Title: Wild Creatures
Author: Elissa the Elf
Description: Belle, a wildling from the depths of the forest, grows up to be a graceful young woman, when, with a twist of another faerie tale or two, her life is turned topsy-turvy by an unexpected adventure.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wild Creatures
The entire Twelfth kingdom knew of this faerie tale sprite, watching her youth from afar. She frolicked in meadows, carefree and wild; her hair grew in untamed fire, bright as the sun in its new-risen glory. No parents or masters could hold her, no person could ever know her mind; she was the friend of all the woodland beasts, and knew not of the meaning of confinement. School was just a distant memory in her mind, as far away as the cold nights of the Arctic tundra, far as the whispering waters of the ocean.
Her name was Belle.
It was the only word of any language, save that of the forest creature, which she knew. Belle, the word that referred to her, was all that she could grasp, not for the lack of effort. Sometimes, spying on the village, she would hear sounds that to her were unintelligible. An old man, sun wrinkled and squat, was always sitting on his small porch, carving little playthings of wood and leaving them out on the thin railing, ostensibly to let the paint upon them dry. Truthfully, though, as he sat pared the shavings from the block, he could see the heathen child peering at him from behind the trees, lined up neatly in their gardened rows. It was all he could do, to not run to her, and bring her inside his little house, keeping her tight, and raising her for his own.
The man was a widower, his wife having died several years hence from a terrible fever that wracked her thin and lean frame. The baby that she carried with her died, taking the woman with her in the due course of time, being only hours till the woman, beautiful even in death, expired. The man grieved still for her loss, but the sight of the child drew him as a means of dulling the sharp pain that still resided in his heart.
Of course, Belle knew none of this, thinking only of the pretty colors that swirled along his wooden blocks and wanting one desperately for her very own. The paints enticed her, seduced her young self into stealing up to the porch one moonlit night, and taking one of the appealing toys from the old man's rail. The man, anticipating this action, had smothered the toys he left out in quicklime, carefully avoiding touching his delicate work with his own hands. Belle, having no clue of this, grabbed the model full handed, and made to turn and bolt. However, having swiveled around, she realized, in a split second, that this was a trap, and she could not remove her hands from the so-coveted plaything. Startled at having been outwitted, she sat down abruptly in the short, trimmed grass, and bawled, howling at the top of her youthful lungs at the injustice done to her. Having spent her terror out, she promptly fell asleep, as only the young can rightly do. Seeing that she was sound asleep, and dead to the world, the man hobbled out to her, and lifted her into his arthritic arms. He carried her and placed her in his own bed, tucking Belle in with the soft blankets and, leaving her to sleep, sat beside her in his old and well worn rocking chair as he himself dozed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Belle turned in her sleep, feeling content at the beautiful dream playing out in her mind's eye. Feeling sunlight on her eyes, she opened them slowly, wary against the sun's blinding rays; she stretched out and sat up. She glanced at her surroundings. Her wardrobe sat to her left, filled not with such fancy dresses as the aristocracy wore, but instead with simple garments best suited to working outside as she was often seen doing; pruning stunning red roses, pink roses, yellow, climbing trellises and filling the spaces between the carefully placed trees. Scarves sat next to the wardrobe upon her dressing table, for taming her blazing red hair as she tended to her work. Appearances mattered little to her, for her life was devoted to taking care of her old uncle Christophe, tottering elder that he was. Getting on in age, he still managed to carve those toys that Belle had been so fascinated with for the village children. Belle was the one to place in stockings on cold winter nights now, for the man's arthritic fingers, though deft at carving, were unable to work the fine latches that held doors and windows closed in the frosty hours of darkness. She did whatever he wanted willingly, happiness coming to her from helping others in their times of need.
"Belle? Are you awake? Breakfast is on the table." Christophe called softly from the front room as he set the breakfast dishes out.
