The sunshine danced across the babbling brook in a manner not unlike the graceful yet haphazard movements with which the tiny child pranced over the water, hopping from stone to log, shore to narrow sandbank, stone again, and back to her original starting point. She kept one arm flung out for balance, and the other clutched the hem of her white cotton sundress, knowing that should she mar its pristine beauty with water or mud, the consequences would be grievous. She repeated the precarious skip across the stream, humming softly to herself. However, when she reached the opposite bank this time, she did not turn, instead, she picked her way up the steep, grassy little incline, glancing over her shoulder to the thin stand of trees she'd escaped through to see if anyone followed. The sound of adult laughter filtered through the trees, as did the shouts of the older children racing across the sloping green lawn of the Manor. When she was confident only voices could find her, she turned back to task scaling the precarious gradient. Unfortunately, as she lifted a petite foot, her toe caught on a gnarled root, hidden amid the tall, ungroomed rushes.
With a little cry, the child plummeted forward to her knees, flinging delicate, white hands out to break the tumble. She remained still for a moment, eyes squeezed tightly shut, determining what damage may have been caused. Her palms felt sore, and a pebble jabbed her knee a bit painfully, but she was otherwise uninjured. Large blue eyes popped open, and she sprang to her feet once more, looking around to regain her bearings. With the climb safely behind her, she found herself in a bright meadow, thick with wild flowers. She grinned in delight and, after once more ascertaining that she was indeed alone, she pranced forward to pluck a bloom from the ground. However, when she looked down she gasped, staring horrorstruck at the grass stains and mud smears from her clumsy fall on her airy gown. Knowing full well that she couldn't return to the party now, she plopped into a sad little pile on the ground. She would have to go back later, once most guests had gone, so the diatribe she was certain to receive would be less public. Wondering how she might escape this predicament, she absently began to pull blossoms into a pile in front of her.
The boy's footsteps pounded rapidly over the earth, crushing the carefully cultivated flowers of his mother's garden. He hardly cared; she could plant new ones. He cared even less about the scuffs and dirt ruining the expensive black shoes- one didn't even have to wait for new ones of those to grow. His only thought was that he must win, and he had less than a minute to do so. He did have the advantage of knowing every hiding place tucked into his ancestral grounds, but that only raised expectations. If he didn't win this game of hide and seek, he'd be mocked mercilessly- so he had no intentions to be found until well after all the other players had given up. He'd find such a good spot that he'd be renowned as the best hider in all of Wiltshire, and the cleverest discoverer of-
"THREE, TWO, ONE- READY OR NOT, HERE I COME!"
The boy bounded over the stream and scrambled up the precarious slope on the other side, tumbling into the meadow beyond. He immediately pulled himself up, preparing to launch forward once again, but froze before he could twitch a muscle. He was not alone.
The tiny girl sat with her back to him, the sunshine lighting up her long gold hair like a halo. She hummed softly to herself, a pile of daisies barely visible in the tall grass around her.
"What're you doing here?" he demanded loudly. She gave a tiny shriek and twisted around, ducking down as though she wished to make herself invisible. He rolled his eyes.
"I can still see you, and I'm in a bit of a hurry, so if I could please have your word that you'll tell not seekers I passed by, I'll be on my way."
Huge blue eyes peeked up at him from over the edges of the tall grass. "I didn't mean to!" she blurted, flushing a bright pink. "Please don't tell!"
"Won't tell if you don't! You didn't see me here, alright?" he repeated. She nodded warily, her lower lip quivering slightly. "What are you doing out here, anyway?"
"Making chains," she replied promptly. Scowling in confusion, the boy crept forwards.
"You can't make chains in a meadow," he stated logically, craning his neck to see what she was busily working on.
"Can, too," she argued softly, poling her tongue through her teeth in concentration. "Figure I've got one 'bout as long as my arm now."
He arrived at her side to examine again the pile of daisies, plucked pitilessly from the bottom of their stems. Her tiny fingers worked carefully, using a minute thumb nail to slice a gash through the stem, not quite to the end, threading it through the preexisting links, and pushing the head of the flower through the slit.
"See?" She held up her work, smiling. "A daisy chain. My sister taught me how to make them."
Game forgotten, the boy settled down in the grass beside her. "But, what do you do with them?"
She shrugged. "They're pretty. You don't need a reason for prettiness." It was true. Anything pretty had a right in its own to exist, and the boy was certain he'd never seen anything quite so pretty as the pale little girl before him. He reached out to gently remove a stay leaf from her flaxen hair.
Wide blue eyes met with stormy grey ones.
"My name's Narcissa," she introduced herself quietly, head tilting slightly to the side.
"I'm Lucius."