It did not take me long to find Myth. She was sitting on the edge of a bluff that hung over the lake about fifteen feet above the water.
“Hey, you,” said Myth as I sat beside her. “Did you sleep well?”
Nodding my head, I said, “Yes. I feel so much better.”
Breathing deeply, I gazed at the landscape. The lake sparkled as flecks of sunlight danced upon its rippling surface. Trees crowded the shoreline as if they wished to glimpse their reflections in the water. A nearby brook babbled as it dashed merrily into the lake. Overhead, a few fat, jolly-looking clouds floated lazily through the sky.
“It’s so beautiful here,” I said quietly.
“Mmm,” uttered Myth, nodding her head. “Peaceful, too.” She scrunched up her face and thought for a moment. “Serene—yeah, that’s the word.”
Surrounded by that breathtaking scenery, we hushed our voices. We were content merely to be there together. I like to think that we had a silent conversation…
Buster, have you ever met someone with whom you can spend time without needing to speak? That’s who Myth had become to me. I enjoyed talking with Myth, of course. But those moments of silence we shared together—well, I cherished them. Around most people, I just had to speak. If I stayed silent for too long, I would begin to feel anxious. So I would drive away my uneasiness by prattling on and on. But I never felt that way around Myth. Before I met her, I had never realized that you could learn a lot about a person without using words…
By and by, Myth pointed at a small meadow nestling beside the brook. “I think I’ll build the cottage right there.”
“Are you planning on settling down?” I asked her.
“It’s not for me,” replied Myth. She paused and brushed that stand of hair off her forehead…
Do you remember that strand of hair, Buster? No? Well, I am certain I have mentioned it. Myth kept her hair tied in a ponytail except for one strand that kept getting in her way. Even though that strand of hair was annoying, she always left it out of her ponytail… Huh! I just realized that I never asked her why. I will have to ask her about that when I find her.
Anyway…
“It’s for my parents,” said Myth. She closed her eyes and chuckled. “They’ve always talked about leaving the City Proper and settling down in a peaceful spot just like this. Dad even bought a goat once so he could learn the basics of goat husbandry. Keeping a goat in the house wasn’t the best idea. What the goat didn’t eat or break, it… let’s just say the goat wasn’t fussy about where it went to the bathroom. Dad still refers to it as ‘that foul, devil creature.’ ”
Giggling, I said, “Write them. Tell them that you found the perfect spot for their cottage.”
Myth hung her head and sighed. “They’ll never leave the City Proper. All the commotion and the crowds in the Elvenhome are too important to them. Leaving that behind would be a disaster. With no one else around, every little thing that Mom did would annoy Dad, and vice versa.”
Pausing, Myth chuckled. “Dad would probably start calling Mom ‘that foul, devil woman.’ ”
Myth sighed again. “Their cottage is a dream they share; it draws them closer together. I think they need that—a shared fantasy.”
I rubbed her arm. “You miss them terribly, don’t you?”
Myth nodded as she sighed yet again.
“Write them,” I told her. “I bet that would cheer you up.”
“I can’t, Iz,” replied Myth, her voice quavering. “What if Lord Falkirk intercepted the letter? What if he hurt my parents in order to find me?”
Myth wiped her eyes. “No, it’s safer if they don’t hear from me.”
Myth had told me why she had left Dawn. But she had never mentioned how much she was missing her parents. And to be honest, I had never given it a thought until right then. I had assumed that she missed her parents like how I missed Auntie Julie: I missed my auntie, but not seeing her did not depress me. I should have known better. Because I wrote to Auntie all the time—although far away, she was still a part of my life. But Myth had had no contact with her parents in months. I cannot imagine how awful that had to be for her.
Maybe, I thought, talking about her parents will cheer her up. Their dream cottage is certainly a happy memory for her.
“You know,” I said, “it’s strange, but we’ve never really talked about our families. I’d love to hear about your parents.”
Myth remained silent for a moment, but her face slowly brightened. “Well, my dad is a typical dad,” she said, chuckling. “He’s always called me, ‘my girl.’ And he’s very protective of his girl, especially when it comes to boys. He’d glower at every boy who passed our house. Sometimes he’d even pick up a broom or some other instrument that he could use to bludgeon those ‘foul, devil boys.’ His warning was clear: try any funny business with my girl, and you’ll suffer. I swear some nights he’d prowl around the house, making certain that no boys were lurking about.”
Giggling, I asked, “And were boys a big problem for you?”
