Roll roll roll…
Roll… roll… roll.
Bump bump bump…
"Mama I can't read!"
"Of course, Heos. It's hard to read in a carriage." Marenisse pretended to think, a finger at her lips. "How about… you look out the window? The city is interesting, isn't it? You wanted to see it."
"Ok…" He didn't like reading anyway… he just wanted to look at the drawings of swans and nightingales.
Peeking his head, his hands on the dark wood, he gazed out the carriage.
He had been surprised, wasn't a carriage a toy? Why was this one so big?
"It is so people can move about faster." His mother had told him.
Outside… was this the city?
"Pretty…"
It was all so brilliant… the flowers, the white stone… wait…
"Mama, why is that man made of stone?! Why is he not moving?" He half screamed, as children do.
"That's a sculpture Heos… artists make them out of stone. But they are not people, they are not alive." Marenisse answered, smiling all the while, and ruffling his hair.
So many people side to side… on the other side of the street as well… Their animated voices, their clamoring, like white noise… so many colors… so many houses… What was that? Piercing into the sky...
He had also been surprised by the horses…
So many horses followed the carriage…
An escort, an entourage. The royal guard, armed and shining, with Adalmund at the lead, like a fairytale knight… perhaps too old to be one. Banners raised in Alphonse's colors, in the colors of the Austaufangr-Céline by their side… all trotting, so regal, in chivalrous splendor. The Asphodeli filled, its sides bursting in straight serpents of men and women, spotted in dark tones, for the gentlemen, and lighter pastels for the women.
Even if they began to disdain their king… even if sudden madness took over streets of the city… wasn't a royal parade an interesting thing to see? Of course, the present royalists waved, smiled, joyfully bellowed as well. Women showered the passing guards with the fresh petals of wild roses, the Royal flower of Romanse, of the Wölfli-Loggia —par excellence—, from terraces and balconies; they hung banners as well, mirroring the procession. The gendarmerie held them all in line.
Ably hidden among the crowds were those seeking… clues for madmen, potential instigators… ploys… watching; perfectly camouflaged, they cheered or looked silently.
The world must truly love the royals; the leaden clouds had bowed out of their stage, opening heaven's skin to its perfect celeste flesh. The sun hung golden, blinding, lightly heating the air, lightly melting all color under its sight, making beauty all the more brilliant.
In this way did the royal procession advance.
Alphonse rested in the gold carved carriage, closed eyed.
Heos looked, almost feverishly, at all the things under the sun which, before, he had never seen.
So awed was he at the crowds, the rain of petals, the stone, the sculptures, the grand fountains, flowers and yellow leafed elm trees which lined the way… the four, five floored buildings through which the road cut, that he held his breath, and asked not a single question to his mother, who watched him and smiled.
The swan looked out as well, a curious glint in its eyes, somehow.
Heos snapped back.
"Mama I want to go out!" He threw himself in her arms. "Can we?" His crystalline eyes widening, pleading.
"Ahh! Aren't you cute?!" She hugged him, kissing his forehead —a habit now—, half squealing. "But, no, we cannot, Heos." She answered back, resisting the child's eyes.
"Why?" He asked, truly confused, still prisoned by his mother's embrace.
A couple of strong arms picked him up, placing him in a familiar lap.
"It is dangerous. And royalty should be seldom seen." His father declared, adjusting him on his leg.
"Wha…? Royalty… we're royalty, papa, yes?" The child pointed at himself and his parents.
"Yes."
"Ah… what is seldom papa?"
"Little, rarely."
Heos scrunched his face, thinking, making an admittedly adorable expression as he processed the words.
"But why papa?" He questioned, once done contemplating.
"You will understand later on." An indifferent answer blasted apart any opposition.
Heos pouted… what did this even mean? He could feel time, yes, as if immersed in a world-river, perfectly transparent… however, to understand —this moment to the next, as it were— what time was… Perhaps his mind was not yet wide enough to fit within itself the whole of time. Tomorrow… tomorrow… the day after that… like every day had a father and a son, like him… was time a child, was time a family? 'Later on…' His father's words chimed… but he wanted to, now.
His father was not like his mother. Closed off answers to his unending questions… so sharp and thin, yet with strange dept, were his father's specialty… unlike his mother's magical, wide —like an open-winged swan— responses, which he unraveled, one after the other, unceasingly.
He turned back to the window. People like little petals, each of them, or like small grains, like splintered shards of graphite, like the pebbles in a road. He could, partially, hold his eyes on one or two before they left, watching them, scavenging to the last detail before time took them away.
