MAGISTAN

Chapter 6: A Winged-Ear Woodland Fairy

Lorn certainly wasn't dead. He was however, buried beneath the oak tree limb, except his webbed fingers and toes. And seeing how his head was stuffed inside his shell, he could hardly breathe as well. Luckily for Lorn, there were so many leaves that had dropped from the autumn seasoned trees that they padded the ground. It made it much easier for him to wiggle his way free. First came his arms, then his shoulders and finally his rear-end popped out. "Ough!" he grunted as he crawled toward his front door, nudged it with his cane and slunk inside. Then, he plopped on the floor and fell fast asleep.  

"Pssst," someone whispered a moment later.  

Lorn brushed his ear as though a hissing gnat was buzzing around his head.  

"Psssssst," someone whispered again, this time a bit louder.  

I must be dreaming, Lorn thought. Too tired to open his eyes, he fell back asleep. A moment later, someone flicked his droopy ear lobe. Lorn opened one eye and found Brouque, the woodland fairy leaning over him with a grin so wide the sides of his mouth reached his winged ears. Lorn swiftly slipped his head back into his shell.  

"L-shell..." Brouque said, gaily. "I'm happy to see you too." 

Lorn popped his head out. "Go away!" he shouted.  

Brouque's wide smile drooped down to his collar while the lights in his winged ears dimmed.  

Lorn cleared his throat. "Look," he said in a raspy voice and rubbed his temples, "I'm tired. My knees ache. My head is killing me. So if you wouldn't mind," he said loudly with his finger poised at the front door, "Leave!" 

Brouque placed his hand over his chest. "You look very well to me, I must say," he claimed in a soft voice. "All that gardening has done you good. Seems you're dislocated shoulder has healed perfectly." 

Lorn let out a huge sigh while narrowly gazing up at Brouque. "So you are intent on pestering me, egh?" he sputtered and stood up. He wildly shook his dripping wet hair and splattered Brouque with mucky water. Every inch of him was dotted with mud: his plum colored shawl, his white shirt, his gold belt, his bright green tights and... even his black pointed shoes. Lorn sucked in his cheeks and tried not to grin. "Well then... What can I do for you?" he asked, pleasantly.  

Brouque's pale face turned red.  

Lorn laughed inside as he eyed Brouque while thinking how he hated his perfectly pressed clothes... his properly manicured nails... and slicked back red hair, which was never out of place. "What do you do think? Shall we put some heat on the fire?" asked Lorn as he slunk past Brouque. He gathered some dried oak twigs from the floor that was mixed with a clutter of tin cans and ashes. He carried them over to a wood burning stove that was piped over to the other side of the room. It vented out the roof, which appeared, would collapse at any moment. The only thing that was keeping it from doing just that was... Lorn's collection of tin cans and broken copper clocks stacked from floor to ceiling.  

Lorn cared little about anything that needed fixing, especially himself. He ate stuff that smelled like poop. He drank things that'd make your stomach turn black. And to no surprise, he was the filthiest creature, too. The only time he ever came even close to being clean was when he dove into the bottomless pond. He seldom did that, except when he wanted to try out the wooden keys he made. Those he had hoped would perfectly match the Spirit of the Wind's Golden key. That way he could get into her oyster shell, open the door to the special pearl inside... and escape. Though he didn't know where he would be running to.  

Lorn would rather be anywhere other than the Blue Bark forest. To him, it was like a prison. He felt trapped inside the body of an old tortoise with no memory of his past. Worse yet, he could not recall a single memory from his youth. All Lorn could remember was waking up on the floor of a crooked cobblestone house - the same house Brouque insisted belonged to him. Yet it was a foreign dwelling to Lorn. Lorn tried to leave several times. He would pack his nap-sack and head out the front door only to be stopped by Brouque who suddenly would appear. "You can travel near and far...But, you can never leave. This IS your home," Brouque insisted. But, Lorn believed differently. He knew the cobblestone house was NOT his home. He had come from somewhere else, but where was a mystery.