Arcadia

Bearings

Splintered gold trickled through the verdant canopy, splaying a haphazard mosaic over three youthful heads, marching in unison. One girl. Two brothers. A gentile maiden and rowdy twins.

Sophie brought up the rear, humming softly in harmony to their clumsy clomps: Rhian and Thomas were just ahead, brandishing twiggy spears and swinging their arms back and forth, back and forth, heads held high like a flamingo in an oasis. They swung their 'weapons', too, stabbing at bushes and trees and climbing ivy. Occasionally, Thomas would stop dead in his tracks and crouch as the watchful wolf does at the opening of a hunt – glance left – glance right – glance to the back and straight ahead – before beckoning the two to follow and proceeding to explore their childhood sanctum.

Sophie would giggle and curtsey to his playful chivalry, Rhian would pitifully attempt to jab him with his stick. Thomas didn't mind one bit— any chance was taken to draw a reaction.

High noon. The sun blazed overhead, as a familiar breeze blew to sway the sturdy oaks. The mosaic shifted in a hypnotic swing, morphing and swelling, shrinking and gliding, halting, disappearing.

Thomas suddenly steeled.

Rhian and Sophie followed his lead.

"Tommy?" whispered Sophie, clutching at the boy's sleeve. "What is it?"

Feathery raven flapped idly and cobalt hues tracked onto Sophie's large brown eyes. He looked behind them, down the trodden swath in the verdant jungle, formed from their years of exploration and misadventures. And then, towards the shadowed hallow, dark, ominous. His gut pitted. "We've never been this far before," he said.

"Coward," Rhian quipped.

"Shut up!" Thomas squawked, shifting to stand in full view of their eye line. "We should turn around. Now."

"Tom—"

"What? Because it's dark and spooky, you want to abandon our quest?!" Rhian stole a step towards Thomas. "Oh..." – another step, a furrowed brow and an upturned lip – "I understand, now. You're afraid of the dark."

"No!"

"Boys," Sophie intervened, and they were immediately attentive. "It is true we've never been this far before, but it may be a good opportunity. She swivelled to Thomas, pouting as if she were a peckish pup.

There it was again. The pit. The drop, like an iron bearing through a cloud. Scything doom crawled up his throat as he turned back to the (now misting) hallow.

One look at their eager faces and he was stolen.

"Fine, but I'll do a once-over to make sure it's safe."

Rhian and Sophie stifled their excitement, muttering and spluttering over all the possible discoveries they'd make (a treehouse? – a cottage? – a dragon locked in a three-thousand-year slumber?!) as Thomas turned his back to approach the hallow. Its maw gaped like a gateway to a forbidden realm, a coven of thorns and weeds and poison ivy assembled in the space as a lingering emptiness and an oozing mist encompassed it.

It was, admittedly, a little intimidating, but easily overcome with caution.

"Okay, let's go," he called.

The quiet reverberated.

"Sophie? Rhian?"

He turned, doom slashed his throat and the iron bearing plummeted to the earth.

No Sophie, no Rhian: no one.