Futher up, dressed in tasteful color, women… somehow like his mother, but not really… men… but none like his father. And children, small, with… their eyes…
He had seen himself in a mirror, a couple of times, so he would recognize the look his eyes, his face, his hair, his body had… but no child shared something, that something… they reminded him of the horses more like… even the adults sometimes; they looked more like the horses, rather than resemble his parents… some of the servants back at the manor had that, as well.
In a breath, a gray headed gentleman —affluent, although he would not really know— blinked past. Finally, his surprise could not be contained.
A distant familiarity, like a dream splintering off from its black rest into conscious thought.
"Mama! What…!" He tried to look back, kneeling on the comfortable seats, having left his father's knee for the window. "That!" He swiveled back, fast like a spinning top, to his mother. "That man!"
"Yes, yes… calm down Heos, I know you're excited about something, but no screaming, understood?" Airy seriousness, a stern tone, suffused Marenisse's words.
"Yes…" He answered back.
"Now, what was it that you saw?" She switched back to sing-song gentleness.
Heos whirled, once, to the window, back to his mother after.
"A man… his hair was gray… he was… his skin…" He searched for words.
"Was it… as a withered flower, or a piece of crumpled paper?" The queen paced her words
"Yes!" He jumped.
His mother smiled.
"He is old."
"Old…"
"You are a child, you know that, yes?"
"Yes."
She picked him up.
"And papa, uncle Roderin and me, were adults, yes?"
"Hmh." He comfortably wondered.
"You could say that, after an adult, you get an old person… The older, the closer they are to the fey… across the sea…"
Some realization swallowed him.
"Mama, so if a am old, I can go to the land of fey?"
She laughed.
"Anyone can go… it is only more… fitting if the old go first." She messed up his hair, again. "It is better to be young, however…" A smile ribboned her words.
He went silent.
His father had told him: in time… later on… so he wanted time to pass… and being "an old" made one closer to fey… but his mother told him it was better to be young… Was it not strange? why were they…
"Papa, is it better to be young?" He directed an inquisitive gaze to the king, who, so far, listened, close eyed, smiling.
"It is… there are few miseries greater than old age…" He added, whispering, not caring if he was heard or not "Than time."
Thinking carefully —as carefully as a child could—, Alphonse's words were swallowed by a million shattered, stuttering thoughts; like the unending pitter-patter of hail, raining violently in his head.
'Misery… misery… pain?' Is that what that word meant?
"Like pain, papa?"
"Far worse than pain. Nothing like pain." Even through the darkened words he held a smile, uncaring.
Only pain really resembled anything he could think of.
"Like… when I want to do something, but I cannot?" Perhaps that?
"Yes, similar. As the sensation of falling. Falling through time."
'Falling…' All he knew of falling was pain, and… yes, there was something, like a pressure in his belly, like a hole bore through him, very, very small, somewhere....
"Gods, what dreary topics. Come." She picked the child up. "Let's look out the window. Your papa is terrible with children…" The last words sharpened, a jab.
His mind leapt, between the city, the people, the streets, and his father…
The figure piercing through the roofs grew closer.
The swan looked, interested, at Alphonse.
Roll roll roll…
*
"These are the Iðunn gardens… Well, it is really just one large garden."
"Pretty…" A maremagnum of color, of wildly growing flowers, of bursting shades spiraling out, violently climbing, bidding for sun.
"Ifunn, Ifun…" He attempted to pronounce.
Unlike the carefully tended gardens of the villa, this was… chaos. Like the rainbow had cracked, splintered and fallen off of heaven, landing its mangled body on earth.
Many attributed the birth of aestheticism as a movement, of les esthètes —once called décadents by critique— to these gardens. The zenith of the Hellian's love for beauty, of his unbridled obsession for grand monuments of splendor, a most magnificent congealment of his maximalism. Named after a fýrian goddess —cause of slight rumours— dotted with flowers plundered from all over the world, and famously, wildly growing apple-trees, ever in bloom; however, that flower which most notably speckled the garden was of almost translucent pastels: the wild rose. History revealed: once called dog rose, it was adopted, at some indeterminate time, as the flower of Romanse; and so, its olden, vulgar name faded… not many would call the royal rose a dog, considering, atop, the royal family's name.
And so, this fabled garden, like the hypnocaustic dreams of a hedonist, grew unconstrained, its tending, a mystery, held only by royal gardeners.
