Morning glory came with the sun shining on the heavens. The kingdom was draped in golden light, while a soft breeze encouraged the flowers and trees into a graceful dance, accompanied by the melodies of birds that had just indulged in worms now settled in their bellies.
With the weather fair and the night dwelt on good dreams, Pawlu and the children went ahead to the forest as he had promised, to go on hunting, except that the two little ones would stay in the grotto, understanding that little Clowee could not dare to look at birds being shot with an arrow.
This notion did not sit well with Bastjan, who pouted and eyed the little girl with disdain for disrupting his moment to hunt with his father.
"You can wait at the grotto, children," Pawlu said, looking at Bastjan and Clowee with a smile, also trying to control his laughter, seeing how adorable the two look together in their fur suits. "Did you bring everything you need?"
Clowee giggled, hopped with her large doggy ears flapping like wings, and answered excitedly while showing the picnic blanket, "Yes! I have the blanket here!"
"Food and the water jug are with me." Bastjan followed, presenting the basket and jug he held in both hands.
Pawlu then let out a satisfying sigh as he patted his son's head and said, "That is very good! While I look for quails, you two will stay at the grotto."
"Can I come with you?" Bastjan complained, looking up at his father with desperation painted on his face.
"No, my boy," Pawlu said firmly yet with gentleness, continuing to remind him to be considerate. "Remember, we have a little guest here, and we have to be good hosts."
The little boy grunted, quietly staring at Clowee with fuming eyes and a head full of hatred. "This is really all your fault!" He accused her inside the chaotic quietude of his mind.
Sensing his stares, Clowee looked behind—for she was steps ahead of the father and son—and curved a sunny smile as she stretched out her hand at him. "Come, Bastjan!" Her voice was light and rang like a sweet church bell before a Sunday Mass.
As their gazes met, Bastjan was taken aback by something he could not fathom when he looked at her eyes that turned gold under the rays of the sun. Truly, her smile was welcoming, a gesture that no angry little boy could deny as he absentmindedly accepted her hand and both walked together.
"Let me carry this jug, my boy." Pawlu offered, taking the water jug from his son, hoping that with his hands free, Basjtan would slowly begin to bond with Clowee.
Hand in hand, with the forest being calm and a joyous place, little Clowee sang as she swayed her and Bastjan's arms while she hopped like a bunny. Bastjan did not look at her; he just stared at the ground as warmth rose on his cheeks.
Noticing his son's sudden silence and the glowing redness on his face, Pawlu could not help but let out a light chuckle.
Hearing his father's laugh, Bastjan darted an eye at him. Knowing his tease was lethal, arguing back would only end up in another jest that surely would no longer give him a chance of winning against his father.
As his father gave a reassuring yet playful smile, Bastjan could only roll his eyes and stare at the ground, all the while unknowingly tightening his grasp on Clowee's hands.
"Are you alright?" Clowee asked, tilting her head.
"Huh?" Bastjan was caught off guard again.
"You look red." She told him, then laughed while she pinched his cheeks.
"Ow!" He groaned.
"Well, my little boy is turning into a tomato because it is his first time holding a pretty girl's hand." Pawlu teased his son even more, making him sneer while becoming redder.
"It's not true!" Bastjan retorted, trying to take his hands away from Clowee's.
Joyful at making fun of him, little Clowee held on tight to his hands as she reached with her other hand to pinch his cheek. "Ha! Ha! Ha! You look like a tomato!"
"Stop it!"
Everyone laughed at the lightheartedness of the moment as the birds reached the pinnacle of their song.
Once they arrived at the grotto, the crystal blue waters that glistened along the walls of the little cave greeted them as if it were the gate to fairyland, with its wonders all waiting for them.
Little Clowee's mouth gaped as her eyes glimmered with the waves of glitter from the clear waters. Flowers in full bloom seemed to bow before her, gracing her with their magnificence as their colours gave life amidst the evergreen foliage.
"Flowers…" Clowee murmured, fascinated at the various blooms that were surrounding the grotto.
There were daisies, raising their yellow petals at the visitors, lilac mallows that became bashful yet smiling, roses were there too, of whites and reds, seemingly singing as Clowee giggled, and there was the Widnet il-Bahar that swayed with their lovely heads looking like small waves of fire as they moved in unison.
Little Clowee was ecstatic—joyous that she dropped the picnic blanket as she hastily picked some flowers, gently tied them into a bundle with the thin rope she had, and showed it to Pawlu and Bastjan as she said, "Look, I have flowers!"
