back, grinning.
One of the boys called out, “Come on, MacDonnell. We’re going fishing.”
Andrew shook his head, leaving his shovel with the other tools by the door. He could imagine the stream by his house, sparkling with sunlight, the trout rising like bubbles to the bait. It would be a fine day to fish. But not for him. He was tired. He’d been up most of the night, his sleep broken by dreams.
He always dreamed, but some nights the dreams were more vivid than others. This time he’d seen the girl again. She was in a meadow, her long brown hair falling in a veil over her face as she reached down and plucked a handful of wildflowers. When she rose, he could see how she was growing, how the oft-mended dress she wore was beginning to pull tighter around her chest and hips, though shewas still slender. As if she could feel his gaze, she glanced at him and smiled. It was a gentle smile of contentment, and he wished he could have taken the flowers she held out for him. He’d seen her in his dreams for as long as he could remember, felt as if he knew her, but he’d never seen her as clearly as he had that night.
“I’ve things to do,” he called to the boys, thinking only that he wanted to lie in the heather and catch up on his sleep. “Tomorrow, aye?”
The boys nodded and ran off, cheerfully tossing insults back and forth between them. Andrew turned in the other direction, knowing exactly where he wanted to go. He’d gone there before, when he’d wanted to be alone. Beyond the castle wall, down the windy slope, then past a jagged wall of rocks. Once he’d scrabbled over them, he found himself in a clearing and stepped into waist-high grass, dotted with small patches of heather. It was a beautiful place, alive with butterflies.
In the centre of the meadow Andrew sank into purple blooms, sitting so the flowers were even with the top of his cap. He felt safe, hidden away from prying eyes. With a sigh, he lay back, linking his fingers behind his head for a pillow.
The sky was so blue Andrew didn’t want to close his eyes. A solitary cloud puffed into view, wispy and disintegrating as he watched. He wondered what it might feel like to touch it. Would it be soft to sleep in? Would it be warm? He blinked, then let his heavy eyelids close, still seeing the sun’s red glow. He rolled to his side and curled into a ball. The soft, sweet scent of heather tickled his nose, and he fell asleep.
His rest wasn’t deep. It rose and fell with the motion of his dreams. The girl materialised while he slept, one moment distant, the next an arm’s length away.
“Who are you?” he asked, wondering if she could hear him. Thegirl said nothing, only curled her lips into a smile. A little girl’s smile, like that of any other little girl he’d ever seen. Except this one was only for Andrew, and he knew it. He grinned back, and his hand felt warm, as if she’d entwined her fingers with his. In the way that dreams are, they walked through the meadow, though it wasn’t thick with heather anymore. She led him through a place where there were no purple blooms, only sun-baked yellow grass.
The sound of a bird calling from nearby startled him awake and he sat up, rubbing his fists over his eyes. How long had he slept? Maybe an hour? The sun hadn’t moved far. Long enough that he felt refreshed. He always felt more energised after he’d seen her. He pushed to his feet, suddenly hungry, and waded out of the meadow, disappearing into the trees on his way home. The dream had ended, but he held her face in his memory. He carried her smile along the path to his home, kicked pebbles aside and hopped over sprawling oak roots. Who was she? Did it matter? She was his secret, and that was the most important thing.
He stopped in the path and slid off a shoe, shaking out a tiny pebble. A rustling in the bushes had him turning to check, but there was nothing there. He slid the shoe back on, wiggled his foot to make sure it was all cleaned
One of the boys called out, “Come on, MacDonnell. We’re going fishing.”
Andrew shook his head, leaving his shovel with the other tools by the door. He could imagine the stream by his house, sparkling with sunlight, the trout rising like bubbles to the bait. It would be a fine day to fish. But not for him. He was tired. He’d been up most of the night, his sleep broken by dreams.
He always dreamed, but some nights the dreams were more vivid than others. This time he’d seen the girl again. She was in a meadow, her long brown hair falling in a veil over her face as she reached down and plucked a handful of wildflowers. When she rose, he could see how she was growing, how the oft-mended dress she wore was beginning to pull tighter around her chest and hips, though shewas still slender. As if she could feel his gaze, she glanced at him and smiled. It was a gentle smile of contentment, and he wished he could have taken the flowers she held out for him. He’d seen her in his dreams for as long as he could remember, felt as if he knew her, but he’d never seen her as clearly as he had that night.
“I’ve things to do,” he called to the boys, thinking only that he wanted to lie in the heather and catch up on his sleep. “Tomorrow, aye?”
The boys nodded and ran off, cheerfully tossing insults back and forth between them. Andrew turned in the other direction, knowing exactly where he wanted to go. He’d gone there before, when he’d wanted to be alone. Beyond the castle wall, down the windy slope, then past a jagged wall of rocks. Once he’d scrabbled over them, he found himself in a clearing and stepped into waist-high grass, dotted with small patches of heather. It was a beautiful place, alive with butterflies.
In the centre of the meadow Andrew sank into purple blooms, sitting so the flowers were even with the top of his cap. He felt safe, hidden away from prying eyes. With a sigh, he lay back, linking his fingers behind his head for a pillow.
The sky was so blue Andrew didn’t want to close his eyes. A solitary cloud puffed into view, wispy and disintegrating as he watched. He wondered what it might feel like to touch it. Would it be soft to sleep in? Would it be warm? He blinked, then let his heavy eyelids close, still seeing the sun’s red glow. He rolled to his side and curled into a ball. The soft, sweet scent of heather tickled his nose, and he fell asleep.
His rest wasn’t deep. It rose and fell with the motion of his dreams. The girl materialised while he slept, one moment distant, the next an arm’s length away.
“Who are you?” he asked, wondering if she could hear him. Thegirl said nothing, only curled her lips into a smile. A little girl’s smile, like that of any other little girl he’d ever seen. Except this one was only for Andrew, and he knew it. He grinned back, and his hand felt warm, as if she’d entwined her fingers with his. In the way that dreams are, they walked through the meadow, though it wasn’t thick with heather anymore. She led him through a place where there were no purple blooms, only sun-baked yellow grass.
The sound of a bird calling from nearby startled him awake and he sat up, rubbing his fists over his eyes. How long had he slept? Maybe an hour? The sun hadn’t moved far. Long enough that he felt refreshed. He always felt more energised after he’d seen her. He pushed to his feet, suddenly hungry, and waded out of the meadow, disappearing into the trees on his way home. The dream had ended, but he held her face in his memory. He carried her smile along the path to his home, kicked pebbles aside and hopped over sprawling oak roots. Who was she? Did it matter? She was his secret, and that was the most important thing.
He stopped in the path and slid off a shoe, shaking out a tiny pebble. A rustling in the bushes had him turning to check, but there was nothing there. He slid the shoe back on, wiggled his foot to make sure it was all cleaned
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