"So pretty…" Even more stunning than the city, than the procession… this… it wormed its way into the curious prince's mind, settling there, unobstructed, gilded; a memory then on, forever.
"Mama… can I go?" His eyes not even turning, his voice mild, too much of his conscience fettered by the flowers.
She looked at Alphonse, who closed eyed, nodded.
The gardens were —most of their extension— closed off, especially today, because of the procession, and their closeness to the palace.
"Yes." She knocked on the carriage's wood. "We'll walk to the palace."
The clopping, the rolling, gradually stopped. A guard, closest, left his mount to open the carriage door, lower its steps, and hold out his hand.
Heos left first, ignoring, or not understanding, the guard's outstretched gesture. Absentmindedly stepping off, jumping, and running to the closest flowering.
Marenisse was next, who took the man's hand and gracefully left the carriage, following behind the child.
Alphonse was last, the guard retracted his hand.
"Spread out. Ride slowly until we arrive. Do not trample the flowers."
The tall soldier saluted, then bowed out.
The carriage kept its pace, leaving without them.
He watched Heos run around the garden, guided by Marenisse through the marble road, towards the palace.
'Like a scene in a fairytale…' He thought.
The queen walked, one hand lowered holding Heos' own hand, the other, risen, calling Alphonse as she looked back, smiling.
A thin, string-like spear of sunlight attempting to erode away his glum mood…
He walked ahead, taking Heos up, with both arms, and seating him on his shoulders, much to the prince's wonder.
The guard trotted up ahead.
*
Only some servants awaited them at the grand arching silver gates of the palace. Alphonse detested stuffy formality, asking the ground under him not be kissed in some meaningless show of reverence.
Young men carried off their luggage, kept in the carriage, as the guard was organized by Adalmund.
There was little shade.
The entering corridor was surrounded on both sides by fountains, large water bodies with fýrian sculptures of marble; the large figures of gods and heroes, frozen in art. Behind them, a six floored building of grey-blue roofs and light, pastel ochre stone, accented with marigold and white, with columns and carvings, balustrades and balconies, doors of bronze, and perfectly transparent windows of crystal, extended its wings at both sides. Green fields with more marble, like surging bones of a buried past. Gazebos and ponds, hedges stylized in ornate styles by careful hands… The building surrounded them as they walked forward, finally arriving at its doors; white and gold, carved with the sun… and, and, and…
The name villa, applied here, more fittingly perhaps; as it looked to be a village unto itself.
It was all a bit too much, Alphonse thought. Granted, he could sleep on muddy ground…
Heos' neck hurt, as it locked, looking up, marveled at all his gaze could hold… his eyes watering from the sun… he preferred the garden, however.
Marenisse was about to pick him up, lead him into some inner garden or to a room, to bring him around the palace, as to show him some of it, then allow him to explore; to satiate his curiosity, when she noticed…
Falling freely onto the floor, flowing blond hair, like thousands of golden strings.
A short figure stood, hidden, behind a pillar. Barefooted, it peeked out of its hiding place, letting a pair of eyes, swirling sapphires, like two cut out pieces of summer sky, meet with Marenisse's sight.
Alphonse turned, as well, to see the figure walk out, meekly.
Lightly stammering it spoke.
"L-lord father…! Your Majesty!" A soft unsure voice.
It attempted to bow, but tripped on its simple, frilled, long white dress, or perhaps its golden hair? which grew so long it spilled down to its feet.
Stumbling, the figure straightened, attempting to make a serious, solemn expression.
"Annika." Alphonse gently addressed her. "Thank you for receiving us."
"As a filial daughter, i-it's my duty Lord Father."
"God…" He walked to her and, on one knee, lightly tousled her hair. "You can just call me father. There is no need to be so formal."
He rose, looking at Marenisse and the wide-eyed Heos.
"Where you curious?" The third queen consort asked her.
"Your Majesty! Y-yes… I wanted to g-greet the prince!" Her eyes snaked towards the prince, stealing a look, only to return to the queen.
Marenisse laughed, inching closer and pinching the princess' cheeks.
"You and Heos are certainly siblings… just look at how cute you are!" The girl turned slightly red. "Please Annie, call me aunt." She pouted at the girl. "I've told you."
"Y-yesh aunt." Annika lisped, while attempting to free her face from the queen's barrage.
Satisfied, she freed her.
"How about you show Heos around the palace."
The princess' eyes glimmered.
"Really?"
