My name is Crystal,” the fairy told him. “I live in the flowers in your garden, though in your world I am invisible. Your body is in a state of waking sleep in your world, it is awake, but your spirit has flown to my world. You have traveled through space and time and have created a whole body for yourself here. If you do not return to your body it will die, and you will live on here. I would be happy to have your company forever, but I know there are those who love you in your world who would be heartbroken to lose you.”

Alex walked in silence for some time, pondering. It felt so good to walk, to not be tied down to that chair. But how could he leave them? His Mother and Father, brother and sisters were all so good to him. They made it so much easier for him to accept his condition because they encouraged him to do the things he could. He didn’t really spend all day every day sitting at the window. He went to school, went shopping with his Mother, to the park with his brothers and sisters. They went on holidays and saw many other places and interesting and exciting things. Though he had never seen any place as beautiful, as astonishing, as this place. He stopped walking and just stood and looked around. Could he leave this magic place to go back to the mundane world? The smiling faces of his family passed by his mind’s eye, and he knew.

“Crystal, I would love to stay here with you in this awesome, magical place. But it is not where I belong. My life is waiting for me back in my duller, mundane world. I will carry some of the magic of you and your world with me always, and I know it will come out in my stories and paintings. When I look at the garden, I will remember you. When, in the summer, I sit out there among the flowers, I will know you are near. I will feel your kiss in the breeze, and my heart will be lighter.” He turned to her, taking both her hands in his. “Stay near me, please. I will always love you.”

Smiling, Crystal stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “I will, Alex. I will always be there in your garden. And when you are sitting out there, I will come near and sit with you, and whisper to you about the beauty that surrounds you. Now, my dear, they are getting anxious, and crying; you must return. Go with my undying love. You will always have fairyland in your heart.”

Alex took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Mother was bending over him, tears running down her cheeks, stroking his forehead and whispering “Alex, my love, come back, please come back.” He smiled at her and touched her hand. “I am here, Mother. I just went away for a little while. I saw a magic land, and walked and talked with a fairy. It was so very beautiful, but it was not for me. My home is here with all of you. But it has given me an inspiration for many tales and pictures.”

Mother gathered him in her arms and the family gathered ‘round, touching him and cheering, welcoming him home. “I want to hear all about it,” his little sister Mary said. “And I want to see the pictures you will paint.” The others agreed, and they did. Alex wrote many fairy tales and illustrated them himself, and became a famous author and artist. And every day when the weather allowed, he sat in his chair in the garden, and communed with Crystal.