Adorned by the silky royal blue shimmer, two knees were pointing up. Forming a peak of conjoined legs, almost resembling a sentinel spire breaking from the whole.
As the quilt washed down from the small point, flowing over and devouring the bed and child, it made its way to the matching floor. It was like one ocean was meeting another.
The towering body that draped the window as a living curtain couldn't halt the power of the fading day; the light in all its glory still pushed into the dimly lit room.
Scattering around the edges and silhouetting onto the carpeted floor, creating a chasm where the ocean of blue fell into the whirlpool of the shadow. Giving off the feeling like they would fall into it if the two men stumbled into the room.
Only one sound came from the sun atop the small peak on the bed; it was coming from the golden-haired child, laying her head on her pointed knees. Wafting into the ears of the three men were the soft whimpers of Amelia, stabbing deeper than a knife.
There were no waves or roars of an ocean of sadness; only two soft streams ran down the cheeks of Amelia, dropping into the ocean below.
The passion in Yurn and the desire for answers never left his body. He no longer saw the eyes of a child bright with life. Only the puffiness of pinky-white surrounded the two gems. He was looking into the eyes of a soul that had seen something and lived to tell the tale—a tale that was slowly unravelling from her dry lips.
Yurn and Alvin, who were neither in the hall nor in the room, were forming a living door, standing motionless. Only the soft breathing left their bodies, creaking from a coming cold on their chests. They were listening to the words of the night before; the golden-haired treasure spoke, answering her father's request, trapped in a coming tale.
Answering more than she needed to say, she recollected it all in her head and began to speak of what happened last night, two stories being told, one in her mind and one from her lips.
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Where it all began, where it all ends...
With outstretched arms imitating a gliding bird came the pattering of feet, tracing along the soft grass, creating a visible line. Going up and down as she went, neither wandering off nor focused, at times the small shuffles of feet would fall out of the line ever so slightly; other times they were perfectly in sync.
A small melody sang into the world, coming from a sweet and young voice.
Amelia: (small chuckling noise) "In the spring, the grover grover comes and bounces on over! (pausing.) In the summer and autumn, the grover grover runs all over! (pausing.) In the winter, the grover grover sleeps until it's all over!" (closing her eyes, walking along the invisible line in her head, giggling.)
Nestled in the mud below, a smooth brown rock blended in, slumbering against the nature of time, pushed ever deeper from the feet of men. It was large enough for the soles of the little girl to walk upon and smooth enough to slip on.
As the wet leather-skinned flats touched the hidden stone below, a new feeling entered her mind. A falling sensation took over, not one of forward momentum; her body was falling backwards.
The eyes of Amelia opened wide, slowly seeing the trees in front mixing into the darkening sky above; it was all turning into a blur. A loud cry rang out at the end of it all—a soft splat with a thump, then a hurtful rung.
Amelia: OWWW! (landing onto the moist grass below.)
Splayed out on the ground, legs and arms apart. Another voice called out to the cry of Amelia, and a new set of feet came pattering towards the form on the ground, moving faster and getting louder with every stride; it was coming from the direction behind the fallen young lady.
Approaching voice: Amelia! Are you okay? (Looking at the slip marks on the ground and seeing the brown stone, he put his hand out for Amelia to grab onto.)
Amelia's eyes were looking to her left, focusing on the shape slowly coming to her.
Standing over her was the person she knew all too well, the tattered grey shirt matching the dark trousers, not in colour but in state; they were patched up in places, mostly at the knees and the pockets, the mismatching colours of new and old material. She noticed the sleeves and ankles were all turned up at the edges, hiding their true length.
Amelia: I'm fine! (pausing.) I closed my eyes, and I tripped on something. (looking at the exposed stone in the ground.) Why is it always stones? Why can't I fall over gold or that new hat in Droll? (sighing.) You are always there for me, even when I fall. Thank you, Tristyn! (A wide smile that faded.) Your arms! Are you okay? (Concerned, her right hand stopped halfway.)
Something caught the attention of the child, partially sitting up from the grass, holding herself up with one arm; it wasn't the dishevelled clothing; she was used to seeing it. Amelia's eyes were looking at Tristyn's right arm, the one that was closest to her, with an open hand. Fully sitting up, she began to take a closer look, squinting almost, her right hand still floating in the air.