"I'm awake. Just let me dress, and I'll join you downstairs." Belle got out of the bed, careful not to hit her head on the gently sloping roof of her attic room. She made her way to the wardrobe, picking the first dress she saw. This gown happened to be old and worn, but still serviceable yet. Quickly pulling it over her head and tying her bodice straps, she slipped her dainty feet into black flats and made her way down the steep and creaking stairs.
Belle made her appearance in a light rustle of petticoats. She walked gracefully into the small kitchen and adjoining dining room and, picking up two dishes to carry in to put upon the wooden table, she entered the dining room and halted. With her uncle was a striking young man, both chatting amicably between the two of them. Christophe noticed Belle and stood up. The stranger followed his lead.
"This is my niece, Belle. Belle, this is Eric. He just moved in down the road a farm or two, and was making the rounds around the neighbourhood to get to know us all. I just told him all about you and how you found me and I found you."
Belle reminisced about her first memories of Christophe; how everything she thought about him had changed, from thinking he was a cruel man to loving him dearly with her all her heart. She still occasionally thought of him as just 'the man,' while knowing full well that his name was Christophe, though not her uncle as they told everyone. Questions would have arisen if suddenly an old man took in a wild, fierce child with no excuses as to her abrupt appearance in his life. So he took to teaching her the civilized life and all its trappings, referring to himself always as Uncle Christophe.
She shook out of remembrances, thinking that she should introduce herself to Eric as politely as possible. Who knew what rank this man might hold? Belle curtseyed nimbly, bowing her eyes respectfully to the man; then, rising, she excused herself to continue setting the table. Her ears were still alert, though; and she listened to the two gentlemen's conversation unthinkingly. Some of it was quite dull; conversations about the weather, and other generic topics, when unexpectedly the subject matter changed to a more serious matter.
"So what brings you to these parts?" Christophe questioned delicately, wondering what could bring such an apparently cultured man to this provincial vicinity.
"Well, I was living in the city," here Belle started at the thought of an uptown man, "When I met this wonderful girl. Wonderful, but quite literally could not speak. That was no matter to us; I loved her to death, and I thought she loved me back. But on the night of our wedding, she just disappeared. Into thin air. How, I never knew; we were on a ship. It was quite traumatic to think about the implications of that. I haven't quite gotten over it, and my physician thought it might be best to live out in the country. So here I am!" He said this all without any semblance of grief upon his carefully maintained countenance. Belle was shocked on the inside for his terrific loss, and the way he handled it with such composure.
"Would you like some breakfast? Surely it's too early for you to have eaten before you set out on these visits." Christophe asked this in a tone that told Belle she should disregard Eric's last comments.
"No; thank you though. I really must be leaving now. Places to go, things to do, people to see and meet for the very first time!" He politely removed himself from the table, unnerved from the turn of conversation as much as he refrained from showing it. "Oh, and before I leave, I would just like to ask who tends these magnificent gardens? There is a grand one on my new property, but unfortunately, I have no idea about taking care of roses." Eric rose.
Belle blushed wine in modesty. "I take care of them, sir. If you'd like, I could come over to your house and show you how to trim and care for the roses." She blushed again at her forwardness with this handsome man. Why was she acting like this? Usually males had no effect on her; just simple friendship. Eric nodded at her suggestion, then left to return to his home on the other side of the forest.
Christophe and Belle continued to eat their morning meal in a comfortable silence that came from long knowledge of the other's habits. Few comments were made beside an occasional request to pass the butter, or another croissant if you would. Dishes were put away by an unspoken, mutual agreement between the two.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After doing a few minor chores, such as sweeping off the porch where she had once been caught, Belle put on her overcoat to protect her dress as she rode to Eric's house on her sleek mustang, Etienne, and left to go about her way. She packed various tools in her side pack, in case that ramshackle old farmstead only contained broken pots and glass plates for greenhouses, as houses in the area tended to do.
The path to his house led her through the wood, dark but cheerful with the twittering of birds and the chirruping of grasshoppers. She felt no fear riding calmly through the forest, having done it too many times to count, visiting town for the provisions they could not make at home or miscellaneous relatives. The mile long ride through the forest took not long at all. It brought her right to the back of Eric's gardened yard. She dismounted, and leaving Etienne to forge for himself in the adjoining pastures, walked around to the front of the residence, looking all the while about for the as-thus mysterious neighbor.
