Wisp - A Scarecrow's Tale

Chapter 1 - The Scarecrow

It is said the Realm is made of stories, and this one begins with a scarecrow.

The scarecrow sat alone on top of a small hill overlooking a field of grain, the mismatched black buttons that were his eyes staring out over the amber stalks as they swayed in the wind. The sky remained ever at twilight and the distant light of the sun never dimmed or brightened, but this didn't bother the scarecrow. He simply sat on his hill lost in thought as time passed around him. So stuck was the scarecrow in his mental wanderings that he barely noticed an unusual rustling among the distant wheat just visible from his hilltop perch.

"Most likely a trick of the wind," he thought to himself, but before he could drift back into his prolonged ponder, he again caught sight of the strange rustle, this time just a little closer to Wander's hill. Curious, the scarecrow watched the odd rustling make its way through his field, slowly drawing nearer until finally a small dark figure stepped out from the stalks of grain.

Covered mostly by quilts of black and purple, the scarecrow's visitor was a centaur; her body from the waist down was that of a black-haired foal with a long white tail. She froze instantly at the sight of the scarecrow, her golden eyes looking all the brighter against her dusky gray complexion.

"Howdy," The scarecrow said, tugging down the edge of his straw hat politely in the girl's direction. "Nice day for it, huh?"

She stepped timidly toward the scarecrow, her movement careful but still bearing the slight awkwardness of youth. "F-for what?"

"For whatever ya want," the scarecrow said with a carefree shrug before holding out a glove. "Nice ta meetcha!"

The young centaur quickly stepped back, a look of fear in her eyes.

"Don't you be scared, little Miss," said the scarecrow, giving her his friendliest smile. "It's just my hand. See?"

He pulled his glove from his sleeve, revealing both to be filled with nothing more than straw. The little centaur girl gasped, her small hands quickly covering her mouth in surprise.

"A-are you okay?" she whispered, her eyes wide.

"Me? As good as ever. See, I can just ... hey!" The scarecrow pretended to let his now-separated hand scurry out of his grasp and across his shoulders like a five-legged leathery spider. The little girl giggled as he made a show of trying to catch the wily appendage before finally pinning it under his hat.

"There," he said, twisting the glove back on the end of his arm. "Good as new."

"Um, you put it on backwards," said the little centaur girl.

The scarecrow feigned surprise as he held his hand up to his face. "Huh. Would you look at that?"

She giggled again as he twisted his hand back the right way around and held it out to her. Hesitating for only a moment, she shook it carefully, her smile visible beneath her quilted hood.

"Well now that you're here, why not join me for a think?" the scarecrow asked.

"A think?" The little centaur girl asked as she sat down beside him, her legs folding under her lower body.

"That's right," he told her. "Don't worry; it's real easy. I should know; I've been doin' it for ages. All you gotta do is get yourself comfortable and just start thinkin'"

"About what?" she asked.

The scarecrow shrugged. "Whatever you wanna think about. You can even think about nothin' if you want. Sometimes I even have a good long think just about what I want to think about."

"I-I see ..." The little centaur girl and the scarecrow sat in silence for a few moments before she pushed back her hood to reveal a head of stark white hair that contrasted sharply against her dark gray skin. "Um, I'm Samara."