“All men dream: but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake up in the day to find it was vanity, but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dreams with open eyes, to make it possible.”
The story I am about to tell you is the story of a young girl whose name was Redbird. Redbird was a dreamer who dreamt all the time- when she slept, she twitched and turned and muttered, and when she was awake, she did much the same. No one trusted Redbird to do anything, because she lived in a world of dreams that was more real to her than the pot of stew she was supposed to be minding, and even the satisfaction of berating her afterwards was small, because she would soon forget all about it and stand looking towards eternity again, with an extremely foolish expression on her face.
Redbird dreamt of many things. She dreamt of the sun that rose over the misty mountains in a golden fog and the stars that circled the silver moon. She dreamt of the clouds that rolled by lazily in the sky and the dragonflies humming over the quiet pools in the woods. But mostly, she dreamt of being a hero.
Redbird had always longed to be a hero. She would listen to the stories that people told her of brave knights at the sound of whose approach ferocious dragons turned pale and hid behind trees, and great warriors who slew mighty demons, and she burned with feverish yearning. Later, she would dream the stories in her head, only with herself as the valiant hero, who slew the vile beast with a great swing of her terrible sword, or saved the township with her courage and daring. And then an outraged cry would smite her ears, even as she was smiting the evil sorcerer, and she would receive a smack across the head for burning the stew again.
Because of her dreams, Redbird was very lonely. No one expected her to amount to much, and she did not, because, except for being extraordinarily absent-minded, Redbird was not very special. She was not ugly, but she was not beautiful either. She was healthy and strong, but she could not sprint like a frightened gazelle through the dewy grass or lift great weights with an indifferent yawn. The only thing slightly abnormal about her was her size, which was more than ordinarily small, but this was not a very heroic quality.
Still, quiet, shy Redbird was mostly liked, even by the people she exasperated the most, who were her mother and elder brother, and, for the most part, she was content. When she became old enough to have her own house, she was even happier, because no one shouted at her for leaving the doors open in the night and letting in the mosquitoes, and she was perfectly satisfied with burned stew, even if she did have to spend quite a bit on cooking utensils. And also, now that she had some measure of independence, Redbird could put into action her long-cherished plan to become a hero.
First, she tried to become a hero by slaying an evil dragon. There were plenty of dragons in her region and it was quite normal for people careless enough to walk in open spaces to be swooped up suddenly by a great, flapping reptile who would dart out of the sky suddenly to get its breakfast. She read the collected works of Sir George Bramsbury, Dragon-Scourge Fire-Blade, the reputed dragon slayer, and bought herself a large sword from a rather questionable trader. However, try as she might, she could not convince a dragon to fight her seriously.
The dragons were happy enough to put in sly swipes at her when she wasn't looking, or try to eat her when she went for walks, but as soon as she shouted out, "Come, face me, foul beast and taste your doom!' and brandished her sword, they either fell about laughing or stared at her in haughty amazement and flew away in high offense that dragons as respectable as they had been challenged by so unworthy an opponent. She tried every trick in the book to make them take her seriously, going so far as to poke a sleeping dragon quite viciously in the tail, but the dragon merely rolled over, gave her a freezing glare, and went back to sleep.
Then she tried to be a princess in distress. She went about wearing rags for a while and sighing deeply, and took to sweeping her yard, singing sweet ditties, when she thought a prince might come by and see her, but all this got her was a sharp rebuke from her mother for 'dressing like a tramp and caterwauling'. And although she considered that this quite counted as oppression and step-motherly treatment, no one else thought so, and no fairy god-mother was moved enough by her cruel plight to come rescue her.
Finally, Redbird was forced to acknowledge that, try as she might, she would never be the hero of a story. She might feature in some great tale in a small way, maybe as the Simple Village Maiden, or a minor Damsel in Distress, but she would never have her own saga, or hear a bard saying, to great applause, "And now, we will hear the tale of Redbird, the Mighty and Honourable." The knowledge weighed heavily on her heart, and she retreated into her world of dreams more than ever, although they were not nearly as enjoyable now that she no longer believed them.
And then, one day, the Tale of Redbird began, and adventure swooped down upon her like a starving dragon. She had been pottering around in her kitchen garden one hot, summer morning, when she heard the pounding of mighty hooves advancing through the woods that surrounded her modest home, and then the roar of an enraged monster.She stared excitedly into the woods to see what could be making the sound, and then her heart stopped with joy and fear, as a horse broke suddenly out of the shade of the gloomy trees and into view.
An extraordinarily beautiful woman was riding the horse, and Redbird, who had never seen an Elf before in her life, knew instinctively that she was looking on one of the Fair Folk. The lady on the great, white horse was wild and strange-looking, but she was also noble and strong and proud. In her hand she held a great silver bow, and even as her horse flew across the land in long, swift strides, she drew a red arrow from her quiver and sent it flying behind her with deadly strength and accuracy.
Another roar was heard and Redbird guessed that the arrow had found its mark. And then, a ferocious beast gollumphed out of the forest after the horse and its rider- it was covered from head to toe in shaggy black fur, and tusks as long as tree branches guarded either side of its bellowing mouth. Its paws ended in cruel claws, and it was all of seven feet tall and three feet across. A red arrow sprouted from its chest, but this seemed to cause it little inconvenience, and with another savage cry, it leapt after the fair Elf, who uttered a shout of despair, and spurred her horse onwards.
It was the hour she had been waiting for her entire life- Redbird rose from the carrot patch she had been kneeling in, feeling as though she heard the horns of destiny calling to her. Unaware that she had dirt on her nose, she strode towards her house for her cloak and her sword, ready to begin the Tale of Redbird.