"Yes… well, would you like to Heos?"
The prince nodded. Contemplating something, he spoke.
"Mama, is this my sister?" The child pointed at Annika.
She, all the while, went slack jawed, then protested the absurdity before her.
"Aunt Marenisse isn't the prince a baby?! Why can he speak?!"
Sensing the incoming barrage, the two-front assault the curious children would, surely, unleash, she quickly answered.
"Heos is a very special child. I hope you don't mind it and treat him as you would any of your brothers."
Before they could ask anything else, she led Heos' hand to Annika's. Smiling, the queen consort left, following behind Alphonse, a daydream fogging the king's eyes.
Once alone with the prince, the young girl lowered herself, bending slightly, so as to be level with his eyes.
"Hello Heos, I'm your big sister, Annika." She giggled. "Come on, say "big sister"."
"Big sister?"
"Hehe." A satisfied grin grew on her face. "Come, I'll show you the palace."
*
A pillared room, ashen stone and plain, glistening floors. Above, vaults in a reconstructed, classical style. Naked figures cleaved at each other, righteous or pale faces, contorted in tragedy; whatever war these paintings tore from history seemed a black affair.
Spears cutting through color, and a bleeding sun in vespertine pain.
It was Heos who raised a look.
"Woah…" He pointed. "Big sister, what is that?"
"That is, um… a painting? Was it Wers, Bers…?" She muttered, attempting to remember some long forgotten lessons in art history… a famous painter had adorned this room… but who?
"What are they doing?"
"Ah…" What to say? "They're… um… playing! they're playing." She nervously assured.
"But they look sad."
"Maybe someone, uh, cheated?"
There was no "cheating" in war, was there?
"No… they are not playing. They are fighting." He lowered his gaze, leveling a piercing gaze at Annika "They're fighting big sister."
"Yes… you're so smart Heos, I hadn't noticed." She laughed, somewhat regretfully.
"I wonder why…" He kept walking.
*
"Wha…" He ran to the center of the grand room. "Big sister! What is this big room!"
The princess, pleased at Heos' words, answered.
"This is a ballroom, Heos!" She went forward, spinning and twirling, imagining herself in some idyllic future. "Lord Father doesn't like gatherings, but… all the lords and ladies are supposed to come here to dance…" She looked at the hanging crystal chandeliers, longingly.
The gold foiled walls, their bones in black marble, with scenes of lightly dressed bodies lounging in forested vignettes. The high roof, so ornate the eyes seemed to get lost… as grand warriors stood lightly armored, pale skinned ladies sat… the carved reliefs like aurum-peaked mountains separating the scenes.
Immense mirrors lined one side, while overflowing curtains of heavy rose fabric covered the parallel windows on the other. Only streams of sunlight arrived at the stage. The room was lit by candled warmth.
The princess grabbed Heos' arms and pretended to dance, spinning, spinning…
She laughed.
Dizzy, the prince fell on his backside, smiling.
*
A corridor seemed endless. White and blue walls, busts of dead figures, and gilded filings marking the edges of innumerable doors.
One, opened, led only to more and more doors, until another, closed, barred the sight.
A window, at the end, allowed in some light.
Crossing a threshold led to a gallery. Low-long stools line both sides, as warm toned landscapes and scenes, painted, hung round the room.
One held an ancient building, ivory and stone, where figures, dressed in only… white sheets? conversed by the sea. It looked mid day. A seated man turned his sight away from the conversation, a grimace clear.
Another looked frigid, the only one, he noticed. A white forest beside a frozen river. Heaven filled with cotton, and a mass of armed soldiers behind a heavily covered commander, pointing forwards… His hair was the only warmth, gold-blond… so radiant it melted snow.
Heos thought it to be Alphonse.
"Big sister, is that papa?" His face so close to the painting one would think him blind.
"Hm… no, this is long ago. Maybe it's some ancestor?"
"Ancestor?"
"Like a… very, very old member of our family."
"He looks like papa."
A door creaked.
A youth entered, dressed in blue, gold and white. Dark auburn hair tied back, as it fell onto his shoulder. Windows into a dark-azure metallic sea… a pair of eyes. His face's features handsome and kind, almost heroic.
His expression went clear with slight surprise at the sight of Heos and Annika.
"Oh, Annika… and…"
The princess greeted him.
"Grand Gelbann Amoineau." She bowed.
"Please, sister… just call me brother, yes?" He asked, lightly pleading.
