Chris left for his work early the next morning.
"Make yourself at home," he said. "I'll be back before noon."
The house went quiet. Sunlight crept across the wooden floor.
Vyvian wandered to the shelf by the window. A worn diary lay between two polished stones.
He only meant to look at the first page.
A funny song by Chris
Foggy days and foggy night,
and barely any light.
There is one that none can face,
one no one dares to fight.
A pulse so fierce it shook the light,
it is all that ever was,
all that is, and all to be.
It swallows, thinks, and bends,
and steals what it can see.
And though it seems a thing to fear,
it breathes, and what breathes, eats.
So what awoke the might
that feasts on light?
Hear the song of teeth and bone,
of wings and tail, and tail and wings.
A boy once dreamed, and slithered on,
for he never knew he had wings.
Poor boy, he had bug wings.
What could bug wings ever lift?
They could not bear the weight.
He smiled, he cried, he laughed, he sang,
he smiled, he cried, he rejoiced.
Then one day he saw.
Then one day he knew.
He smiled, he cried, he laughed, he sang,
he smiled, he cried, he rejoiced.
But oh, poor boy, to know is not to save.
What can a boy with bug wings do?
Will he slither his way out?
He smiled, he cried, he laughed, he sang,
he smiled, he cried, he rejoiced.
Poor boy flapped his frail wings,
and a gift came down to him,
a gift from EVERYTHING itself.
But every gift has a cost.
The gift knew what stained his hands
before he ever flapped.
He had played in mud,
and mud is dirty,
and it stained him through and through.
Mud so old will not wash out.
So the boy peeled off his skin,
for the dirt would not come clean.
Then he took the gift,
and the gift was glad.
That is how the boy killed three frogs.
Frogs are big, and frogs eat bugs
with long and sticky tongues.
Then came the king of frogs.
He ate the three to make him strong,
and he gained the might to eat the light.
And that is why come foggy days
and foggy night.
-------
Vyvian read it once, then laughed out loud.
"Bug wings," he muttered. "What kind of song is this?"
Footsteps sounded on the porch.
He closed the diary, slid it back between the stones, and sat down like nothing had happened.
"Ready?" Chris asked, stepping inside. "I promised you a tour."
They walked out together.
Willow looked different in daylight. Sunlight fell through the giant leaves in thin gold strips. Wooden walkways wound between the roots. Lanterns swayed softly on the low branches.
Nobody shouted.
An old man fed birds on his doorstep. A woman swept her porch in slow, even strokes. Two children whispered to each other and waved at Chris as he passed.
Vyvian slowed down.
"Is it always this quiet?"
"Always," Chris said. "Nobody here is in a hurry."
Vyvian looked up at the trees. They were so tall that he couldn't see where they ended.
It reminded him of Rivera in the early mornings. Before the market and before the voices.
He looked away.
"It's peaceful," he said.
"That's why I stay."
They walked on past the shops and the bridges. Chris pointed out a bakery, a well, and a tree with a door carved into its trunk.
Then, without turning his head, he asked, "Did you touch my diary?"
Vyvian stopped.
He could have lied. He had lied before, about traveling alone. It would have been easy.
"Yes," he said.
Chris glanced at him.
"I read a song," Vyvian continued. "The one called 'A funny song.'"
"And?"
"It was funny."
Chris laughed. It was a clear, easy laugh that echoed between the trunks.
"I know. I saw you reading it through the window before I came in."
Vyvian blinked. "You saw me?"
"You were laughing. I didn't want to interrupt."
"You aren't angry?"
"Why would I be?" Chris shrugged. "It isn't really my diary anyway."
Vyvian opened his mouth to ask what that meant.
Chris was already walking again.
Vyvian let it go.
At the end of the main walkway, a cart had stopped near the village well. A merchant stood beside it, weighing coins on a small brass scale.
"A visitor," Chris said. "Perfect timing."
He pulled a small pouch from his coat and tipped a few pieces of raw gold into his palm. The merchant looked them over, tested one between his teeth, and nodded.
They bargained for a few minutes. The merchant raised his offer once. Chris smiled and accepted.
Coins changed hands.
"That should cover a few weeks," Chris said, tucking the pouch away.
Vyvian watched the cart roll out of the village.
For a moment, he forgot about the locket in his cloak.
For a moment, he forgot about the road.
Then the feeling passed, and he followed Chris back toward the trees.