"Ah, there you are, Belle. I didn't quite expect you so soon, but all the better. If I could, let me finish grooming Lolita. She needs to be brushed; I haven't done that since we arrived," he explained.
"Go right ahead. I can wait," she told him patiently, choosing to instead look around at the magnificent gardens that lined the edge all around his enclosure. He finished polishing his little Arabian into a glossy sheen, and moved to the shed to pick up gardening tools. However, the only agriculture paraphernalia that occupied the rambling shack was rusty, and dull, worthy only for giving tetanus to unwanted weeds. Belle remembered the ones she had packed into her bag, and brought them out from the small leather satchel, and got to work teaching Eric about the way of the Rose.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She bid Eric adieu at the sun's zenith, Belle headed into the forest back to her home. Taking her midday meal alone, as usual, she left promptly to take her cousin up on an old offer for visitation. Aurora's small cabin seated itself in a small clearing by a gurgling, singing stream, far away from other human habitation.
As Belle rode, she thought about just why she wanted to see Aurora. Could it be that she just needed someone to gush to about this new man in town? About how he had had such a sad life so far, or maybe how sensitive his eyes looked when he was telling that story? What were these feeling that had invaded her body? Why? Not, Belle told herself, that there was anything wrong with that wondrous feeling rushing through her every vein when she thought of him.
Belle was so wrapped up in her thoughts, that she didn't notice any of the impending dark shadows, and a particularly venomous looking silhouette coming right up behind her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note: Okay, you guys. Tell me what you think, and if I should continue. R&R! I don't care if I get flames, because that means someone does care enough to help me improve my writing. And hey, you'll get recognition...! Thanks! Beta readers, please apply. Email at sweetsweetlolli@yahoo.com. Thanks again!
Much Love to all those .adoring. fans!
Elissa the Elf
Author: Elissa the Elf
Description: Belle, a wildling from the depths of the forest, grows up to be a graceful young woman, when, with a twist of another faerie tale or two, her life is turned topsy-turvy by an unexpected adventure.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wild Creatures
The entire Twelfth kingdom knew of this faerie tale sprite, watching her youth from afar. She frolicked in meadows, carefree and wild; her hair grew in untamed fire, bright as the sun in its new-risen glory. No parents or masters could hold her, no person could ever know her mind; she was the friend of all the woodland beasts, and knew not of the meaning of confinement. School was just a distant memory in her mind, as far away as the cold nights of the Arctic tundra, far as the whispering waters of the ocean.
Her name was Belle.
It was the only word of any language, save that of the forest creature, which she knew. Belle, the word that referred to her, was all that she could grasp, not for the lack of effort. Sometimes, spying on the village, she would hear sounds that to her were unintelligible. An old man, sun wrinkled and squat, was always sitting on his small porch, carving little playthings of wood and leaving them out on the thin railing, ostensibly to let the paint upon them dry. Truthfully, though, as he sat pared the shavings from the block, he could see the heathen child peering at him from behind the trees, lined up neatly in their gardened rows. It was all he could do, to not run to her, and bring her inside his little house, keeping her tight, and raising her for his own.
The man was a widower, his wife having died several years hence from a terrible fever that wracked her thin and lean frame. The baby that she carried with her died, taking the woman with her in the due course of time, being only hours till the woman, beautiful even in death, expired. The man grieved still for her loss, but the sight of the child drew him as a means of dulling the sharp pain that still resided in his heart.