<to be continued...>
The story I am about to tell you is the story of a young girl whose name was Redbird. Redbird was a dreamer who dreamt all the time- when she slept, she twitched and turned and muttered, and when she was awake, she did much the same. No one trusted Redbird to do anything, because she lived in a world of dreams that was more real to her than the pot of stew she was supposed to be minding, and even the satisfaction of berating her afterwards was small, because she would soon forget all about it and stand looking towards eternity again, with an extremely foolish expression on her face.
Redbird dreamt of many things. She dreamt of the sun that rose over the misty mountains in a golden fog and the stars that circled the silver moon. She dreamt of the clouds that rolled by lazily in the sky and the dragonflies humming over the quiet pools in the woods. But mostly, she dreamt of being a hero.
Redbird had always longed to be a hero. She would listen to the stories that people told her of brave knights at the sound of whose approach ferocious dragons turned pale and hid behind trees, and great warriors who slew mighty demons, and she burned with feverish yearning. Later, she would dream the stories in her head, only with herself as the valiant hero, who slew the vile beast with a great swing of her terrible sword, or saved the township with her courage and daring. And then an outraged cry would smite her ears, even as she was smiting the evil sorcerer, and she would receive a smack across the head for burning the stew again.
Because of her dreams, Redbird was very lonely. No one expected her to amount to much, and she did not, because, except for being extraordinarily absent-minded, Redbird was not very special. She was not ugly, but she was not beautiful either. She was healthy and strong, but she could not sprint like a frightened gazelle through the dewy grass or lift great weights with an indifferent yawn. The only thing slightly abnormal about her was her size, which was more than ordinarily small, but this was not a very heroic quality.
Still, quiet, shy Redbird was mostly liked, even by the people she exasperated the most, who were her mother and elder brother, and, for the most part, she was content. When she became old enough to have her own house, she was even happier, because no one shouted at her for leaving the doors open in the night and letting in the mosquitoes, and she was perfectly satisfied with burned stew, even if she did have to spend quite a bit on cooking utensils. And also, now that she had some measure of independence, Redbird could put into action her long-cherished plan to become a hero.
First, she tried to become a hero by slaying an evil dragon. There were plenty of dragons in her region and it was quite normal for people careless enough to walk in open spaces to be swooped up suddenly by a great, flapping reptile who would dart out of the sky suddenly to get its breakfast. She read the collected works of Sir George Bramsbury, Dragon-Scourge Fire-Blade, the reputed dragon slayer, and bought herself a large sword from a rather questionable trader. However, try as she might, she could not convince a dragon to fight her seriously.
The dragons were happy enough to put in sly swipes at her when she wasn't looking, or try to eat her when she went for walks, but as soon as she shouted out, "Come, face me, foul beast and taste your doom!' and brandished her sword, they either fell about laughing or stared at her in haughty amazement and flew away in high offense that dragons as respectable as they had been challenged by so unworthy an opponent. She tried every trick in the book to make them take her seriously, going so far as to poke a sleeping dragon quite viciously in the tail, but the dragon merely rolled over, gave her a freezing glare, and went back to sleep.
Then she tried to be a princess in distress. She went about wearing rags for a while and sighing deeply, and took to sweeping her yard, singing sweet ditties, when she thought a prince might come by and see her, but all this got her was a sharp rebuke from her mother for 'dressing like a tramp and caterwauling'. And although she considered that this quite counted as oppression and step-motherly treatment, no one else thought so, and no fairy god-mother was moved enough by her cruel plight to come rescue her.
Finally, Redbird was forced to acknowledge that, try as she might, she would never be the hero of a story. She might feature in some great tale in a small way, maybe as the Simple Village Maiden, or a minor Damsel in Distress, but she would never have her own saga, or hear a bard saying, to great applause, "And now, we will hear the tale of Redbird, the Mighty and Honourable." The knowledge weighed heavily on her heart, and she retreated into her world of dreams more than ever, although they were not nearly as enjoyable now that she no longer believed them.
And then, one day, the Tale of Redbird began, and adventure swooped down upon her like a starving dragon. She had been pottering around in her kitchen garden one hot, summer morning, when she heard the pounding of mighty hooves advancing through the woods that surrounded her modest home, and then the roar of an enraged monster.She stared excitedly into the woods to see what could be making the sound, and then her heart stopped with joy and fear, as a horse broke suddenly out of the shade of the gloomy trees and into view.
An extraordinarily beautiful woman was riding the horse, and Redbird, who had never seen an Elf before in her life, knew instinctively that she was looking on one of the Fair Folk. The lady on the great, white horse was wild and strange-looking, but she was also noble and strong and proud. In her hand she held a great silver bow, and even as her horse flew across the land in long, swift strides, she drew a red arrow from her quiver and sent it flying behind her with deadly strength and accuracy.
Another roar was heard and Redbird guessed that the arrow had found its mark. And then, a ferocious beast gollumphed out of the forest after the horse and its rider- it was covered from head to toe in shaggy black fur, and tusks as long as tree branches guarded either side of its bellowing mouth. Its paws ended in cruel claws, and it was all of seven feet tall and three feet across. A red arrow sprouted from its chest, but this seemed to cause it little inconvenience, and with another savage cry, it leapt after the fair Elf, who uttered a shout of despair, and spurred her horse onwards.
It was the hour she had been waiting for her entire life- Redbird rose from the carrot patch she had been kneeling in, feeling as though she heard the horns of destiny calling to her. Unaware that she had dirt on her nose, she strode towards her house for her cloak and her sword, ready to begin the Tale of Redbird.
<to be continued...>
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