The Lily Pond
Nov. 3rd, 2006 12:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lesyeuxvertsTitle: The Lily Pond
Author: lesyeuxverts00
Word Count: 995
Rating: PG-13
Prompt:![[insanejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/ij-userinfo.gif)
omniocular November challenge, “The universe is full of magical things, patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper.” -- Eden Phillpotts
Warnings: Implied character death
Disclaimer: Not mine.
The pond froze early that year, before the water lilies died, and a solid sheet of ice covered the lilies and preserved them. Perfect and clear, the pond was free of the brown-green muck that clouded it during the summer. Luna skipped eight flat stones over the ice and watched the shadows move over the crystallized, trapped lily blossoms. The blue-winged dragonflies had disappeared with the advent of the first frost that morning, but the toads were hidden somewhere, she was sure of it.
The wind scuttled across her bare hands as she groped for pebbles hidden in the grass, grass that was still tall and green despite the frost. It was an unnatural winter, earlier than any that Luna remembered, with green leaves still clinging to the trees and the lilies still in bloom when the first frost wrapped the garden in a thick layer of silver. The world had gone quiet and cold with mourning, silencing the birds in the trees and trapping the lilies in the pond.
The frost on the grass melted at Luna's touch, the white-etched patterns disappearing under her fingertips and when she lifted her fingers to her mouth to taste the frost, it was gone. Finding another pebble, she turned back to the pond. Sunlight sparkled across the ice and lit up the frozen lilies, putting the outline of each petal in stark relief. Luna bent over the edge of the water, her reflection ghosting in the ice above the closest lilies. She jerked backwards when she heard her father call her name, and left the garden when he called her again.
Luna's fingers stung and turned red in the indoors warmth, her eyes watered and her breath disappeared. She closed her eyes and held the air in her lungs, counting.
Seven. "Hang up your …"
Twelve. "Have you heard a single …"
Seventeen. "If your mother were …"
She opened her eyes and let the air out of her lungs all at once. Her breath was gone, invisible. She looked up at her father's face, watched him bite his lip. The vertical wrinkle between his eyebrows had reappeared and there was a blotch of ink on his chin. "Come to the table, Luna."
She turned back toward the door and breathed a huge puff of air onto the cold window. Her breath was visible again, visible and real, a cloud of tiny ice crystals on the glass.
There was no talk of ice or toads or lilies at dinner. Luna's father set a thick stack of parchments to one side of his plate, ink and quill to the other side, and they ate in silence. Ink splattered from his quill onto the tablecloth and dripped on his fork. Luna counted six fat drops of black ink, irregular and wavy. She finished her meal, slipped away from the table and hurried back to the garden.
Luna put her hand on the ice, the shadow of her fingers outlining a lily petal. The heartbeat of the pond, stitched together from the sum of the heartbeats of everything living in it, must be deep and ponderous. Luna counted to sixty and felt no pulse, no vibration. The ice began to melt, the water was cold against her hand and she couldn't feel any sign of life in the pond.
A shadow fell on the ice, dark against the pale lilies. Luna turned to look at her father. He was holding a pair of white mittens and he bent to slip them on her hands, knelt with her at the edge of the pond. He held her hands, warming them through the wool.
"There are birds that hunt here in the summer, scooping up fish in their beaks and swallowing them whole. When they fly away, they carry the fish to the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, and spit out the fish for the Snorkacks to eat."
Her father's breath hung in the air, a million ice crystals. Luna reached out to catch his breath with her woolen mittens and it disappeared. She watched him and waited to see the next puff of visible breath.
There was silence for a moment and Luna turned to watch her reflection in the ice. "Mum said that there was no such …"
Her father put two fingers over her lips, shushing her. He took a wand out of his pocket. It was slim and dark, mahogany wood, and Luna remembered seeing it make graceful, delicate motions in her mother's hands. She remembered.
Luna's father pressed his fingers against her cheek and pointed the wand at the pond, melting a hole in the ice with a single word. He scooped out a lily and he shook the slush away before handing it to Luna. The remaining water clinging to the lily soaked through her mittens and dripped down her fingers. "Watch," he said.
Phantom images danced across the pond, unnatural and colorful. A bird swooped down to the hole in the ice and scooped up three fish before it flew away. There was a four-legged, feathered beast with a spiny tail, with crumpled horns on its head, and it accepted the mouthful of fish. Faint, bright drops of water splattered the air and hit the departing bird. "That's just …"
"It's magic," he said, "just like the house elves that make dinner and the way the frozen water preserves the lilies. Crumple-Horned Snorkacks are magic, Luna, and that's all there is to it. Your mother knew that."
Twilight deepened, cast shadows across the pond and the white lilies were masked, almost hidden in the darkness. The frozen crystals of their breaths hung in the air, mingled and dissipated.
The pond melted, the early winter slipping away from their garden. As the last of the ice disappeared, Luna felt a spark dance across her skin. "Not all magic is intentional or even visible," her father said.
