Kells

~ This is technically a fanfiction. Now before you judge me please watch the movie The Secret of Kells. I promise you will understand why I felt the need to write something about it. ~

We travelled far into the forest, farther than we ever have before, using only the flowers and faeries as our guides. Trees surrounded each foot step and leaves shifted with our every breath. It began at the edge of the treeline, just outside of the great wall. She met me there, white hair flowing behind her; green eyes taking care whilst intruding on my thoughts. The cape I brought offered little protection from the cold of the morning, and the dew lapped at my ankles through the leather shoes that hugged my feet. Wool socks were just enough to keep out the chill. My pockets hung low with a loaf of bread, palm sized woven sacks, twine, quills, and jars for collecting. These would get heavier with time, but I did not mind. She called me forward, and I followed with eager curiosity. Intense as the sun grew, we did not slow down, not for a second. Though neither of us carried blades, we were always ready for the fight that would never come.

The sun grew higher yet neither of us ate. We flew high above the trees, her song carrying out over the canopy and through the ears of the birds and the deer and the wolves. They would not bother me—would not bother her for she was one of them. Her white coat warned them of the power with which she could undo them one by one. Glowing red was no match for the terrifying blue-green stones inlaid into a centuries old face. She was the rocks on which we sat, the branches on which we climbed, and every mouse that passed under the brush without us knowing. A nymph never-ceasing with life, teeming with wonder and an ancient darkness contained deep within the paper white of her human-looking flesh. She would never share these secrets with me directly, but the chalky visions were enough. 

The mazes lasted forever; continuing down and down and down through the layers of her being. Each level was an entire life, all contained in the eyes that led to everywhere and nowhere all at once. She was still young—most of her kind were old by now—and her forest was a mere child, learning and failing and growing as she did. As I did. They say that youth clouds judgement but adulthood clouds creativity just as much. It fogs the mind with inky plans on walls and does not allow the thinnest thread to pass through. The young let the writings be completed without the limitations of apprehension. Yes, we have those feelings too, but they are mitigated by the incessant need to always climb higher. She and I did just that.

The pages that fill the books only tell fractions of the stories that she collected. Now they have vanished as her silver hair once did; disappeared into the neverending tales that parents tell their children. Tales of the girl with the white coat and the books and the berries and a tiny white cat.