Chapter 6: Fountain Refrain

The Guardian had no idea if his visibility was wearing off or something as ridiculous as that, for no one seemed to care that a girl with frizzy, grassy hair (who was a certain fairy creature important to a whole forest's life) was soaring through the air like a sail, being pulled by a child that was smaller than that person. Not only that, it wasn't just a handful of people they had passed, but a bustling number of them, scurrying along like squirrels through piles of dry autumn leaves. However, the poor forest spirit had no time to think—he was busy trying to hold onto little Alfred's hand like it was his life.

"Aren't you tiring in the least, boy?" The Guardian attempted to say in a normal voice, but bellowed as the wind fell behind them. "Being woefully honest, my arm's gone through more exercise than an ant running across a field just by holding onto you!"

"Uhhhm… Nope! I haven't been tired all day! …Ha! That was funny, mister Grovekeeper, sir; I thought you were being serious!" Alfred laughed as loud as a thousand crickets' chirps as he bounded like a grasshopper down the road.

And you seemed pooped as a whip-poor-will when we simply could've waited for that British brother of yours… The keeper grumbled in his head. …Oh! If I get too pessimistic, I might as well say farewell to my post… I got to think happy thoughts… happy thoughts… BUT HOW CAN I THINK HAPPILY WHEN THE WIND WON'T LET ME THINK AT ALL?!

. . .

I've been running around this whole darned place looking for that little brat, Arthur thought, gritting his teeth, almost seething at how much time he was wasting. He's trying my patience. Each word he thought felt like he spat them out.

When I get my hands on him…

As Arthur ground his jaw in absolute anger, he rounded a corner into a road filled with shoppers, who weren't just scattered about, but crowded into a honeycomb of people. Like any other curious person, the heavy-browed Englishman listened in, his ire turning into mist, booming into wonderment.

As he molded himself into the dense and humid honeycomb, Arthur was able to catch a fleeting glimpse of a cracked lantern, the candle still, strangely, burning bright. When he blinked, he swore he saw a glowing orb, like the light of a firefly on a late summer's night. But when he looked again, it was a lantern. Haah… This is ridiculous. I'm not going to waste my time by playing the staring game at some poor and useless oil lamp, he thought to himself. He wondered aimlessly on why some fools were crowding around to look at some lamp just lying there. It was awfully stupid to him, if not absolutely idiotic.

Before he turned his now unpolished heel, the Englishman heard a voice above the rest. He wasn't sure why—but it felt like a strong presence, like a looming oak tree to a sprouting sapling.

The voice was carried up from the crowd and eventually landed on him. "That poor girl," he heard. "What would some little boy be doing, running around with some little miss, who's flying like a sail? He must be a little touched in the head."

Arthur almost nodded in agreement when he realized that—the boy… was Alfred? There was a possibility… only that little kid could throw around some beast like it was a toy truck… And even though it was a superhuman quality, carrying around a girl like a sail was just some …normal occurrence for Alfred's older brother. If a boy could toss around an animal ten times bigger than themselves, they could surely do the same to a regular human being, and Alfred very much fit the description like he did into a perfectly-sized sweater.

In which this obviously meant Arthur had a lead.

Luckily, the Englishman didn't have to tangle up with the crowd, for he probably could tell where the boy and his new victi—friend was: the Fountain. It was obvious, with the way the lantern sat on its side, pointing down the road toward the sprinkling waterworks. Arthur felt exceptionally pleased with his smarts, snickering to himself. However, he knew that lad needed one stern talking to.

Just to help the girl who had the lantern, Arthur picked up the lamp when the crowd dispersed, which didn't take long—they were busy shopping.

Afterwards, practicing a stinging scowl for his lively, comical little sibling, the young man strode down the pathway to the spraying spring.

. . .

"Haah… haah… oh, my hobbling head…" the keeper stumbled onto the ground. "Swooping swallowtails, my arm's a pile of jelly…"

"Uhh…" Alfred mumbled. "…Nope, it doesn't look too bad. Just a little… no, it doesn't look any different."

"It was just an exaggeration, lad."

"…Oooh."

At the very least, the Guardian and the energetic little boy were finally at the fountain, a monument that seemed very conspicuous, like a pure pink rose sprouting alone in the grass. The spewing pool of water seemed to occupy much of Alfred's attention, so everything was peaceful. …Until they had to wait for a long time, in which the forest spirit forecasted to happen with ninety-nine percent chance of very loud complaining. Or, perhaps, too much talking. He sighed heavily.

. . .

Much to Arthur's relief, the fountain was soon upon him, with each time his heel hit the very bumpy walkway. That Alfred would be too smart and cunning to not remember the place they'd reunite.

Or Arthur so hoped. But he trekked on, slipping through the scampering men and women, gripping baskets, coins or clothes. With a bit of luck, they wouldn't beg a higher-up man running through a field of commoners for money, an opportunity that can't be taken lightly.

They didn't.

. . .