The brown-haired boy nearing the age of sixteen had the same golden strands as Amelia's, though it was more akin to his father's in colour at times. Mixed in all, only taking hold in certain spots at the sides, he looked older than he was, and in the sun, they almost took on a grey appearance. She had never seen anyone before who had hair like that. The soft green eyes of the little girl fell into the pale blue of the young man above.
Before any answer would come, the mud-ridden child arose from the ground. Tristyn moved forward and grabbed the premature hand that nearly recoiled away, pulling Amelia to her feet in one motion. The back of the long, creamy white dress was caked in mud, flowing down to her legs, the wetness clipping her lower calves, leaving thin lines of dirt.
She wiped her small hands along her legs, creating thin streaks of dark brown lines from her fingers.
Tristyn: It's good that you are okay! Oh that, (pausing.) It's nothing, just the hens in the stable being rowdy. (pulling his hands away, placing them to his side.) You know what happens when you close your eyes, Lady Amelia? You either fall over or get lost. Luckily, this time it's the first. (joking.) When you hide, it's a nightmare to try to find you. You get into some hard-to-reach places. (smiling.)
Amelia: (Turning and grabbing the rear of her dress.) It's a mess! Louvan won't be happy. (looking down in defeat.) Hmm, I hate white; why doesn't my mother get me brown dresses? No one would ever know! (grinning.) Also, when you aren't in the manor, you can call me Amelia, you know. I don't care what my father says! (questioning look.) Don't mock my size. (turning away, folding her arms.) I will never be beaten at lost and found! (bobbing her tongue out.)
Tristyn: No, she won't. (folding his arms in a playful manner.) But… (pausing.) What's done is done. (looking at the dirt patch.) Louvan will understand; she always does, as you are always getting into messes, so it's the norm now. (smiling.) If you were to go around in brown, people might call you Mudelia! (turning his head and giggling.)
Amelia: (pouting) Tristyn! It's Amelia (screeching). You make me sound like a mud monster! (REEEEEEEEE.)
Tristyn: You already look like one; don't start acting like one, or else it will stick! (playfully joking.)
Two hands went up in front of him in defence of the onslaught on his ears, suing for peace.
Tristyn: Okay, okay... I'm sorry. (putting his right hand on her head.) You are more like a mudmaid with that shriek of yours! (smirking.)
The onslaught began once more from the little mudelia mudmaid; she began to imitate a beast with her hands, and laughter erupted between them as they fell back against the broken wall, gripping their sides.
At the end of it, another question was asked after the laughter had faded.
Amelia: I haven't seen you all that much, not since the graveyard. (looking away.) Father said you needed to join the church to repent. I wanted to catch you out here to see if you wanted to play lost and found, it has been too long. (wondering look.)
The mood between them changed—not the joyful atmosphere from a moment ago, but one of the past; no answer came from the young boy, only movements.
Amelia: Please don't look sad, Tristyn (looking at Tristyn's legs). I'm sorry for what happened at the graveyard. It was Rubern's fault for pushing me; it was all his fault! I never wanted you to get the blame. If you weren't there, I would have... (looking back at Tristyn.)
Something changed within him, his eyes going blank, only looking ahead.
Tristyn: (standing up, wiping his hands onto his trousers.) You're safe now; there's no need to cry over spilled milk. (sighing) I need to clean up before I help Louvan later with the nightly supper. (turning in the direction of his shack.) Please head back inside and clean up; Louvan will understand, and don't fall into mud piles again, lady Mudelia. (giving a half-broken smile.)
Amelia watched as the young man walked away, knowing the words at the end were forced from him.
The shape of the young man disappeared down the steps ahead, and Amelia began to move herself. She was standing now, grabbing onto the edges of her dress.
Amelia: Louvan is going to kill me. (looking sad.)
Then a soft voice came from behind her.
Unknown voice: I can play with you if you want. Come, follow me. (He began to move.)
Amelia turned to face the voice. By the broken wall, a small child, around her own age of thirteen, was looking at her. She had never seen him before; he turned and ran into the forest.
Unknown voice: Catch me if you can! (fading away.)
Amelia: No, wait, don't go into the forest! (shouting.)
The little boy ran off, and Amelia was behind, still shouting for him to stop, not listening to the shouts of Amelia, pleading for him to stop, but someone else could hear them from afar.