A short story written and illustrated by Zoe Berkebile
On the evenings when the darkness was so thick it seemed the sky itself was sleeping, when the moon had waned to nothing and the stars seemed to to have gone out, you would think the children of the small village would fear the night and hide beneath the warm safety of their quilts – but, no, this wasn’t so. They would gather near the edge of the woods where the path ran through to the outer world from which they were removed, and waited to see if their guest would arrive.
She was old and wise and full of stories. It was odd, the villagers thought, that she would travel such long and weary journeys by herself. But, of course, she was welcomed everywhere, for her stories were silvery dreams against the night. To the children, she was moon enough, her silver hair like threads of moonlight, her eyes full of laughter.
And she saw in the children what they saw in her – light and possibility. And she thought of her many children and smiled.
There was one child who was different. She was the one with silver eyes like two moons and hair as dark as the night. She did not ask, as the other children did, for fairy tales and heroic quests. She was the one who asked for stories of the Sky Court, the Moon Queen and the Stars that kept her company, or else those of the Faeries – although the tales of the Sky Court were her preference. She was the one who ran up the path through the woods to meet her halfway, who wasn’t afraid of the shadows and formless sounds.
There was something about her that was otherworldly – something the other children did not question – that made the old woman, a noticer of things, gasp. The storyteller was a noticer, thanks to the reason for her journeys, which required it, and besides, they were wonderful for stories. Was the child a changeling, a faerie’s daughter?
Or was she a star?
To Be Continued…
Stay tuned for the next installment of “Moon Threads” by Zoe Berkebile.