Pawlu knelt beside her and checked her flowers, responding, "Spring has truly blessed us. These are lovely, my dear!"
Small laughs escaped from Clowee's lips. "I will pick many flowers for you, for Jakobb and Fawstina, for Bastjan, for Alessandra, and for the altar."
Upon hearing his name, Bastjan became red again and hurriedly turned his back as he walked towards the waters, placed the picnic basket on top of a rock, and searched for something he knew not what.
Mumbling and grunting, the little boy ignored everything that was said between his father and Clowee. "I want to go hunting!" He hushly exclaimed, unaware that Clowee was already behind him, ready to hand him over a bundle of Widnet il-Bahar.
"Bastjan…" The little boy was surprised as he turned his head towards her. "Here are your flowers."
Bastjan glanced at the flowers and then back at her face, raising an eyebrow in confusion at her gesture.
"Come on, dear boy…" Pawlu encouraged, smiling as he hid his tease for his son.
But Bastjan knew what the sly grin his father curved on his lips meant as he grunted and took the flowers with exasperation. "Thank you…" He plainly said, turning his attention back to the waters.
Clowee was delighted, twirling and returning to the grotto's garden.
Seeing that the children were settling down, Pawlu returned the jug of water, placed it beside the basket, and said to Bastjan, "I'll be on my way now, my boy. Will you two be alright? I won't be long."
Bastjan fidgeted with the small shell he found while he answered, "I guess. You promised you won't be long?" He then looked up at his father with eyes pleading to go with him.
Pawlu kissed his head and gave him an embrace, quietly telling him to be a good boy. "Remember, just stay here at the grotto. I know you will be a good host to Clowee. This will be your time to play and get to know each other." He then patted his head.
"Are you now going to hunt, Senjur?" Clowee inquired as she approached them.
"Yes, my little one." Pawlu also patted her head while playing with her big doggy ears. "You two really looked adorable in your fur suits, especially when you are close together." As he told them, Clowee moved closer to Bastjan, hugged him, surprising him and making him red again, while beaming her brightest smile at Pawlu. "Children, promised me you will never take off your suits."
"Promise," Bastjan said, knotting his brows that Clowee would not move away from him.
"We promise, Senjur!" Clowee followed, releasing Bastjan from her embrace.
Satisfied, Pawlu then showed his cross and also reminded them, "How about your cross, are you wearing them?" The children nodded, even showing him their crosses, making him feel more at ease about leaving them for a while. "Please keep them away from the cryptids, my Lord." He prayed, sighing deeply.
His hunting ground was not even that far from the grotto. After a three or four quails, he would immediately return, planning in his head that before the sun descended from his throne, they could return to their home.
After one last adieu to the children, Pawlu then went on his own way to hunt.
It was truly a clear day, fitting to be spent at the grotto as its clear waters called out to any living creature to rest by its shore. Little Clowee enjoyed picking flowers as many as she could. She also played effeuiller la marguerite with a daisy, whispering to its yellow heart as she plucked its petals, "He loves me, he loves me not…"
When the crown was bare, Clowee ended up triumphant with the last petal signifying 'he loves me'. Her smile arched from ear to ear as she slumped into the soft green grass, thinking of a handsome prince she would soon marry when she grew up, reminiscent of those romantic tales Alessandra would tell her before she slept. "My prince will soon come!" She murmured, kissing her bald daisy.
"For good heavens! What on earth are you doing?" Bastjan stood on top of her head, displaying authority as he crossed his hands while looking down at her.
His looming shadow dispelled the sunshine that illuminated Clowee's charming face. Looking up at him, the little girl showed no apprehension towards him—instead, she giggled and raised her hands, showing him her daisy. "Look, Bastjan… He loves me!"
"Huh?" Bastjan was puzzled, wondering about her bald daisy. "What are you talking about?"
Clowee rose and pushed her daisy near Bastjan's face, excitedly shared, "The last petal says 'he loves me!' I am going to meet my prince when I grow up!"
Studying the bare flower and back at Clowee, the little boy sneered, "Shouldn't you be a princess to marry a prince?"
The little girl gave a soft gasp, almost forgetting that she had promised Alessandra not to tell who she really was. "And before it is gone with the wind, you are no longer Princess Clothilde. Now, you are someone from the lower ranks—a daughter of one of the kitchen servants who is momentarily under my care, for your mother is still learning the vastness of the palace kitchen." Clowee remembered every word her nursemaid told her. "You will also be called Clowee."
