There was one week a year where the Labyrinth grew too cold to walk about outside barefoot as so many of its goblin inhabitants were wont to do. Of course, being the Labyrinth the week could appear at any time. It was the week when the fewest wishes were made and the fewest dreams crept into mortal minds. A dormancy of all things creative and wistful.
Ludo had called many rocks to keep him company during the cooling, his thick fur allowed him to relish the cold more than many of his neighbors. In fact, it seemed as if Ludo alone was more prone to activity during the week than any other in the Labyrinth. The cracked rocks in the castle were called out for repairs and then put back better than ever. He sat on the ground shaggy legs crossed, long fingers curled around each knee-a song howling from his down turned lips as the cool air blew his shaggy mane from his face. An audience of large rocks encircling him. They almost danced, if an observer from the above ground had borne witness to this they might have answered an age old question.
It was many, many years ago. The veil between the Above ground and the Underground was more translucent than opaque. Changelings were common as were mortal and immortal lovers, elves doing their deeds and brownies there. The week of the Cooling still meant a slowing of all dreams, and still meant Ludo was the most active of the Undergrounders.
"Ludooo." He howled to himself as he walked through the veil, perhaps the mortals would provide better companionship than his groggy neighbors. Large lumbering steps were taken up the moonlit grassy hill.
A shepherd saw the beast and dropping his staff ran, leaving his sheep to fend for themselves-not even a cry of 'wolf' passed his lips. Ludo shrugged, perhaps another friend was to be met elsewhere. The moon was high as he made it to the top of the hill. And there he sat cross legged. The dampness of the grass mattering not to the rock caller. He sat watching the grass blowing in the breeze and the sheep grazing without their minder. It was without thought that he began to sing his rock calling song. It started as a hum and slowly built. It was the building sound and the rocking from side to side that called what came forth.
The sun rose and set again, and the Cooling week ended before Ludo lifted himself from the grass a slight indentation left from where he had sat for the week. But the crushed leaves were not what was so memorable from that week of so long ago.
As he always had done Ludo had called his friends to him. A week of calling had brought more than the pebbles or even small boulders that usually trailed him. Nay, what Ludo had wrought in that week of few dreams and wishes would leave inspiration and questions for generations of mankind. Encircling where the gentle beast had sat were towering monoliths of stone. Some were upright completely while others lay on top of them.
Not all dreams and wishes are so intangible as often suspected or expected. The rock caller had left dreams so concrete behind him that others have built their dreams upon them. What greater aspiration for a so called creature of fantasy than to leave something so solid behind as to uphold others dreamweaving?
Let me know what you think :)
I don't think there are too many Ludo stories out there, and I really, really was trying to get my creative self recharged.