End of The Journey?

It glinted, all golden. Compared to her seize, it was same to a small mountain. Its flat summit generously coated in caramel. Like from the last sun rays at dusk, the little fairy couldn’t take her eyes off it. The slick slides allowed to catch sight of small pastel touch of colours.

     Gretel barely managed to swallow back her saliva.

     The magical glass dome had ensured this exquisite dessert to keep its freshness untouched. She enclosed, brushed its surface.

     And then… While all eyes were turned away from her, she sneaked under the glass dome.

***

“There has to be something you would be willing to trade it for.” Henox insisted.

     To be so close to their aim and in the meantime kept at bay… Sheer will of nuisance. A little more and Henox would have believed that it was the goddess herself making fool of them.

“I’m telling you that it’s not possible. Dusk Puddings is a family recipe, I can’t let it vanish completely!” The Bergfolk baker sighed. “I already had to put this one under a special glass dome so that…”

     He gestured towards the said dome underneath which one was a plate, the latter containing a little fairy.

“…the taste doesn’t…”

     A little fairy.

“…will nooAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!”

     The well-being of Henox’s ears was suddenly threatened by the overly energetic vocal cords of the dwarf with goose feet.

     While he gesticulated, livid, the sorcerer turned his gaze towards the dessert. Of which only a few brown-golden traces remained on the plate.

     Standing there, a little fairy who had now splendid smooth caramel-coloured hair, gradually lightening to the colour of honey. As for her pretty dress, it wasn’t without reminding the poor pudding which existence had just been wiped off the plate.

“Oh goddess…” Henox thought. “This self-sabotage.”

     While Gretel displayed a more innocent expression than she should have, the distraught baker was suffocating.

“What have you done?!! The last Dusk Pudding…..”

     He fell to his knees.

     Henox pinched the bridge of his nose.

“H-Huuhh??” Gretel jumped. “Ah so-sorry!! It seemed so yummy…” She added, tapping her index fingers one against the other. “B-But don’t be sad. Look!”

     And with a perky gesture she extended her arms on both sides while one, two,… five… twelve puddings appeared all around her. They were all exactly the same to the one Gretel had eaten.

“I am the fairy of delicacies. I can recreate all the things I eat. Of sweet, of course.”

     She blinked at the baker. Keeping her arms raised, she folded her arms in a feline manner. Shimming like a little pudding.

     Unnecessary…

“Ohhhh!!” The Bergfolk widened his eyes. “By all the dwarfs!”

“So you achieve doing it with any dessert.” Henox thoughtfully added.

“You didn’t pay attention…” She seemed depressed. For a brief moment. “I tried to tell you when we met, but you interrupted me!! Hmpf.”

***

Grateful as he was for the tenths and tenths of puddings Gretel had created for him, the baker took both travellers through the village to what seemed to be an enormous spider. If not for her body rather resembling a ball of soot. If not for her legs so thin it was surprising they didn’t break.

     Though ifs didn’t prevent Gretel from fainting.

     Thus carrying an unconscious fairy – what didn’t make any particular difference for him – the sorcerer climbed on the back of the peculiar creature, its eyes crimson.

“Hold on tight! And she’ll take you high up there.”

     The dwarf of the Bergfolk’s people brushed the creature’s coal fur before letting her stand up, already allowing the travellers to reach a dizzying altitude.

     And then she threw a silver thread against one of the rocky walls. Far way, far away above their heads. In a jump she began her ascension, progressively rewinding the thread, throwing another when they reached the end of the previous. Swaying so from a side to the other of the cave. The creature seemed to weigh nothing.

     Lost in his thoughts, the sorcerer glanced below.

“Finish their projects, huh…”

     As he thought back to what occurred in Desphia, he could still hear Griselde’s voice whisper near his ear these words that unleashed him.

     During a few moments, he tried to remember his brother. Though it was nothing but a face.

“Why… did I want so much to bring him back to life?”

     Agile, the arachnid slipped in the passages that the rock seemed to open for her.

     Meanwhile, Gretel had regained consciousness. Only to lose it even faster than the first time.

     Until at last, the creature emerged from the crannies of the mountain, landing before a rift. As soon as Henox got down, she plunged back in, embracing the shadows.

     Turning around, the sorcerer beheld a little house set amongst the swirling weeds.

“Agghhh…”

     The little fairy was gradually emerging as they reached the threshold of the door. Her first instinct was to sit up and scrutinise her surroundings. Ensuring the absence of any creature with more than four legs. Sighing with relief.

     Barely had he knocked on the door that she opened. Her eyes of the colour of the mist examined the travellers without any fear. Without curiosity either.

     Henox merely had to show her the pudding Gretel had just conjured for a thin smile to appear, encouraging them to enter.

     There, in every corner, balls of thread. Fabrics. More delicate than silk. White, green. Pale, as what she wore. Like her lace apron whose pockets abounded in threads and needles.

“Could you sew back her wing?”

     Were the only words he needed to say to her while the Loireag, brushing her long thin fingers against the hanging fabrics, turned at him a face caressed by long blond hair. Softly, she nodded.

     There was nothing but the rustle of cloth as the Loireag put Gretel on a workbench before joining her upon there, becoming as small as a newborn child. It was convenient to sew such small things. And it was also her true size.

“Will it… hurt?” Gretel asked.

     As her only response, the elf of a misty beauty brushed Gretel’s hair.

     The latter didn’t ask any more question while the Loireag unwound a thread as thin as her hair, glowing as the Moon.

     Though her features betrayed her concern.

     A different concern from the one a ridiculous stinging can bring.

     The weaver was already holding the torn wing in place. The needle almost seemed to dance in between her fingers. At each stitch, it was like the thread faded into the fairy tissue.

     Her gestures were wide, they were graceful. She didn’t even need to keep her eyes open. For her, it was like playing a melody learnt by heart.

     Without saying a word, Henox observed. He had sat in a corner of the room. Waiting for the Loireag to finish her work, for her to cut the last thread. For Gretel to turn around and, astonished of her beating wings, to try glancing backwards. Eventually spinning around, looking delighted as she flew off. She was whirling.

      Then, he stood up. Not uttering a word, he turned his back to that scene. The play didn’t need his presence any more to unfold.

“Sir Henox?”

     Of course.

     Barely he had placed his hand on the knob when the little fairy spotted him.

     What surprised him, however, was her voice. It seemed she had understood.

“I promised to accompany you until you could fly by yourself. I kept my promise.”

     No word came to answer him.

     Gretel was too busy swallowing her tears.

     He hadn’t promised more. She knew it, but she had hoped. Hoped he wouldn’t have the opportunity to keep his word.

     When he turned the knob, she cried.

“Don’t leave! Stay a bit. Just a bit longer!”

     The sorcerer paused his gesture.

     But a promise kept is a bond lost.

“Your journey may continue, mine ends.”

     And on these words, he left the threshold of the house.