To avoid more suspicion from Bastjan, Clowee took a deep breath and said with confidence and the same jovial contenance she had seconds ago, "Why not? My papa told me that no matter who you are, if God intended for you to marry a prince, then he is your soulmate."
"That is only a fairytale, Clowee. Grow up!" Bastjan spat, turning his back towards her.
"Why? Have you been in love?"
"Love? I am still a boy!" He turned to face her again, laughed at her inquiry, and took her bald daisy from her hands and threw it on the ground. "I am now hungry, will you please lay out the blanket?"
Clowee obliged, coyly moped as she spread the picnic blanket and laid it deftly on the spot where the grass was shorter.
With the food, prepared by Pawlu and Alessandra, placed in humble wares that Bastjan included in their inventory, the children said grace and feasted. There were flatbreads, small cheese called gbijniets, leftover meats, olives, and cabbage. It was truly a fulfilling meal as Bastjan and Clowee gradually filled their plates and then finished every last piece until their growls subsided.
"Does Senjur Pawlu have his share?" Clowee wondered, feeling a little guilty as she stared at the almost empty servings.
Bastjan nodded, finishing his cheeselet and meat. "Yes," He said. "Papa had his own share in his bag. He has water too. Besides, there was a nearby lake on the hunting grounds."
Clowee understood and finished her meal before she neatly placed her plate on the blanket, took a piece of bread, and went back to her usual spot as she waited for the birds to have their share of nourishment.
When he cleared his plate, Bastjan then decided to gather some seeds for their little garden. He ignored Clowee despite her laughter and singing echoing in his head. After luncheon, he immediately scoured the grounds with keen eyes, trying to avoid contact with the little girl he had loathed the first time he met her.
"Greetings, birdies!" Clowee sang, greeting the birds with a smile as her beauty glowed in the warm sunlight. "Pardon, for we only have this little bread. We will surely bring more when we return."
"I am not returning here with you!" Bastjan grumbled, saying more protests with every positive exclamation Clowee uttered.
For a while, knowing he could not escape her voice, Bastjan slowly walked out of the premises of the grotto and tried to gather some berries he could find. He would not be far, but enough distance that he could no longer hear little Clowee's voice. "Finally!" He rejoiced, raising his hand and closing his eyes.
Somehow, Clowee had not noticed his absence, still feeding the birds until her bread was no longer in existence. "Are you full now?" One bird kissed her lips, thanking her for the food. "I am glad all of you are happy." She responded with a gleeful beat in her heart.
As she played with the birds, all of a sudden, a glowing butterfly appeared out of nowhere. Clowee's eyes grew big like the full moon, fascinated because the butterfly was like a little floating fire. The dainty insect came flying around her, as if telling her something. Clowee was frozen in place, unable to fathom such a phenomenon.
One glowing butterfly was a fascination, a child's wonderment. But then came two, three, four, and many more, swarming around the little girl like little balls of light and making her glow like she was a fairy.
No words could escape from Clowee's lips except for a small gasp, knowing that these glowing creatures were real when one landed on her hands as she reached towards them.
After waltzing around her, the butterflies slowly pulled the little girl somewhere not far from the grotto. Their gold wings fluttered as their small hands dragged the fabric of her clothing, forcing her feet to be in command as Clowee remained bewildered, fully taken by the enchantment she was blessed with.
With her feet leading, the butterflies carried the little girl farther from the thickets where willow trees grew, bending their necks, their long white hair flowing down as they wept melancholic tales from bygone years.
She was taken to a location high above the cave, nestled in the heart of the forest, where trees flourished in multitudes. Clowee wandered, looking up in the sky where most branches linked like hands, giving a gentleman's vow. It was an unworldly place, she thought, with the glowing butterflies waiting and directing her towards the largest willow tree.
"Where are we going?" She asked, her voice shy yet quite elated.
The butterflies dragged her skirt until she stood before the large willow tree, whose leaves were almost a whisper, and its branches long and strong. That specific tree looked like an old king, sitting on his veiny throne as his eyes were closed, ready to listen to a subject's requests.
Clowee now felt she was in a magical realm—in fairy land, as where Alessandra would place a tale she was about to narrate. As she observed with her golden-brown eyes, her surroundings felt surreal, unlike the aura the grotto radiated. Well, both were beautiful and serene, yet with the rows of willows, it felt like she was in a feast where lords gathered to celebrate the wins they gained from war.
Fascinated was the feeling that beat in her heart, moving her sight upwards. Clowee saw a more magical sight, pinching herself and realised it was never a dream. There, perched on one of the large branches of the old willow tree, was a golden bird looking down at her, greeting her with a tweet.
