“I don’t remember,” Phoebus replied.
“A wise owl who cannot remember his own wisdom,” Buttons chuckled.
“You said earlier we were not looking hard enough,” Damselfly started.
“Did I? When?” the bird enquired.
“Only a few moments ago.”
“Perhaps,” Phoebus acquiesced. “It sounds a very wise thing to say, so I may have said it.”
“You did say it a few moments ago, when I stated there was nothing other than fields in all directions,” Damselfly struggled.
“Well, there you are certainly mistaken,” Phoebus reveled. “If you go west, there is a gate, north is the river, east is the marketplace and south is—”
“A marketplace,” Damselfly interrupted. “There has to be someone who knows where we can find the Matriarch,” Damselfly cried.
“It is on the tip of my tongue,” Phoebus rambled.
“This bird is one nut short of a bunch,” Buttons teased.
“Thank you for helping us,” Damselfly shouted.
“Did I help you?” Phoebus queried.
“Yes, we will go east as you told us,” the princess answered.
“Very good idea, I am wise to suggest such a prudent course of action,” Phoebus credited.
“Maybe we could help you in exchange for your kindness,” Damselfly offered.
“Well, I am searching for something,” Phoebus announced.
“What is it? Maybe we can help you find it.”
“I have forgotten,” Phoebus concluded.
Buttons could not control his laughter any longer. He escaped Damselfly’s grasp and began rolling on the floor with merriment.
“You’re searching for something, but you forgot what it is,” he gasped in between guffaws.
Phoebus hooted indignantly at the display while Damselfly looked sympathetically towards the proud creature.
“I’ll have you know that kings ask for my opinion,” Phoebus claimed.
“Which kings?” Buttons teased.
“Well, you know, tall well-dressed fellows with crowns. I can’t be expected to remember all their names after so long.”
Buttons giggled, finding the whole spectacle hilarious despite Damselfly’s withering glances.
“I know every story ever told,” Phoebus bragged.
“I love stories,” Damselfly shared. “Perhaps you could tell us one.”
“If he can remember,” Buttons challenged.
“Let me see,” Phoebus considered. “Have you heard The Child Who Swallowed a Bell?”
“No,” Damselfly replied, disappointed, as no doubt Buttons was correct and the old owl did not really know any good tales.
The Child that Swallowed a Bell
There was a child who swallowed a bell,
She could not speak for years,
No one could she tell,
Her many dreams and fears.
The kingdom nervously waited,
The child’s first word was heavily anticipated.
Every time the child opened her mouth the bell would ring,
A single resounding chime,
The child wished to laugh or sing,
To read aloud every story and rhyme.
It was strange to have a child’s room so quiet,
What they would not give for a sound even for one minute.
Her parents were at a loss,
Desperate for one hiccup, cough or cry,
They tried every doctor, alchemist and herbal woman they came across,
None were able to fix the girl’s malady.
The child listened to the birds as they sang,
She opened her mouth to reply and the bell rang.
One day an owl alighted on the window,
He was searching for something,
The child wanted to say hello,
She opened her mouth to hear the bell ring.
The owl thought it was strange a girl that spoke like a bird,
To chime rather than say a word.
The owl decided to look down the girl’s throat,
It was very dark but deep down he could see a bell,
Before it could sound a note,
The owl hooked it out like a worm from a well.
With the obstruction removed the girl could speak,
She did not stop for many a week.
“That was a good story.” Buttontail applauded.
“Yes, it was.” Damselfly agreed. “I thought Old Nana had told me every story in Fable.”
“She is clearly not as wise as I,” Phoebus declared.
“Well, we should be going.” Damselfly looked east hopefully. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“Why, was I looking for something?” Phoebus questioned.
After a couple of miles heading east, the fields started to part, revealing first beaten tracks and then roads. Buttontail managed to refrain from eating anything although he was sorely tempted by some carrots that appeared to grow before their eyes.
“These crops are grown by magic,” Damselfly stated.
With his previous experience fresh at hand, Buttontail resisted the delicious-looking vegetables, and they continued heading east until they spotted a horse and cart.
“Excuse me, are we near the market?” Damselfly asked the rider.
“Yes, it is about a mile up ahead.” The rider pointed.
“Would you like a lift?”
“Yes, please,” Damselfly replied, tired from the long journey.
“Get aboard,” the rider instructed as he eased the horse forward with a click of his tongue.
Damselfly was still getting acclimatized to the Magicgarden’s vivid colours; it reminded her of looking through a kaleidoscope and took a little bit of getting used too.
“Where are you from?” the rider asked over his shoulder.
Damselfly was uncertain whether to reveal her true identity or lie. Fortunately, Buttontail had overcome his bout of sickness.
“Do you have anything to eat?” the greedy rabbit interrupted.
“I’m afraid not though the market up ahead has plenty for everyone.”
The rider was a small elderly man whose body seemed to be shrinking; his clothes, boots and even skin appeared to drape over him as though he had not worn them for a decade. He chewed a piece of straw between his teeth where one of the incisors was missing and whistled happily as they trotted along. As they reached the top of a steep hill, the vista of empty fields suddenly changed into a sprawl of crowded streets, noisy with the hustle of passing trade. Damselfly had never seen so
