The silver coin made a small noise as it landed on the bottom of the hat Dustfinger had put on the ground in front of him. He didn't pay attention to it, as he was to busy whispering words of fire to the fire-y flowers, so that the semi-circle they formed around his feet wouldn't fade away – or, even worse, get out of control and burn one of the long, blue curtains. No, the laughing prince would not forgive him if he set his castle on fire, no matter how impressed he was by his art. As if they had heard him, one of the fire-y flowers next to him began to glow in a dangerous blue colour, like they used to do when the fire, that brought them to life, became to pleased with itself. Dustfinger whispered to it calmly until it became more gentle again, the cold blue turning into a soft orange colour. Nevertheless, Dustfinger reached into one of the many pockets of his red cloak and pulled out a tiny piece of honey he had stolen from the fire elfs. Its support was much more needed today than usual since his heart was in a whole other place. „Fool!", he scolded himself, „You decided not to listen to the stupid thing, otherwise you wouldn't be here now. So stand by your descision and focus! Otherwise, you soon won't be known as the firedance anymore, but as the man that burnt the castle of Ombra down."
Once again he whispered words of fire and they made sparks come out of every second one of the flowers, shooting up in the sky and raining on to the ground. They were purple and gone before they could reach the hallway of the throne room. Dustfinger turned around in the middle of the sparks before he bowed. The laughing prince smiled brightly across his whole face, but that didn't impress Dustfinger quite as much as what he could see in the face of the little boy sitting in the lap of his father. Today was Cosimo's fifth birthday and his father invited all of Ombra into the castle to celebrate. The boy's eyes glanced between Dustfinger and the fiery flowers to his feet and his mouth was slightly open in awe, as if he didn't believe what he just saw. Maybe that was why he started climbing down his father's lap and made his way straight to Dustfinger. But before Dustfinger could understand what was going on, Cosimo had laughingly bowed down to one of the flowers and touched it with his fingers. Dustfinger tried to talk the fire into giving in but it was too late. With a sharp cry of pain Cosimo pulled back his fingers, tears gathering in his eyes and shortly after that starting to stream down his face. But even they could not make him any less beautiful. „Well well, no need for tears. Come here…", the laughing prince told his son softly, who stumbled over to him with smelly, clumsy steps.
„Excuse me, your Highness ." Dustfinger lowered his gaze considerately, took a deep bow and hoped, that the laughing prince wouldn't put him in prison as a punishment. „Don't you secretly hope for that to happen?", his heart mocked him, „Wouldn't that provide you with the perfect excuse to be away a for a little more time?" But the prince seemed in such a good mood that he didn't want to blame him. „Alas, firedancer. We all know the childish wish to be invincible. And who can blame him for feeling confirmed in it by seeing how the fire listens to you without arguing?" Without arguing? Ph! Only those who don't understand anything about the craft of dancing with the fire can say something like that, Dustfinger thought but nevertheless got back up again. Of course for him it was an advantage that there simply were not so many people who could talk to the fire at all– and nobody who did it as well as Dustfinger himself. Otherwise he wouldn't have been invited into the castle that often and payed so generously as he was again today. As he bowed down he had managed to catch a glimpse of the hat he never wore on his head but still carried with himself almost all the time. It was filled well with lots of silver coins, so many, that they should be enough for a longer time. But of course he know how much of a liar he was even thinking that would be necessary. „Thank you, fire dancer!" Cosimos voice was high pitched like the voice of every child but still seemed to have a special ring to it that made listening to him a delight, like Dustfinger noticed. „I thank you, my prince. Your Highness." He bowed again, then turned back to the sea of fiery flowers and needed only a few words to convince them to retreat. Carefully and silently they vanished, not even leaving stains of soot on the floor, like they never had been there. And Dustfinger left the room as quietly.