Luna took off her mittens and bent down over the pond to scoop up a handful of lilies.
Author: lesyeuxverts00
Word Count: 995
Rating: PG-13
Prompt:
omniocular November challenge, “The universe is full of magical things, patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper.” -- Eden PhillpottsWarnings: Implied character death
Disclaimer: Not mine.
The pond froze early that year, before the water lilies died, and a solid sheet of ice covered the lilies and preserved them. Perfect and clear, the pond was free of the brown-green muck that clouded it during the summer. Luna skipped eight flat stones over the ice and watched the shadows move over the crystallized, trapped lily blossoms. The blue-winged dragonflies had disappeared with the advent of the first frost that morning, but the toads were hidden somewhere, she was sure of it.
The wind scuttled across her bare hands as she groped for pebbles hidden in the grass, grass that was still tall and green despite the frost. It was an unnatural winter, earlier than any that Luna remembered, with green leaves still clinging to the trees and the lilies still in bloom when the first frost wrapped the garden in a thick layer of silver. The world had gone quiet and cold with mourning, silencing the birds in the trees and trapping the lilies in the pond.
The frost on the grass melted at Luna's touch, the white-etched patterns disappearing under her fingertips and when she lifted her fingers to her mouth to taste the frost, it was gone. Finding another pebble, she turned back to the pond. Sunlight sparkled across the ice and lit up the frozen lilies, putting the outline of each petal in stark relief. Luna bent over the edge of the water, her reflection ghosting in the ice above the closest lilies. She jerked backwards when she heard her father call her name, and left the garden when he called her again.
Luna's fingers stung and turned red in the indoors warmth, her eyes watered and her breath disappeared. She closed her eyes and held the air in her lungs, counting.
Seven. "Hang up your …"
Twelve. "Have you heard a single …"
Seventeen. "If your mother were …"
She opened her eyes and let the air out of her lungs all at once. Her breath was gone, invisible. She looked up at her father's face, watched him bite his lip. The vertical wrinkle between his eyebrows had reappeared and there was a blotch of ink on his chin. "Come to the table, Luna."
She turned back toward the door and breathed a huge puff of air onto the cold window. Her breath was visible again, visible and real, a cloud of tiny ice crystals on the glass.
There was no talk of ice or toads or lilies at dinner. Luna's father set a thick stack of parchments to one side of his plate, ink and quill to the other side, and they ate in silence. Ink splattered from his quill onto the tablecloth and dripped on his fork. Luna counted six fat drops of black ink, irregular and wavy. She finished her meal, slipped away from the table and hurried back to the garden.
Luna put her hand on the ice, the shadow of her fingers outlining a lily petal. The heartbeat of the pond, stitched together from the sum of the heartbeats of everything living in it, must be deep and ponderous. Luna counted to sixty and felt no pulse, no vibration. The ice began to melt, the water was cold against her hand and she couldn't feel any sign of life in the pond.
A shadow fell on the ice, dark against the pale lilies. Luna turned to look at her father. He was holding a pair of white mittens and he bent to slip them on her hands, knelt with her at the edge of the pond. He held her hands, warming them through the wool.
"There are birds that hunt here in the summer, scooping up fish in their beaks and swallowing them whole. When they fly away, they carry the fish to the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, and spit out the fish for the Snorkacks to eat."
Her father's breath hung in the air, a million ice crystals. Luna reached out to catch his breath with her woolen mittens and it disappeared. She watched him and waited to see the next puff of visible breath.
There was silence for a moment and Luna turned to watch her reflection in the ice. "Mum said that there was no such …"
Her father put two fingers over her lips, shushing her. He took a wand out of his pocket. It was slim and dark, mahogany wood, and Luna remembered seeing it make graceful, delicate motions in her mother's hands. She remembered.
Luna's father pressed his fingers against her cheek and pointed the wand at the pond, melting a hole in the ice with a single word. He scooped out a lily and he shook the slush away before handing it to Luna. The remaining water clinging to the lily soaked through her mittens and dripped down her fingers. "Watch," he said.
Phantom images danced across the pond, unnatural and colorful. A bird swooped down to the hole in the ice and scooped up three fish before it flew away. There was a four-legged, feathered beast with a spiny tail, with crumpled horns on its head, and it accepted the mouthful of fish. Faint, bright drops of water splattered the air and hit the departing bird. "That's just …"
"It's magic," he said, "just like the house elves that make dinner and the way the frozen water preserves the lilies. Crumple-Horned Snorkacks are magic, Luna, and that's all there is to it. Your mother knew that."
Twilight deepened, cast shadows across the pond and the white lilies were masked, almost hidden in the darkness. The frozen crystals of their breaths hung in the air, mingled and dissipated.
The pond melted, the early winter slipping away from their garden. As the last of the ice disappeared, Luna felt a spark dance across her skin. "Not all magic is intentional or even visible," her father said.
Luna took off her mittens and bent down over the pond to scoop up a handful of lilies.