The Guardian put his hand to his chin, and studied the watery monument, with its smooth, dark grey river rocks gathered below, mixed in a mesh of glinting coins. The gleam of the natural beauty and modern style of the coins would have been devastatingly beautiful… if Alfred hadn't been spouting out random nonsense right then, as the keeper had forecasted.

"Heeeey, can we play a game? Can we can we can we? I want to play this game I learned the other day. You have to…" and then it all went downhill from there. And there was even a time that the boy tried to play with some random passerby, and even a horse slowly pulling a carriage. Of course, the keeper had to peel the boy away, even though some people were actually eager to play with Alfred. To compensate for that, the Guardian let the little ball of energy run around the fountain, so long as he didn't bump into anybody. At last, they could have some rest.

. . .

There's that blasted fountain, Arthur grumbled under his breath. He strode his way through the final wave of people in the streets, dodging this way and that, his moves fluent after a while of sliding through other crowds. Footsteps soon faded, and only a few men and women were around. Beyond them, Arthur saw the fountain clear as day, or rather, as clear as the evening around him. The water was still, miraculously, a pristine crystal as it fell from the spouts to the pool below. After seeing the beauty of the spring, a towering, elegant beauty, Arthur soon picked up his pace again, and, once more, walked down to the sight.

. . .

"Hey, hey, hey, Guardian sir! I'm tired. Super tired. Can I go home now? Oh, no, no! Can I go somewhere to eat now? Like a candy store? Please?" He shook the keeper's arm. And shook some more.

"Alfred, how many times must I say that we've only arrived here around 7:39? Which was just ten minutes ago?" The Guardian whined. "We haven't the time to go back. Arthur is just nearby and—"

"Really?!" Alfred's eyes sparkled like the water in the fountain. "Really, really?" He was jumping up and down in excitement.

"Yes, really, and we should just wait until he comes by and—"

"Let's go see him then! Okay? Okay!"

"No, no, no, Alfred, don't—"

Snatch! Went Alfred's hand, grabbing the Guardian of the Grove's.

Browning bumbling bagworms, I am NOT going to run anymore. No, no no no no no NO.

"You were right, sir! There he is over there! Let's go!"

. . .

There he was, that little boy, that fool! Arthur felt his legs almost fly through the air. He didn't know why he felt so happy to see him—it took a lot of responsibility, among other things—but he felt happiness course through his veins, as did Alfred.

However, it seemed the only one who wasn't happy was the Guardian, who was, once again, a hopeless sail behind Alfred. And when the lad pounced up and Arthur caught him, the Guardian was nothing short of hurled out of Alfred's grasp. And then, he felt the ground catch him. In a dusty, very uncomfortable catch, if you wanted to go into detail.

"Oh, Alfred, you must've been so upset the whole time! I'll buy you candy the next time we go out, I promise!" Arthur hugged Alfie tighter.

And then Arthur noticed the Guardian, who was still disguised with hay-coloured hair and human girl hands. "Alfred, is she your friend?"

"Yep, and she's not a she, she's a he!" Alfred replied, a big grin spreading across his face.

Arthur was shocked, all happiness drained from his face. "You can't possibly insult a young lady by telling her she looks like a boy!" He helped the Guardian up from the ground. The Guardian stayed silent, afraid his dwindling magic might disappear if he used too much to speak. It didn't help when Arthur saw scrapes on the keeper's elbows. And what's more… they were a little fresh.

"…Alfred, did you and this young miss play tag or something like it?"

Alfred nodded. He felt the pressure in the air.

"And you didn't even stop playing when she got scrapes?"

"Y-yeah…" Alfred was on the verge of starting to cry.

"You can't do that, okay, Alfred? When you play, be more careful for other people! You have to acknowledge them!" Arthur said instructively. He took out some bandages from his coat pocket—they were always there when Alfred was outside, and especially when he was playing—and covered the wounds.

"I don't want you to hurt anybody now; this is too much. You'll have to stay inside the house for a while now, okay?" Arthur felt guilty, but glad he didn't upright tell the boy that he was grounded right when he saw him.

But it was no use. The boy's eyes were blurry with tears. "O-okay…"

Alfred's older brother looked at the Guardian and said, in a cooing voice, "Go on back to your mother, alright? Do you know the way home?" The Guardian nodded weakly. His head was draped by his hay-like hair. The Guardian turned around and ran into the crowd of people, in the direction of his broken lantern, hopefully still nearby where he dropped it. He looked back at Alfred, who was nearly wailing, as Arthur picked him up and headed home.

…I'm sorry, Alfred, my lad. I have to be as silent as a flying owl… I've lost too much magic. My voice would have been waving around, from a high squeak to a low rumble. I would've caused too much of a hullaballoo. The Guardian thought, still knowing that his thinking could never reach the boy. But I can't blame you, even after all the running and the complaining, and rambling… I'll make it up to you, I promise.

And into the streetlamp-tinted fog he went.