The smell of roasted meat hung in the air over the marketplace outside the castle. Motley folk offered their art and the sound of many voices vibrated like a hum between Ombras citywalls. For a few moments, Dustfinger stood and watched a boy throwing metallic balls in the air, just to catch them with his hands, feet or even his back. „He! Dustfinger!" He jumped as he heared his name all of a sudden. He hadn't heared the rough voice that had said it for quite some time. The more delighted he was to see his friend standing next to him. „Clouddancer!", he said as if not believing his eyes when he pat him on the shoulder. „I didn't expect you to be here! They said another tightrope walker had been invited. Or are you here to get some coins from the people here at court?" Clouddancer smiled. „The latter, my friend. And how about you? Have you been to his Highness himself?" Dustfinger nodded. „Yes, I made the fire dance for his son. I think he quite liked it." – „Is that so…?" Clouddancer said with a hint of amusement which irritated Dustfinger. „And you're sure there's nothing else you have to do? No other place you're supposed to be right now? I think there for sure is!" He had raised an eyebrow suspiciously as he asked that question and once again the firedancer felt so lucky that his face didn't give away any of his emotions if he didn't want it to. After all, he had no interest that his friend might see the shame, the feeling of guilt that began to rise up inside of him. But now as it was spoken out loudly it felt even more uncomfortable than it used to. While he was making the fire dance, his work had distracted him, given him something to think about. Something else to think about. That was gone by now. All of a sudden it felt wrong to be here between all those people, the noise, the penetrating smell. „You're right…I am", he murmured absent mindedly in Clouddancers direction before he disappeared into the crowd. He went fast but not too fast in the direction of the archway made of stone and the drawbridge attached to it. „This is not an escape!", he told himself time and time again while placing one foot in front of the other quite fast, „This is not an escape." But still he could hear his foolish heart laughing at him.
It only turned silent when he had left the walls of Ombra for quite some time already. When he could feel sand beneath his feet, the salty air filled his lungs. He closed his eyes so that he could listen to the crashing of the waves without being disturbed by any pictures. Yes, this place had always been one to calm him down, the soft tickeling from the sand under his feed something to tell him that he was still standing on the ground, no matter what happened around him. For the numerous time today, Dustfinger whispered words of fire but this time there were golden sparks that slowly, carefully dared to appear upon his fingertips. For several heartbeats they stayed in this place, waiting for more of his words to encourage them to do what they had been planning to do. But he took his time, this was nothing that could be rushed, like none of the good things were. That new things took their time to become something good wasn't something he had just learned in the recent months. A little too fascinated, as he thought of himself, he watched to golden sparks dance. Then he glanced to the sea. No, the waves were not too high, even despite the wind, he could risk it. And if he only was careful enough, something truly beautiful would become of it.
Dustfinger encouraged the sparks using words of fire and then, slowly, hesitatingly at first, the first one dared to jump from his fingertips into the sea. The others followed, as hesitatingly as she did but soon the whole shore was filled with little, golden dots. Dustfinger let himself down on the ground and kept on encouraging them to come closer and closer to the water. He felt a delightful calmness coming over him. Yes, it was pleasing to know that one was in full control of a situation, to do something to succeed. And what a success it was. Dustfinger heared the first, quite hissing of the water as it welcomed the golden sparks long before he saw the white dust that emerged from the place where the two of them met. Fire and water came together by his words and out of the contrary, something new would be created. Something new...Dustfingers thoughts drifted away and his heart felt so heavy that his whispered „Fool!" didn't sound half as sharp as it was meant to be. He knew it was wrong to be here and not with her where he was needed. But was he really? „Maybe not immediately. But when it's done, when she finished the part where you can't help her, you will be. And then I make staying for you as hard as leaving." Just like it was now already. But still he didn't feel any regret as he pictured the future that was destined to be so different. Water and Fire hissed more loudly and from the thin mist arose flames. Blue like the sea, their mother and flickering like their father sparks. Creating something new. Together. Dustfinger shot them a last look before he stood up, brushed the sand from his black and red coat and left the beach fast. It was time to go. More than that.