Of course, Belle knew none of this, thinking only of the pretty colors that swirled along his wooden blocks and wanting one desperately for her very own. The paints enticed her, seduced her young self into stealing up to the porch one moonlit night, and taking one of the appealing toys from the old man's rail. The man, anticipating this action, had smothered the toys he left out in quicklime, carefully avoiding touching his delicate work with his own hands. Belle, having no clue of this, grabbed the model full handed, and made to turn and bolt. However, having swiveled around, she realized, in a split second, that this was a trap, and she could not remove her hands from the so-coveted plaything. Startled at having been outwitted, she sat down abruptly in the short, trimmed grass, and bawled, howling at the top of her youthful lungs at the injustice done to her. Having spent her terror out, she promptly fell asleep, as only the young can rightly do. Seeing that she was sound asleep, and dead to the world, the man hobbled out to her, and lifted her into his arthritic arms. He carried her and placed her in his own bed, tucking Belle in with the soft blankets and, leaving her to sleep, sat beside her in his old and well worn rocking chair as he himself dozed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Belle turned in her sleep, feeling content at the beautiful dream playing out in her mind's eye. Feeling sunlight on her eyes, she opened them slowly, wary against the sun's blinding rays; she stretched out and sat up. She glanced at her surroundings. Her wardrobe sat to her left, filled not with such fancy dresses as the aristocracy wore, but instead with simple garments best suited to working outside as she was often seen doing; pruning stunning red roses, pink roses, yellow, climbing trellises and filling the spaces between the carefully placed trees. Scarves sat next to the wardrobe upon her dressing table, for taming her blazing red hair as she tended to her work. Appearances mattered little to her, for her life was devoted to taking care of her old uncle Christophe, tottering elder that he was. Getting on in age, he still managed to carve those toys that Belle had been so fascinated with for the village children. Belle was the one to place in stockings on cold winter nights now, for the man's arthritic fingers, though deft at carving, were unable to work the fine latches that held doors and windows closed in the frosty hours of darkness. She did whatever he wanted willingly, happiness coming to her from helping others in their times of need.
"Belle? Are you awake? Breakfast is on the table." Christophe called softly from the front room as he set the breakfast dishes out.
"I'm awake. Just let me dress, and I'll join you downstairs." Belle got out of the bed, careful not to hit her head on the gently sloping roof of her attic room. She made her way to the wardrobe, picking the first dress she saw. This gown happened to be old and worn, but still serviceable yet. Quickly pulling it over her head and tying her bodice straps, she slipped her dainty feet into black flats and made her way down the steep and creaking stairs.
Belle made her appearance in a light rustle of petticoats. She walked gracefully into the small kitchen and adjoining dining room and, picking up two dishes to carry in to put upon the wooden table, she entered the dining room and halted. With her uncle was a striking young man, both chatting amicably between the two of them. Christophe noticed Belle and stood up. The stranger followed his lead.
"This is my niece, Belle. Belle, this is Eric. He just moved in down the road a farm or two, and was making the rounds around the neighbourhood to get to know us all. I just told him all about you and how you found me and I found you."
Belle reminisced about her first memories of Christophe; how everything she thought about him had changed, from thinking he was a cruel man to loving him dearly with her all her heart. She still occasionally thought of him as just 'the man,' while knowing full well that his name was Christophe, though not her uncle as they told everyone. Questions would have arisen if suddenly an old man took in a wild, fierce child with no excuses as to her abrupt appearance in his life. So he took to teaching her the civilized life and all its trappings, referring to himself always as Uncle Christophe.
She shook out of remembrances, thinking that she should introduce herself to Eric as politely as possible. Who knew what rank this man might hold? Belle curtseyed nimbly, bowing her eyes respectfully to the man; then, rising, she excused herself to continue setting the table. Her ears were still alert, though; and she listened to the two gentlemen's conversation unthinkingly. Some of it was quite dull; conversations about the weather, and other generic topics, when unexpectedly the subject matter changed to a more serious matter.
"So what brings you to these parts?" Christophe questioned delicately, wondering what could bring such an apparently cultured man to this provincial vicinity.