"But maintaining proper titles is a duty of nobility." She stated. The seriousness contrasted with her big eyes and rosy cheeks, making her look rather cute.
"Ah…" the youth sighed. "And, I presume, Heos…" He addressed the boy.
"Hello… who are you?" He deadpanned.
Annika, wide eyed, whispered something to her little brother, attempting to appear nonchalant in front of the Gelbann Amoineau, failing, however. Her anxiousness spurred on the words.
The young man laughed.
"I'm your big brother, let's leave it at that…" He came closer to the boy, getting on a knee to level their sights. "A pleasure to meet you, Heos… I've heard you're very smart and it looks to be no lie." He smiled. "I hope we can get along as brothers." His expression shone with a drop of blue melancholia. "Family is all one has."
Heos nodded.
"Ok…" The child looked on, blank-eyed.
The young man rose.
"Annika, you are touring Heos here around the palace, yes…? I'll leave you two to it."
"Very well, Gelbann Amoineau." A close eyed bow followed the words.
The youth left whence he came, heaving another sigh, sparing a soft look to his siblings before closing the white and gold door.
As soon as they were left alone, once again, Annika turned to the child.
"Heos, it's not polite to ask that so bluntly!" She reprimanded her brother.
"Ask what?" Obliviousness obvious in his tone.
"Who someone is! You should ask them their name, be respectful, use more… diplomatic language!" A contented smile appeared, signaling Annika's satisfaction with her answer.
"Why?"
"Huh…? Why?" Her eyebrows rose as she contemplated. "You see…"
*
"You want to see swans?"
"Yes! Are there swans here? Mama told me I could see swans."
"Hmm…There is a lake with some swans…"
Annika covered her brows with her hand. The sun, possessed by summer amidst the autumn, bled over the palace.
Some orchards, some servants tending. Jumping over stones through an anemic creek. Across hedges as tall as two men, made into the walls of a fortress to protect the marble body of a nymph; as she bathed placidly in a fountain, accompanied by birds. Wild rose bushes which Heos stopped to watch.
"Why do you want to see swans Heos?"
"I like swans." He stood, an animated tint to his voice as he spoke. "I have a swan friend! Here." He pointed slightly above himself. "Can you see him?"
"Oh! Yes… He's a handsome swan. Hehe." Smiling, she pretended to pet the air. "Does he have a name?"
Heos, surprised, thought for a moment.
"Hm… no… he's just swan."
"You should think of one for him. Names are important, you know?"
The child nodded, closed eyed, thinking.
'Hehe… Her majesty was right… cute. He has an imaginary friend.'
"We're almost there." She reassured.
Further down…
A small way amidst sycamores. A roof of gold, earth of ochre. Heos jumped, to hear the leaves crack better. An old marble pergola went above them, overgrown vines snaking through its body.
Jump, run, jump…
Lost in his mind, the prince wondered.
'Can she really see swan…?
Awoken, Heos looked around. In his jumping and wandering he had lost Annika.
"Big sister…?"
Only the garden sounds answered.
Unbothered, he walked ahead. The pleasant fresh air, with the scent of earth, calmed him.
At the end of the carefully maintained tree line a pond opened, rather large.
White figures glided gracefully, soundlessly, like phantoms, over its metallic surface.
"Swans!"
He ran.
'Finally, swans!'
Walking had grown rather tiring, after this he would ask Annika to go back…
'Huh…? Where'd the sun go?'
He raised his sight.
Black.
Falling towards the ground from the sudden sky-shadow were… trees?
Large pillars of bronze-green wood. Ancient.
So dark.
Ahead, the sinuous bodies of immense roots, curving above the earth, static… further down… black. Darkness. The canopy devoured the sun. How could he still see?
Light brown earth, dark brown earth, gray-brown earth… grass like leaden hay.
Where these mushrooms? He went on his knees to check… he had never seen them, except drawn in books…
Heos looked up, again.
'Where…?'
He rose. The earth mushed under his steps. Tiny white flowers, like cotton, speckled along the way.
Walking towards the lake…
It had turned from its metallic blue, reflective, into a hole. Like a cut out orifice of nothingness. Spilled ink, liquid still. White, ghostly, gleaming figures floated on it.
Turning his sight back… black. The same strange forest extended back from where he came.
'Well… at least I get to see swans… but I'm lost…' One swan glided near the edge. "I wonder if the swans know where this is… Maybe Annika will find me..." A half-whisper.
"We're in the palace, child."
Someone spoke.