The irrational fear that came to him on the way back and made him think, that the strolling players might have packed their things and moved on proved to be wrong. But it still made his feet go fast when he already stood right in the middle of the tents. He looked around but couldn't see a sight of her beautiful black haired head anywhere, not hear a tone of her stunningly beautiful voice. He grabbed the next best strolling player that passed him by the collar. „Where is she?", he said out of breath, „Where's Roxane?" – „In her tent", was the short answer, „The nettle is with her." Dustfingers heart stopped for a moment, then it began beating in his chest like crazy. Without thanking the man he ran across the place just up until the one, red tent where he spent way too little of his nights in. It wasn't common to call for the Nettle for that sort of thing, if there weren't any complications and…
Dustfinger stood starstruck as he saw the old woman coming out of the tent, closing the tarpaulin carefully. Her hands were red of blood and that might be the reason why she was caring that big bowl of water on her arm. She seemed tired and the exhaustion had left fresh wrinkles on her face. He couldn't tell what she thought from the glance she gave him as she looked at him right now. „Well well…", she said silently, „The firedance made it. Too late. Way too late, but nevertheless." Her words made the blood freeze in his veins and he needed way too many seconds until his tongue obeyed him enough so that he could say the words he wanted to. „Is she alright?" His voice was not much more than a whisper, so that for a moment he wasn't quite sure if the old woman understood him. She pursed her lips and instead of answering him right away she put the bowl of water down beneath her feet. Then she bowed down to wash her hands. Seconds later, the water turned red and Dustfingers racing heart pounded even more. „The child didn't want to be born", said the Nettle. Dustfinger could feel the colour draining from his face. Blood. There was so much red blood on her hands. „It took his time. For hours it tortured her with pain while nothing happened. It almost was like…it waited for something." Dustfinger avoided her glance. He thought about asking again but before he could bring a word to leave his lips he knew his voice was too shaky. „She lost a lot of blood. This and the pain and the exhaustion made her so weak that in the end she wasn't even able to hold the child to her chest." Dustfinger drew little circles on the ground with his feet. „I gave her some herbs to make her sleep. A long, restful sleep, she was really in need of it. Therefore she won't be able to welcome you, now that you're back." Dustfingers throat felt sore. „But maybe the girl is awake", the Nettle said before she turned to leave. A girl. Dustfingers heart beat less fast and felt lightly. So lightly. But still he stood there outside of the red tent like a dumb little boy. His tent. Their tent. Finally he pulled himself together and entered it.
It was dark inside and a strange smell in the air, he couldn't quite figure out what it was. Bitter and sweet at the same time. Dustfinger made a little flame appear upon his thumb so that he could see at least a little in all of that darkness. Roxane rested on a pile of hay, there were dark stains on its straws and Roxanes clothing that made his stomach turn. He tried to ignore it as he now came closer to her and pulled her head carefully into his lap. When he kissed her forehead, he noticed that her hair was soaked in cold sweat. Even now in her sleep there were still the traces of what she had managed to do over the last few hours and he didn't know if he had ever been more proud of her than he was in this moment. Whispering carefully to the flames, he ordered them to stand next to her so he could see her even better. They did as he told them. He could have sat there for an eternity, watching Roxanes calm face, her hands with the dirt under the fingernails, probably because she had pressed them into the ground. Her stomach which now lacked the bow that over the last months had become to him as familiar as the sound of her voice when she sang. But a little cry from his right hand side drew his attention away from her.
There on an improvised bed made from blankets and cushions, wrapped in a towel, layd his daughter. The sight of her filled him with shame. „What a great father you are!", he scolded himself, „You didn't even get her a proper crib!" First thing tomorrow, he swore to himself, he would go to Ombra and look for one of the handyman that made those kind of things for little money. A small one would be enough since the child wasn't that big either as he noticed now. Besides, the life as a strolling player didn't allow for things too big so that they couldn't be packed away quite fast if in a hurry. Carefully he glanced over the child, that was still crying and picked her up from the floor. Her hair was strawberryblond like his. He kept on looking in her face for something more of himself, anything – and when he opened her eyes and looked at him for the first time, his heart stopped. When it began to beat again, it flooded him with joy, proud, affection – and love. So much love. „Yes, I know, I'm late, Brianna…", he whispered to the bundle in his arms, „But I promise, from now on, I'll always be there. For you and your mother. Although you might not always see me, I'll always be there. No matter where I go, I'll always come back. I'll never leave you, Brianna, I swear." He looked down at her tiny, round face, so peacefully in her armes. She was breathing quite quickly and he began to wonder if that was something to worry about. But the Nettle didn't say that anything was wrong. „A big promise, coming from you." Roxane's voice was so quiet and thin, that he barely understood her. Dustfinger turned to her. Even in the shine of the fire her face seemed pale, not to use the expression that had come to him first. But her eyes were open and as she looked at him now, he found so much love in them, that it took his breath away for a moment. He smiled, almost sheepishly. „How are you?", he whispered, while still rocking Brianna in his arms. Roxane turned on the haybed so that she could see him better, but groaned in pain. Still, she smiled when she looked back at him. „Better than I felt during the last hours", she answered. Dustfinger looked at his daughter, before his glance went back to Roxane. „And you?" Roxane, who was there, exhausted, but alive. „Better than ever", he answered honestly and came a little closer to her, so she could put her head against his side. And while he sat there, listening to his daughter's breathing, he felt like he head never said those words so honestly before.