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[Cricket]

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I remember the first time I venture out from my home.

Always I went on the close journey with my sister or grandfather, so many chores we have for the farm. Somtimes, we gather the wood, find the mineral to make the metal, or gather the herb and regent. So much we have to do to survive. Living on the the Loch Lake, in the land of the bloodname, across from the village of Cove, though so wonderful a place to live, has many hazard.

One morning I put on my sisters red cloak, and went out the gate from our home. Breakfast was in the air, and I felt safe going not so far. I walk to the water, finding this or that caught my eye. Before I knew it, I was somewhat far from our home. I could still see it in the distant, but never alone had I ventured so much on my own. I smiled, delighted in my bravery.

I peered across the lake. The mountain surrounding Cove seem massive even from here. Many times I sail there with my grandfather, mining along the bank by our ship, The Black Pearl. I had always thought that this was our land. We had worked it all my life, and there life before. Yet, it was not ours. Somewhere, deep inside me, as I look now across the lake to those far mountains, I realize this, more than ever. It was not ours.

Even now, if I close the eyes, I can smell the momente. Britain swamp, not so far away to the north and east as the crow does fly. I smile, remembering my grandfather would always say that. I can only ask myself, "How does the crow fly?"

I remember sitting upon my knee, and forward as I did so, seeing for the first time my face in the waters of the Lake. I had seen myself before, and yet, it was now different. I had seen my face glimmer faintly in the forged metal of the sword my grandfather made with his hands and sweat in the late afternoon, but only a slightly. That was me. My hair was black. this I could see. I remember by the fire in our home, listening to my older sister tell us the story, being frightened, or excited, or enamoured...and once coming close to her. In her bright eye, I could see myself. That was my face. That was me. On the day when the raider burn the homes nearby, and only the bravest of men stood, I remember the war horse stand near the crop where I hide. In the metal plate of the rider's leg I could see for the first time that I was small. Now, looking upon myself in the lake, I was not small. I felt so much more, as if seeing myself for the first time in my life, and for the first time in my life, as I look more closely, even more closely at the reflectione in the water of Loch Lake, I see that my eyes are grey.

I had heard my mother tell me my eyes are grey. I knew the colore grey. I had heard my sisters tell me my eye were grey. Yet, without the mirror, the luxury of those so distant from our living, what is grey. If I had no sight, as if the blind man, would I know grey if they told me still? Lost in such reverie, I forgot where I was for the momente. This is the Loch Lake, in the land of the bloodnames, by the swamp of Britain. It was no place to lose myself, even for so short a time. Always, always, I was taught, to be ready.

I quietly raise myself with my hands to my knees. I did not remember that lesson I was always taught. My eyes peered across the lake, fixed upon the high mountain above Cove. It is not that they were so beautiful that snare my attentions. No, for instead, it was for reason that I knew I had forgotten the rule. In the corner of my eye, only the length of a spear away, stood on all fours, a large, quiet, white wolf. Even had I wish to move, perhaps scream, I could not. My breath was silente, though my heart was racing. I was frozen. Not even with my eyes would I turn to look at him. Without care it was, that I simply continue staring out across the lake, seeing in the distant the faint, shimmering blue of the water element, or the rising and sinking back of the serpent swimming about the territory of the Dark Order. I felt deep within my bones the most penetrating of fear.

I bowed my hear. Lesson? Who knows. I slowly rose to my feet within my sisters large cape, ever so slowly. As I stood tall, I began to raise my arm above my head, as if attempting to reach the very bright spring sky above. Then, when I could reach no further, I turn myself slowly to face the creature. Only then did I realize I had not taken a breath, and I could feel my cheek puff out, my lung hurting for desire to breath. How I must look, not menacing, towering, but the fool, dress in red, with arms above the head, face so pink and cheek so puff, eyes bulging for lack of the oxygen. White wolf kill me now so I may breath one last!

He did not. He turned away. Still, I stood, holding the breath, holding up the arm. I feared now not the wolf, but that letting out the air I hold would make the sound that even the creature from the swamp could hear, or even the bandit. Then, after a few steps toward the swamp and away from the lake, the white wolf stopped. He did not turn around, but his head came about, to cast a look over his shoulder at me. What sight I must have presented. Standing in the red cloak, with the cheeks puffed out, holding the breath, my hair the mess, my eyes grey and bulging, and my arms high above my head. I could read in his brown eyes, even from here, that he, even as animal, can have sympathy. Well, that, or maybe he was not hungry, or both.