"Pretty bird!" Clowee mindlessly mumbled as she walked closer towards the willow tree.
Pleased with her, the golden bird waved her long feather tail, which looked like golden hair, as her blue eyes studied the little girl.
"Good day, pretty bird!" Clowee greeted, giving the flying creature a deep curtsy. "My name is Clothi—Clowee. I come here, not as an intruder, but as a curious guest. I did not come to the grotto alone. I came with Senjur Pawlu and Bastjan."
The bird understood her as she flew down, landed on her hand, and kissed her cheeks before she circled the little girl with a dance that flowed along with the song of the forest.
Completely bewildered, Clowee followed the bird as she raised her hands towards it and slowly surrendered to the melody that finally hovered over the kingdom of the willow trees.
The golden bird sang, singing her heart out as she encouraged the little girl to follow her on her merrymaking.
Clowee understood the pretty bird's thoughts and danced as if tomorrow would never come.
Bastjan grew bored of searching for seeds and berries, but was still reluctant to return to the grotto. Looking back, he rolled his eyes, reminded that a nuisance little girl was there, probably waiting for him to talk about nonsense. "Love," He started talking to himself. "Ha! She is still living in a fairytale. A flower cannot dictate whether or not you are bound for marriage or not. What a petty play." He commented as his head was filled with a montage of Clowee and her bald daisy.
He remembered her smile and how excited she was to show him her daisy, its petals freshly plucked from her childish game. Her voice rang in his head, and he remembered her face, which reminded him of a cherub on the frescoes of their little church. He turned red, blushing, for he could not come into honesty that he found her charming. In fact, little Clowee was beautiful, unlike his female playmates. She was fair, almost snow-white, and he wondered, "Has Clowee done any work under the sun?"
Realising that he became flustered as he thought of Clowee, Bastjan threw a fit of pique, taking off his fur cap and scratching his head like a madman. "Stop it! I hate her!" He told himself while his blush grew redder. "Ugh! Clowee is annoying! I wonder if she is done making chaos at the grotto."
Bastjan then walked back to the grotto but found it desolate. Their picnic setting remained there, with the blanket sprawled untidily and the empty plates still sitting on top of it. Bastjan was frustrated that he searched for her, stomping his feet like a monster hunting his next prey. "Where is she?" He complained, searching every inch of the grotto's premises.
A minute had passed, and there was still no Clowee. The little boy was so mad that he gave up and sat on a large rock, looking down at the ripples of the water as he calmed his nerves.
As he began to drown in his thoughts, Clowee came, calling out to him with a clear excitement on her face. "Bastjan!" She yelled, waving at him.
He turned to face her with a scowl on his face and responded, "Where have you been? And why did you take off your headpiece?"
The little girl was catching a breath after running towards him, heaving as she retorted, "Well, you also had your headpiece off!"
Bastjan felt defeated but refused to confess. Instead, he stood up, enforced some authority, and haughtily stated as he crossed his arms around, "I had an itch!" His eyes then knotted between his forehead.
However, Clowee's expression was not what he assumed. One brow was raised, and a teasing smile curved on the corner of her face as she replied, "An itch, you say, Senjur?" She inquired, levelling at him as she stood on her toes. "Is that why you are red again… like a tomato?"
The little boy immediately turned around and covered his face while he growled. He scolded himself, hearing the laughs and teases of Clowee echoed around. "You think I am pretty, don't you, Bastjan?" Her playful badger stirred something inside him that he could not understand, prompting him to retaliate by splashing water into Clowee's face.
Clowee's eyes grew wide, shocked by the cold water that came onto her. Yet, as she wiped her face, she only giggled and took Bastjan's hand, dragging him to the place of the white willow trees.
"Wait, where are you taking me?" The boy asked, trying to catch up with her pace.
"Somewhere magical!" Almost like a whisper but enough to be heard, Clowee told him.
"We should at least put back our headpiece first! Can we please stop?"
"We can put it back there! It is not that far."
With exasperation, Bastjan complied with Clowee's unwavering eagerness, feeling bullied out of his wits.
Once in the forest, it felt like time ceased. Bastjan could not comprehend the wonders of the willow kingdom, much like how Clowee felt the first time she set foot in that part of the vast forest. He was in awe, looking at their bending trunks as the elated Clowee dragged him.
"We're here!" Clowee exclaimed, pointing at the largest white willow tree. "There is the pretty… bird…" Suddenly, the joy in her voice slowly dwindled as if a whispering wind was gradually blowing out the kindling ember.