"Well, I was living in the city," here Belle started at the thought of an uptown man, "When I met this wonderful girl. Wonderful, but quite literally could not speak. That was no matter to us; I loved her to death, and I thought she loved me back. But on the night of our wedding, she just disappeared. Into thin air. How, I never knew; we were on a ship. It was quite traumatic to think about the implications of that. I haven't quite gotten over it, and my physician thought it might be best to live out in the country. So here I am!" He said this all without any semblance of grief upon his carefully maintained countenance. Belle was shocked on the inside for his terrific loss, and the way he handled it with such composure.
"Would you like some breakfast? Surely it's too early for you to have eaten before you set out on these visits." Christophe asked this in a tone that told Belle she should disregard Eric's last comments.
"No; thank you though. I really must be leaving now. Places to go, things to do, people to see and meet for the very first time!" He politely removed himself from the table, unnerved from the turn of conversation as much as he refrained from showing it. "Oh, and before I leave, I would just like to ask who tends these magnificent gardens? There is a grand one on my new property, but unfortunately, I have no idea about taking care of roses." Eric rose.
Belle blushed wine in modesty. "I take care of them, sir. If you'd like, I could come over to your house and show you how to trim and care for the roses." She blushed again at her forwardness with this handsome man. Why was she acting like this? Usually males had no effect on her; just simple friendship. Eric nodded at her suggestion, then left to return to his home on the other side of the forest.
Christophe and Belle continued to eat their morning meal in a comfortable silence that came from long knowledge of the other's habits. Few comments were made beside an occasional request to pass the butter, or another croissant if you would. Dishes were put away by an unspoken, mutual agreement between the two.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After doing a few minor chores, such as sweeping off the porch where she had once been caught, Belle put on her overcoat to protect her dress as she rode to Eric's house on her sleek mustang, Etienne, and left to go about her way. She packed various tools in her side pack, in case that ramshackle old farmstead only contained broken pots and glass plates for greenhouses, as houses in the area tended to do.
The path to his house led her through the wood, dark but cheerful with the twittering of birds and the chirruping of grasshoppers. She felt no fear riding calmly through the forest, having done it too many times to count, visiting town for the provisions they could not make at home or miscellaneous relatives. The mile long ride through the forest took not long at all. It brought her right to the back of Eric's gardened yard. She dismounted, and leaving Etienne to forge for himself in the adjoining pastures, walked around to the front of the residence, looking all the while about for the as-thus mysterious neighbor.
"Ah, there you are, Belle. I didn't quite expect you so soon, but all the better. If I could, let me finish grooming Lolita. She needs to be brushed; I haven't done that since we arrived," he explained.
"Go right ahead. I can wait," she told him patiently, choosing to instead look around at the magnificent gardens that lined the edge all around his enclosure. He finished polishing his little Arabian into a glossy sheen, and moved to the shed to pick up gardening tools. However, the only agriculture paraphernalia that occupied the rambling shack was rusty, and dull, worthy only for giving tetanus to unwanted weeds. Belle remembered the ones she had packed into her bag, and brought them out from the small leather satchel, and got to work teaching Eric about the way of the Rose.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She bid Eric adieu at the sun's zenith, Belle headed into the forest back to her home. Taking her midday meal alone, as usual, she left promptly to take her cousin up on an old offer for visitation. Aurora's small cabin seated itself in a small clearing by a gurgling, singing stream, far away from other human habitation.
As Belle rode, she thought about just why she wanted to see Aurora. Could it be that she just needed someone to gush to about this new man in town? About how he had had such a sad life so far, or maybe how sensitive his eyes looked when he was telling that story? What were these feeling that had invaded her body? Why? Not, Belle told herself, that there was anything wrong with that wondrous feeling rushing through her every vein when she thought of him.
Belle was so wrapped up in her thoughts, that she didn't notice any of the impending dark shadows, and a particularly venomous looking silhouette coming right up behind her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note: Okay, you guys. Tell me what you think, and if I should continue. R&R! I don't care if I get flames, because that means someone does care enough to help me improve my writing. And hey, you'll get recognition...! Thanks! Beta readers, please apply. Email at sweetsweetlolli@yahoo.com. Thanks again!
Much Love to all those .adoring. fans!
Elissa the Elf