As he disappeared into the swamp, I gasp. I soon cover my mouth, frightened. Both ways I turn the head quickly to see if I was heard, but no one came near. Only in the distant I hear the cackle of gargoyle, but nothing more.

I then run to the edge of the swamp, wanting to see the white wolf yet again. Only the slithering of the snake, the crawling of alligator, and the moan of the beast could I hear or see. The white wolf was gone.

I walked slowly home. On my first day out from our home, where always I had lived in security and comfort, I learn that my eyes are grey. That I am brave, though perhaps the fool, and that I have some special attraction from the beast. I was not born to be just the herder.

On this day, one year ago, I remember this.

[Cricket]

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On the second day of my leaving my home, I wander toward Britain swamp careful not to disturb the attention of the many beast that threaten within this place. Soon, I discover I have travelled so far from home, and not even the waves of the Loch Lake can I hear beating against the shore.

From the day before is still the memory of the cackling in the distant. I so much want to discover the origin of this laughter. Before long I have the answer, and I lay on my stomach to await the approach of this disturbance.

Peering from behind the bush, I lay still, quiet, breathing ever so lightly, as before me comes the disturbance. It is the gargoyle, tall, naked, and so gay in his prance about the forest. I was at first frightened, so horrible the tales had I heard about the creature. I did not move at all, remaining so quiet and still, as if the very ground below me swallow me whole. I was as the grass about me.

He looked my way, and I believed he saw, looking my way. His head turn this way, and his eyes look upon my direction. Yet he did not move or act, not did I. He sniffed upon the air, as if sensing something was not where it should be. Yet, he did not act. Only he looked again in my direction. I wanted to tremble, but dare not, believing even this would bring to me his attentions.

For a moment I close my eyes. When I open them again slowly, I saw him still in the clearing before me, staring. He grumbled, then looked away. Only then did I realize, why.

Beside me was the white wolf. As yesterday, I did not turn. I saw him in the corner of my eye, and dare not move. The wolf, sitting on the back leg, had drawn the gaze of the gargoyle, his smell and sight covering me. Unmoving, the wolf but stare at the gargoyle, as if in solemn challenge, as if to say, "...this is my place. Come get it if you will. Or leave in peace instead so that both may live." With that the gargoyle prance away, laughing, flapping the wing, and enjoying his forest.

The wolf then stroll away, without regard to me. I did not follow, let alone leave my place of safety and comfort upon the ground. So sheltered did I feel even here, as if home. Perhaps, in fear and confusion, I was frozen and unable to move. I am not sure.

All that I do know, is here in this place, north and west of the swamp of Britain, I left home for the second time. Here, along the forests and its creatures, I was slowly discovering myself as possessing courage. For courage is not, as my father says, without cost. You are courageous when you do something that you would normally not do under other circumstance, when something tells you it is safer to do otherwise. Also, I learn something about the creatures of the forests. Only in fear, do we fear them. That is to say, not knowing them, are they to be threatening. For the gargoyle, though the story is so terrifying in my childhood, dances among the forest trees, as if to his own song. He is naked, with wing, and seemingly so happy. What is it of this beast that posseses us with loathing and terror. What it must be, the life, to be like the gargoyle, dancing naked, with wings to fly, laughing about the day, to his own song, caring not for what most of the people so often worry.

Also, I am left still, to this day, wondering of the white wolf, and his second coming to my place in the forest. Indeed, he did save me. Surely, had he not come, covering with his sight as he sat beside my place in the bramble, marking my place with his own scent on the wind, I would have had the most horrible of experience on my second day away from my home. Without the slightest regard, caring not about the other creatures seemingly so menacing, he stood his ground, assisting the other, who so easily he could have forsaken and pass by.

In this spirit, I Cricket, decided that one day, if ever I was powerful, I would act the same. It was a child's wish, for on that second day, I was not strong, and I could not help anyone. Or so I believed. The white wolf, though not as powerful as the gargoyle, perhaps, showed me that no matter what your place in the life, you can reach above and beyond that which you are and care for the other, even as the poorest of man or woman, can still help even the more poor.

On my second day from the home, I learn this. Since my second day from the home, I cherish this. On this day, I remember.
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