She looked at the branch where the golden bird sat after their merriment, and to her surprise, it was empty. Even the glowing butterflies that took her there were nowhere to be found, as if everything she experienced was all just vivid wishful thinking. "But she was just here!" In a low and disbelief voice, she wailed, stiffened at the realisation.
"Who?" Bastjan asked as his gaze traced where she was pointing.
"The pretty golden bird who sang and danced with me." Looking at the boy behind her, Clowee saw the unsureness painted across his face, thinking she was telling a tale.
Bastjan cleared his throat and flicked her forehead, hoping to wake some senses in her. "What do you mean by golden bird? Are you daydreaming? Are you having some odd visions?"
The little girl winced, comforting her forehead after Bastjan flicked it hard. "Ow! No, I am not daydreaming!" She reasoned. "I found this place because glowing butterflies took me here, and on this tree perched a pretty golden bird, and then she flew around me while she sang."
"Did you listen to yourself? Glowing butterflies, pretty golden bird? Sounds like the make-belief of a little girl who wanted attention." The little boy spat. Raising his chin, he had had enough of Clowee's antics.
"It is not make-belief!" Clowee stomped her feet as she stood firm on what she experienced. "I am telling the truth! Glowing butterflies took me here, and I met a pretty golden bird who danced and sang to me."
"Liar!"
"I am not!"
"Yes… you… are!" Bastjan gradually moved closer to her, taunting her as he challenged her.
Clowee stomped again with more force and a scowl contorting her pretty face. "I… am… not! I am not lying!"
"There are no glowing butterflies, Clowee. Golden bird? Hunters like Papa might have caught it a long time ago!"
"I think she is all alone. I can feel it through her song."
"Oh, so now you feel her song? Do you have a disease, Clowee?" Arms crossed around his chest, while Bastjan tried to subdue his temper.
"Just believe me, Bastjan… The golden bird is real, and the butterflies, as well!" Clowee proceeded to return her attention to the willow tree, searching for the golden bird even if she had to inspect every branch.
Observing her irked him even more, rolling his eyes and murmuring into the air his annoyance while doing his best to ignore her. "I could be hunting by now…"
"That branch…" Clowee emphasised, pointing at the same branch where she first saw the golden bird perched. "I am sure that is the branch!"
"Stop it!" Like a roaring lion, Bastjan finally had enough of little Clowee's tale, erupting like the silent Mount Vesuvius. "Wake up, Clowee! There is no golden bird! Will you please stop lying and let us head back to the grotto? I no longer want to hear any of your lies."
"I am not lying!" Cold feet began to tease the little girl as she defended herself. There was brokenness in her voice, and her eyes began to sting from the tears that were about to trickle down her cheeks, clearly hurt from his hateful sentiments that blurted out on such a lovely day. But steadfast her heart was, little Clowee took his hand and reasoned with him one more time with pleading eyes and cheeks red from the hurt she tried to ignore. "Please, Bastjan… Believe me."
Despite the grace from her heart, emanating in the warmth of her palms, Bastjan's stubbornness prevailed. As he looked back at her, the knot on his forehead twisted even more as a fisherman's nets crumpled, carelessly tossed on the side. Feeling her tight grip, Bastjan groaned in protest and without warning, he pushed Clowee away, thinking she would leave him alone.
However, an undesirable event occurred, causing their hearts to skip a beat.
Under the large willow tree, a large hole slumbered under the soil and leaves that accumulated over time. In a fit of rage, Bastjan unwittingly shoved little Clowee into the hole, causing her to descend into a mysterious abyss, her cries resonating until they gradually faded the further she fell.
Bastjan's jaw dropped, he instantly gripped his cross that hung around his neck, and his eyes widened with fear and anxiety surging. He laboured in breaths, trying to clear his thoughts—trying to understand what he had done.
Down inside the hole, there he pushed a little girl who pleaded with him to believe her tale.
"Clo–Clowee?" The once stubborn boy stuttered as he knelt beside the hole, hoping to see a glimpse of Clowee…
Hoping this was all just part of a bad dream.
Yet, darkness only greeted him.
The thick shade of black looked back at him as if some kind of monster waiting to devour him into its belly. He jerked back as the fear reached its peak.
"Clowee! Oh, what have I done?" His heart was rioting and pounding the walls of his chest, aching to know what his anger did. "I–I did—I did not mean it!" He yelled, now riddled with anxiety, about whether or not Clowee was alright. "I'm going to save you, Clowee! I am not going to leave you!" He vowed as he rose on his feet, although doubt rang in his tone, with his toes and fingers turning into ice.