"What?"
The nearing swan grew still.
"Hm?" A rather pleasant voice "We're in the palace, young man… Perhaps if I go closer…"
The swan skimmed to the shore.
"You had asked where you are, yes?"
Silence…
'Uh…"
Suddenly, his mind lit up.
"Magic! You're a magic swan!"
Swans could not speak, just like humans could not fly. This was, obviously, a magic swan performing an impossible task: Magic!
"Hum… I am?"
"Of course! You can speak Mr. Swan. Swans can't do that! So, you're magic." He smiled, close eyed, and nodded, content. "Mhm, Mhm!"
"Well… I wouldn't know, really… However, I would believe you are the magic one; from the perspective of the average swan, at least… Ask, child, should humans be able to speak to swans?" An inquisitive bent accented his words. "What about that large fellow floating about, around you?" The swans' neck straightened, as if to point with its beak to the phantasm that coiled around Heos. "You appear rather… singular… It is quite the surprise that you can understand me, I tell you…"
The boy sat by the lake.
Not all of the swan's words made sense but… he understood, sufficiently.
"Hm…"
Another white figure glided closer to the pond's shore.
'I'm magic?'
"What's wrong dear?" A warm, motherly, enveloping voice floated from the water's surface towards him.
"Oh, my love… This boy here seems to be lost."
"Really…? Poor thing." The other swan, now besides Heos, sounded genuinely troubled. "What's the problem, child?"
"I was…" He turned his head backwards, expecting the sycamore tree line, only to find… darkness. "Walking the garden with my sister and I… got here…"
"Are you a prince, dear?" The motherly swan asked.
"A prince…? Yes… My papa is the king…"
"So, this palace is your home?"
Heos scratched his head.
"Since today, yes… I think so."
"But you're lost?"
"Yes… I was walking… and suddenly I got into this dark forest."
"Dark forest…?" The other swan asked, his pleasant voice in clear confusion. He turned, whispering, to the motherly bird. "Perhaps the sun… has had an effect on him? It is rather hot out today for an autumn day…"
"You mean, insolation…? Poor baby, seeing things…"
"He did say he was walking… if, for a long time…"
The swans talked among themselves.
Heos looked at them, perplexed, although oddly calm.
Swan —his friend—, craned its neck so as to be seen by the prince, and pointed his beak towards the way from whence they came.
'Go back?'
As if hearing his thoughts, swan insisted with his pale neck, while the others still discussed what to do with the "lost" child.
The prince rose.
"Oh, dear… you should lay down, sunstroke is dangerous… wash your face with some cool lake water, sit a while…" The lady swan, worried, insisted.
"Thank you, Ms. Swan, but I think I'll go that way." He pointed.
"Really…?"
The pleasant-voiced bird interjected.
"Lad, if that is what you think… However, let me give you a piece of advice."
Heos stared.
"I would recommend you not to tell other humans you can… well, talk to swans… There is a limit to what will be considered mere child's fancy…"
Nodding slowly, Heos hummed affirmatively.
"Ok… goodbye, Mr. and Ms. Swan."
"Goodbye dear… please be careful."
"Goodbye lad."
To the urging of his friend, he turned back, walking, as his feet dug into the earth.
Step, step, step…
'Ah?' His eyes felt sore.
Light.
The sun.
He looked up, then back down quickly,
'Don't stare at the sun.' He had promised his mother.
Fixing his sight back on the lake, the swan couple remained by the shore. He waved at them.
No bronze trees… no darkness, no white flowers, no roots, no gray-yellow grass.
"Heos!"
His sister's voice.
Behind her, sycamores.
His neck hurt; he had been turning around far too much today.
She ran towards him, worried.
"Heos! Don't run away like that! I was worried…"
The princess took his hand and got on one knee.
"Really! Promise you won't do that? You scared me…"
"I promise big sister."
She smiled, relieved, and kissed his forehead.
"Hehe… cute." Standing back up, she suggested. "Ok, now, let's go see the swans."
"Hm… no, let's go back big sister… I looked at them already, and I'm tired." He almost allowed that strange conversation with the birds to escape his lips… but held back.
Although a little surprised, Annika didn't mind.
"Yes, we've walked around a lot… let's go back."
As he walked hand in hand with the princess, Heos watched the swans, his neck craned back. They both remained beside the shore, more white figures gliding beautifully across the lake further down.
'Pretty…' The prince thought.
He felt a little hungry, and sleepy too.
It had been a nice day.