The Tears of Aurora

The Tears and the Pouch

Aurora looked like a tiny fairy that the wind had carried overland. Light and agile, she never stumbled.

"Hang on tight, Igor! You're slipping!"

"If I'm slipping, frrt, it's because.... Oh! Don't stop so suddenly!"

She frowned slightly.

"I remember a detail about my dream last night."

"Well?"

Aurora did not answer. A little nothing would suffice to distract her, and an orange dragonfly with big yellow eyes was flying in front of her. The girl had a fascination for insects. She held out a finger so that the creature could sit there, then squinted at it while pursing her lips. She wanted to show it to Igor, but the dragonfly buzzed away.

"Well?" asked the ball of moss impatiently.

"Huh?"

"The detail about your dream, frrt!"

"Oh! Yeah! It's more like a feeling that I get... Of fear. Lots of fear. Do you think that might mean something?"

"Dreams always mean something, frrt. Being pursued by a predator, for example, means that we should turn on what terrifies us, frrt. But frankly, flying whales.... At least my dragons, they really fly. I feel so good when I'm with them, frrt. I feel the heat of their flames when the fire is smoldering in my chest, and my throat gets red and hot, and I'm almost exhaling that burning jet, frrt."

Aurora could have teased him by arguing that he was afraid of fire, but this time she heard him out to the end. She always ended up by letting him talk. He was so happy to tell his adventures, persuaded that he must have been a dragon in an earlier life.

Aurora adored her red shoes, but she much preferred walking barefoot, feeling the contact with grasses and rocks, the pressure of her weight against the ground. For her, going about in shoes was a little like wearing gloves, a useful accessory, but not indispensable, and which denied the body many, many sensations.

A blue butterfly with a red abdomen flew past her nose. She held out her finger. He landed on it and she very carefully placed him on her head. The insect made her hair move while gently beating his wings. Proud of her new hair ornament, she wondered how long it would be before he left. Nearing the forest, Aurora began to quietly sing to herself. And we become night time dreamers. And street walkers, small talkers. When we should be daydreamers. And moonwalkers and dream talkers.

"That's pretty, frrt. That's the first time I've heard you sing it. Did you just make it up?"

"Yes. It came to me while you were talking. You see, I do pay attention to what you say!"

"I'm sorry to have made fun of your nightmare, frrt. Seems like it's bothering you. Usually they don't bother you that much."

"Because they don't seem so real."

"You said it happened in Berg, right, frrt? If it's bothering you, then we should avoid that town for the time being. You hadn't thought about going there soon, had you?"

Aurora shook her head.

"Well then, everything is just fine, frrt."

She agreed; Igor was right. Still, she couldn't quite shake her disquiet. That fear, she still felt it, even if it was more diffuse. Something unfortunate was brewing.

Aurora reached the forest. She decided to start her walk in a place that she particularly liked. She sat down under a weeping willow, on a tree trunk covered in moss. A little stream ran near her feet. Aurora saw her reflection there and had a little start. The face paint that her sister had applied made her... fierce! She had fun making scary faces, squinting her eyes and showing her teeth. She saw the blue butterfly, still in her hair, and smiled. He made a subtle contrast to her face painted for war.