It was as if the happy sound drew Orchid in from the dark, her wings’ clattering lost in the clack of the wheels as the pixy vaulted into the shadowed roof slats, hiding. Kal turned away from the door, his worry gone as he made his steady way back to his corner.
“Princess April liked to ride her magical horse in the woods,” Trisk said, her arms feeling more natural as they curved around the little girl. “She liked to ride in the spring, when the trees sent their tiny flowers out to test the air before the leaves dared show. She liked to ride in the summer, when the insects sang and the wind whispered secrets to the leaves. And she liked to ride in the winter, when the snow made the world into a pristine black and white and she could go for hours without seeing anyone but a sly white fox and her friend, the otter.”
Her eyes half-lidded, April sighed, content as she galloped her unicorn down Trisk’s arm.
“But Princess April’s favorite time to ride was the fall, when the dry leaves coated the ground in a wash of gold to make the world look upside down, and the squirrels hid the falling acorns as if they were the trees’ whispered secrets and hopes made real.”
Even the boys had quieted, and no one but Trisk and Kal saw the faint slip of silver dust drifting down from the roof.
“Princess April lived with a nice family who looked nothing like her,” Trisk said, and April twisted in her lap, looking up at her.
“Why not?”
“Because her mother and father had found Princess April in that very same woods. And because they loved her more than the child they couldn’t have, they built a little house among the trees and raised her as their own. They even taught her how to use her great and awful gift so it would never hurt anyone, and she was happy, and they loved her.”
April’s eyes widened at the thought that a girl, a princess even, had a power that no one else did. “What was it?” she whispered, lisping slightly.
Trisk leaned closer, whispering, “She could start a fire with her hands.”
From his corner, Kal snickered, guessing correctly that the girl in the story was an elf or witch. “No matches?” April asked, her eyes even wider.
“No matches,” Trisk echoed. “No lighter, nothing. Just by wishing it. Everything was beautiful in April’s world, and she grew up to be a beautiful woman. Her horse carried her far and wide, and she met other people, far away from the tiny house in the woods, but she always came back to be with her mother and father and her friends.
“Until,” Trisk said dramatically, “one day, a prince from a far-off city heard of her. He came to see her on a big black horse whose hooves were shod with metal.” April shivered in her arms, imagining it. “His horse’s nostrils flared when he was angry, and his ears? His ears showed his mood, which was mostly bad, so they lay flat against his head.”
April clutched her glass unicorn to her. “Did he hurt April’s horse?” she asked.
Trisk shook her head, and even the boys at the fire relaxed. “No. Princess April wouldn’t let him, but the prince wanted her to come with him. He gave her presents, and food, and kittens. And when she still refused to leave her house in the woods, he got angry and cut them down.”
“No!” April cried, horrified.
“He did.” Trisk held her closer, her heart breaking at the little girl’s blisters, easy to see now on her neck. “He cut down the woods to the last tree. Right to the ground for miles and miles. Even the two old oaks in her backyard. And then he stole her away while she wept.”
The two boys had crept closer, even their incessant jostling ceasing. “What did she do?” one asked, and Trisk arched her eyebrows wisely.
“Princess April waited until the prince took her back to his city, and then she used her great and terrible gift to burn his city to the ground. Prince and all.”
Kal grunted in surprise from his corner, but Daniel was grinning as he unpacked another box for the paper to keep the fire going, throwing the useless glass out the door.
“What about the people?” April asked, and Trisk rocked her gently.
“The people ran away. Far, far away and never came back.”
“Did she go home?” April asked next, her eyes on her unicorn.
“She did,” Trisk said, and April sighed, happy. “It took a long time because her horse was lame, but yes. April went home to find that her parents were gone along with the trees. There were no leaves whispering secrets, no squirrels hiding acorns, no sly fox to teach her sly wisdom, and even her otter friend was gone.”
Lips pressed in disapproval, April ran her unicorn a prancing path down Trisk’s arm.
“That’s a dumb story,” one of the boys said, and Kal grunted his agreement.
“It’s not over,” Trisk said tartly. “Princess April searched her backyard and found enough acorns to fill a basket. She took those acorns and planted one at the base of every broken stump, hoping that when they were again tall and strong, her parents would return.” Trisk took a slow breath, loath to let April go. “And that is the end.”
“That’s sad,” April said, her high voice clear with the truth of it.