The assignment was to write about an Unlikely Friendship. This is Aaron Dean's entry.
She made sure to take her bramble wood basket and tie on her evening bonnet as she left the shack that morning as she planned to be out all day and may get caught in the cold wood at night. Sister Haggis was brewing her hideous Flak Juice potion and it always threw her into a frenzy. The less she was anywhere nearby the better. All of those incantations and delicate ingredients and on ordinary days Sister Haggis was likely to strike her at least once. On Flak Juice days it would be often.
A hefty bramble wood basket such as the one she carried could be used as a weapon in a pinch, with its interior loaded with the clutching thorns of the bramble wood tree. And you never knew what you would come across in the wood.
She hopped onto the lane and hurried through the sunlight, clutching her black shift and heavy shawl around her scrawny frame. She felt exposed in the sunlight, and had to go too near other homes with their windows full of prying eyes. Her tight black braids slapped her back like a carriage person, whipping her and urging her on. Her black shoes were beaten and worn yet utilitarian; they served their purpose as a means of conveyance.
She could see the dark confines of the wood and almost feel its inky coolness when a form inadvertently stepped in her path. She stopped abruptly, quite nearly toppling upon the stranger. It was a child, no more than 4 years old with a basket of her own made of the finest wicker. She could see that the young one had been collecting vilden berries along the path, for their neon green hue stained the little girl’s white frock and ran down her chin. She was eating more than she could collect, it seemed.
The little child looked up the lanky, dark frame, reached the face and let out a shriek of terror so intense it hurt the other child’s ears. The little one dumped her basket and ran straight home, leaving the sickening sweet scent of vilden berries in her stead. The other child watched her go, tried not to be stung by the rebuff of one so young and flung herself into the safety of the wood where the trees and wild things always welcomed her and none of them shrieked and ran away.
By the time she was no more than a few paces into the wood, she loosened the braids and let her long black hair flow free behind like a shiny flag as she skipped down the lane. She loved to feel it flowing free behind her, though polite etiquette ruled against it. Truth be told her benefactress would be mortified by her appearance.
She knew of a sunny knoll right along the riverbank that seemed untouched by anyone’s hands but hers. It had become her secret place to be alone and lounge in quiet reflection. She loved to stare at the sun dappling on the water, though she knew better than to ever go too near it or touch it as she was fiercely allergic.
She was lying propped against a rock on a bed of river grass and nearly dozing when she heard the scampering and mewing in the bushes nearby. She laughed briefly and smiled. She meant to check before she settled down. It seemed the grabbler had gotten another one. The grabbler was harmless enough if you knew to skirt around it or feed it lilac berries. But if it were hungry or cranky it would snatch any passing living thing within its dark branches and hold them there until it was fed again. Probably a farm cat or rabbit or some other poor creature was tangled within.
She wandered down closer to the banks and gathered a handful of lilac berries. She tossed them to the grabbler and a tawny blur came scuttling out and cringed near her shoes. She laughed and bent to the kitten only to realize in shock that it was a lion cub, tiny and a bit scrawny and definitely trembling all over.
“Poor little thing,” she murmured as she picked it up. She looked into the creatures deep, brown terrified eyes and held it close to her to cease its trembling. “Have you lost your mother?”
“If you please, strange child,” the cub said, in a squeaky little voice. “I have no mother and was out wandering the banks when that hideous bush snatched me. It seems I am constantly being attacked and prodded in this wood and it terrifies me greatly. Now I fear that a strange, green child like you is a witch and will stew me up in a pot for your dinner, quick as a wink.”
“Silly little foundling,” the girl laughed. “I am no more a witch than you are, and as for my color I was born this way, and mean you no harm whatsoever. As for what I enjoy for dinner I know that a scrawny thing like you would not fill me up in the slightest. Furthermore, why do you tremble so? Are you not aware that you are destined to be King of All Beasts someday? Why the grabbler would have loosed you immediately if you had simply let out your mighty roar.”
The cub hid his eyes in shame. “My roar is far from mighty, little miss, I assure you.”
“Let’s hear it then,” the child prodded.
The little lion trembled and then let out a tremulous little squawk that did not startle even the little bluebirds hopping nearby.
The girl laughed and said “Are there no other lions to show you how it’s done? What of your father, then, and your family?”
“I’m afraid of them,” the cub quaked.
They spent the afternoon getting to know each other, and many afternoons thereafter. In fact, the little lion cub became the joy and purpose of the little green child’s life for a time. She tried to work on building up the cowardly little creature’s nerve, but something always seemed to startle him away from learning.
By mid-summer he had grown a bit more robust and could manage to frighten the little bluebirds with his pathetic roar, but some wicked little monkeys took up roost in a tree nearby and teased the animal relentlessly. They threw bits of earth at him and sneaked down to pull his tail when his back was turned. They destroyed any progress the child made.
Just when the air began to smell of acrid smoke and the wind grew cooler the child determined that she must do something to help the little lion cub. Her benefactress Sister Haggis was a witch, after all. Surely there was a courage potion she could concoct.
The girl was unsure of many of the ingredients and their exact measure may have been off a little, but a potion she did produce. Sister Haggis watched in great good humor as the little green girl hurried off into the wood to give her potion to the lion. It was an amusement to her and she greatly anticipated what result there would be.
The little lion had taken up residence in a little cave the two had found one afternoon and had made quite a home for himself. He had a bed of fine leaves and even a tiny running trickle to drink fresh water from. He ate mostly leaves and berries for her was far too fearful to approach and kill any game, even tiny birds and bunnies.
He was also fearful of the potion.
“What do I do with it?” the lion asked, looking at the murky bottle with distaste. “Must I drink it?”
The girl looked at the bottle uncertainly. “I believe so. You just swallow it up, quick as a wink.”
She poured the murky liquid into a little wooden saucer and placed it in front of the lion. They both watched as the liquid swirled and sparked, reacting to the wooden bowl.
The lion approached it and sniffed, then snorted in disgust.
“I am afraid I cannot consume that vile stuff for it makes my stomach turn so terribly. Get it away and I will go on being cowardly.”
Just then, the monkeys descended once more and threw rocks and clods of dirt at the lion. One of them dashed forward to tweak his ears and upended the bowl, dashing the liquid on the little green girl, from head to foot.
She screamed and fell back out of the cave as the potion soaked her. Sparks covered her frame in a blue haze for a moment and when she stood again, she was enraged. A drastic change had come over the little girl. She was furious and hot anger and hatred coursed through her. And power. Such fearsome, awesome power.
She turned and let out a cry of terrifying rage at the horde of mischievous monkeys. Sparks flew from her fingertips and danced in her eyes. She shouted words she did not understand and a bolt shot from her right hand and covered the monkeys in white lightning. When the smoke cleared, they had sprouted large, floppy wings.
The little girl had become evil. The lion cub had dashed into the woods, more terrified than ever.
The power surged through the green girls lanky frame. She cared not for the departing lion cub. She wanted revenge on all of those who had ever dared cross her. She had been filled with more courage and power than any little girl needed, and that had made her Wicked.
She headed home, looking for Sister Haggis.