“Nah,” said Myth. “I took care of that years ago, back when I was eight. One day in the Faerie Square, Owein, my friend Olwen’s twin brother, ran up behind me and yanked my ponytail. I turned around and smacked him hard in the mouth, knocking one of his baby teeth out. Owein teetered a moment, then he dropped to the ground. His head smashed against a rock and he blacked out.
“Olwen rushed over to me and explained that, ‘when a boy pulls your hair, it means he likes you.’ Well! I became livid when I learned Owein was being fresh with me. I started kicking him—again and again until Olwen and some the others finally pulled me away.”
“Poor Owein,” I sputtered, giggling madly.
“He shouldn’t have yanked my ponytail,” replied Myth. “Anyway, I’ve always been tall. Even as a girl, I was taller than just about every boy. And that intimidated them. So after what happened to Owein, boys prudently decided that being fresh with the tall girl was a health hazard.
“But I never told Dad that I could handle boys. He considered it his sacred duty to protect his girl. I couldn’t take that away from him; he would’ve been devastated. Besides, I liked having Dad watch out for me—I’m his girl and that means I’m special.”
“It sounds like the two of you are close,” I said.
“Yeah,” said Myth, nodding her head slightly.
“What about your mom? Are you close to her, too?”
“Yeah,” said Myth as she brushed that strand of hair off her forehead. “Mom—she’s special. She has this… aura of calmness about her. I don’t think she’s ever raised her voice at me, not even when I was being a brat. She’d just sit down and talk with me—talk and listen. And somehow, by the end of the conversation, everything she’d said would just make sense.
“Everyone in the Elvenhome trusts her. All our neighbors come to her when they have a problem. And Mom calmly goes about helping them. It’s taken for granted that she’ll become an Elder one day. She’s basically one now. But traditionally, Elders are old. So she won’t officially be called an Elder until she’s at least one hundred and thirty years old. Seems silly, but that’s—”
“I’m sorry for interrupting,” I cut in, “but I’ve always been curious about that. So, elves live longer than humans…”
Myth nodded. “Yeah. We usually live for one hundred and fifty years or so.”
“But,” I said, “we’re the same age. And our bodies have, um, matured the same. So what gives?”
“Why am I not a child still? Is that what you’re asking?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“I asked Mom about that once when we were having one of those ‘your body and you’ conversations,” said Myth. She looked at me. “Do you know what conversations I’m talking about?”
I nodded my head. Auntie Julie and I had engaged in those conversations, too.
“Well, Mom told me that elves and humans mature at the same rate during childhood and adolescence,” Myth explained. “But once elves reach adulthood, we age much more slowly than you humans do.”
“So,” I said, “when I’m really old, like eighty…”
“I’ll just be turning middle-aged,” Myth finished my sentence.
“Oh!” I exclaimed as I folded my arms and pouted. “That’s so unfair.”
Myth smiled at me. Teasingly, she said, “It’ll be hard to follow me around when you’re using a cane, won’t it?”
Frowning, I slapped her arm. “You don’t have to rub it in my face, Missy. You’ll get to live twice as long as me and have twice as much fun. That stinks!”
“I don’t know,” said Myth, shaking her head. “I’ve always thought it was really unfair that my childhood didn’t last longer. It would’ve been nice to be a kid for twenty years or so.”
“Yes,” I replied. “That does sound like fun.” I smiled at her. “But then you wouldn’t have met me.”
Myth gasped. “Life without Izzy MacDonald—that sounds dreadful.” She rested her forehead upon my shoulder and moaned, “My life would be so dull.”
“Exactly!” I exclaimed. “So consider yourself lucky, Missy. No more moping about missing out on a longer childhood.”
Myth sat upright again. “Hmm,” she uttered. “You’re right. Having a teeny-tiny human named Izzy Mac—”
“Teeny-tiny!” I slapped her arm playfully again. “I’m a perfectly normal height, thank you very much. And that’s the last time I’m going to remind you of that.”
“My apologies,” replied Myth as she bowed her head to me. “As I was saying, having a human named Izzy MacDonald—who, in her own mind, is a perfectly normal height—”
“That’s better,” I cut in.
“—follow me around,” Myth continued, “turned out to be a blessing I could not have foreseen.”
“And don’t forget it,” I said, my heart fluttering. Hearing Myth say that she enjoyed my company made me feel like the happiest woman in Nisse Cul Tairna….
I hope you get to feel like that one day, Buster. Well, not the woman part, since you are not a woman. But I do hope you feel that happy someday—everyone should.
Anyway…
We quietened down, savoring another silent conversation.