Friend

      To be fair, she should not have been that surprised.      She had been begging her aunts to take her to the other side of the Wall of Thorns. They always refused: Aunt Knotgrass would stamp her foot, Aunt Flittle would smile apologetically, and Aunt Thistlewit would change the subject. But Briar Rose was not the one to give up that easily!      Since her attempts to persuade them to show her something were doomed to failure, she had tried to get them to at least tell her what was hiding behind that high black thorny wall. She had only been able to see it a couple of times — so few! A few months ago she had finally been allowed go into the woods — chaperoned, of course, but that was also very good! She could listen to the forest birds now — they sang very, very beautifully, and followed her from the branches, and she liked to greet them. There were no birds near the Wall. That was odd too.      That whole wall was very odd. What was it protecting?      Aunt Knotgrass stamped her foot. Aunt Flittle smiled apologerically. Aunt Thistlewit said that beyond the Wall of Thorns lay the Moors. “That means “marshes”, or “bogs”, or “swamps”,” she added.      And that was it!! And nothing more!!      How could it be enough?      She would spend days trying to imagine what the Moors should look like. She liked the word “moors” – she did not like the word "bogs" and even less so "swamps." Something told her that her Faerie Godmother just cannot live in a place called “swamps”.      Of course, she had figured out that her Faerie Godmother lived there.      How could she not? She always came from there — her shadow always came from there. Pretty Bird always flew from the other side!      And where Pretty Bird was, there was Faerie Godmother. She figured that out too.      But if Faerie Godmother was a faerie, then she must be living in a magical land, with other mysterious creatures like herself, and that place must be very beautiful!! There were probably magical water and enchanted rivers, and everyone was flying around, and dancing, and singing songs, and fires were burning, and every day there were feasts with delicious dishes, and surely all the animals there can talk!      Maybe even Pretty Bird?      And that magical place was called "Swamps"??      But moreso was Briar Rose afraid that there was actually nothing behind the wall. Or that there was something — but something infinitely boring.      But how will she know until she sees it for herself?      She needed to get there!! She had to come up with a cunning plan.      She had done her best. She had wished upon the Guiding Star to find a way there. She had walked near the Wall, trying to find even the tiniest loophole, and had even tried to guess the magic phrase to make it open — until she had been dragged her by the hand back home. She had written a letter titled “PLEASE OH PLEASE” and had left it on the porch with a glass of milk and a cookie. Next morning the cookies had been eaten but the milk remained intact, and she had not understood what this was supposed to mean — so a week later, on her tenth birthday, she had left the same message on the windowsill in her room and this time she had signed it with her name — her real name. The aunts called her Briar Rose, but she was in fact named Aurora. That was her true name. She had read that this is very important for faeries.      Even when she took a bite of a bun two days ago and accidentally chipped a tooth, she hid it under her pillow and wished for some magical force to take her to the other side of the Wall. Or to give her a clue.      So really, she should not have been that surprised.      It was the night of the day after her tenth birthday, and the aunts put her to bed and went to their room — and Aurora was laying in bed, not sleepy in the slightest. Her dear stuffed white bear was glaring at her accusingly from a chair, because she had not taken him with her to bed for two days now — she was too old for that now. She missed him. She was very sorry to upset him.      She tried to distract herself by brushing her hair and wondering if her birthday cake would stale overnight.      That was when she heard a loud noise. Not from the aunts' bedroom — somewhence outside.      She was a little scared, but curiosity got the best of her. Climbing out of bed, she cautiously walked over to the window. The shutters were open. If anything, she remembered, she could always close them and hide in her bed, and then no one would ever get her. Even if later the room becomes dark and stuffy, better to be dark and stuffy. "Boom! Boom!” something clanged outside, and the window itself shook. Fear-stricken, Rose jumped back onto the bed. Her bear was treacherously far away.      “Hey!” she heard a whisper at first. But no one was in sight. Nothing but darkness! “Hey!”      And then a head popped up from behind the frame.      A head turned into a person.      He was clad black, very tall — he barely squeezed himself through the window. He had a strange but very nice face and short black hair. Or blue? Black! The feathers were also black. He had feathers in his hair.      That was when she knew.      "Hello," said Briar Rose.      The man almost fell. That seemed to be his intention — but grabbed the window sill just in time.      “Hi there,” he said, then looked at her and said nothing more. She did not say anything either. He blinked a couple of times. And frowned. She did not know if she was afraid of him or not. Now he will not leave even if she closes the shutters... The man opened his mouth and closed it. And opened again. “You… Do you recognise—”      “Pretty Bird!”      “—me? Oh!” He flinched at her scream. She screamed, because she was suddenly afraid that it was not him at all. But the man smiled. Pretty Bird smiled. "Well, that just saved me a lot of trouble," he muttered. “You’re right, I’m… he-he!” he turned away with a crackling laugh. He had a big nose. “Pretty Bird… That will do,” he said softly. He looked at her again. He pursed his lips. “How are you?”      He sat down on the very edge of her bed. Aurora suddenly remembered a very important thing. “Aunties say I’m not supposed to speak to strangers.”      “Oi!” Pretty Bird cried out. "Didn't we just find out that you've known me all your life? Am I a stranger? Am I not your friend?” he squinted. Briar Rose eyed him. Suddenly he was not just tall but very large. He was taller than all her aunts, even taller than Thistlewit. “Ah, right ...” Pretty Bird shied away. He slapped his knee, pursing his lips, and moved away a little — he nearly fell off the bed. “Well, in that case, I can tell you my name, and then I won’t be a stra— actually, actually, I can’t,” he broke suddenly, his voice a whisper. “Actually, it’s better if you don’t know…” he grimaced, turning his head to the window. His leg stomped on the floor. “This isn’t working, not working...”      Good gracious!      That was aunt Knotgrass talking in her head. She always said that when her manners were bad. Good gracious! Briar Rose realised suddenly. Is that how one is supposed to welcome guests? How rude of her! After all, this is Pretty Bird, the one with whom she plays so often, the one who always comes to hear her read her fairy tales and kill worms off her growing strawberries!      So what if he looks different! It was still him. To be afraid of him? What nonsense! She was a big girl already — too big for such silliness.      “Why are you here?” she asked carefully. "And why are you human?"      “Ah!” the raven twitched. “Right!” He drew a breath and gave her a toothy smile. “What do you mean "why"? I'm here to fulfil your wish!”      Rose gasped.      “Really?!!”      “Yes!” he whispered, nodding.      “You will take me to the Moors?!”      “Yes!!”      “You will take me over the Wall of Thorns?!”      “Uh-uh ... Yes!”      "And I'll meet Faerie Godmother?"      “Who?” he blinked. “...A-ah! Ha-ha!” He covered his chortle with his hand. “Faerie Godmother…” he smiled broadly, but his smile froze and crumbled. “I doubt that. I don't think– no you won't," he shook his head. Rose was terribly upset. How... How so! Did he not... Did he not... “Hey!” The raven leaned in. She tried not to look too disappointed. But he pouted still. “Why, I am not enough on my own? Am I any worse?”      He sounded so sad that she felt ashamed.      “No, not worse! Not worse at all!” she hurried to reassure him, leaning forward, and grabbed his hand. And then it suddenly became quite clear to her that he was actually sitting here and she did not just made him up in the middle of her dream. He was real, and he was a human, and his hands were warm. “I'm so glad to see you! Again,” she amended with a chuckle, because, in fact, she had already seen him this morning. Except he was a raven. “I'm glad to see you again.”      "Me too," Pretty Bird smiled. Even if she had not recognised him by his feathers, she would surely have recognised him by his voice.      "You’ll take me to the Moors, then!"      “I’ve told you! Does someone need to clean their ears?” he chuckled and she laughed. He put a finger to his lips and she quieted down. “We shouldn't make noise. We don't want to wake your dear aunts, do we.”      “Shouldn’t we tell them?” she wondered.      "Of course not," the raven frowned. "They won't let you go."      “Oh…” Rose drawled. She felt embarrassed that she did not remember it herself. On the other hand, how great it would be if her aunties could see the Moors too! She was sure they were also interested in what was out there, maybe they were just afraid... Well, she certainly was not. Maybe just a teensy bit, and only because the raven himself looked afraid. “Then I’ll just change quickly and we’ll go!”      The raven looked at her.      "We don't have time for that," he snapped.      “But I…”      "I mean it," he shook his head as he stood up. “Besides… You look beautiful enough already,” he nodded, smiling. He looked out the window again, his smile trembling. “Aurora, we really need to hurry if we want to get everything done.”      Rose looked down at her clothes. A long, plain green tunic she always slept in. Nobody goes to mysterious worlds in nightshirts... She did not even have time to comb her hair properly!.. She looked at Pretty Boy and did not know what to say at all. She felt strange because he called her by her true name. Because he was waiting. Because everything was so quiet. She suddenly felt like crying.      Raven suddenly frowned terribly. He seemed to have swallowed sour milk.      “Hey. My birdeen," he held out his hand to her. She took it carefully. “Don't be afraid. You will be completely safe. I know it all seems... a little strange and maybe scary, but that's just because we need to do all this in secret and to hasten. But no one will harm a hair on your head. And if you change your mind at any moment, I'll get you back home safe and sound right there. I promise you. Will that do?” He looked into her eyes.      “Of course!” said Aurora warmly, from the bottom of her heart, shaking his hand.      The raven smiled.      She still had to tarry, just a little — her shoes were left on the ground floor, near the front door, and the door itself had to be opened from the inside in order to get out. Pretty Bird had to agree, because she did not venture to get out in the same way he got in — through the window of the first floor — and he did not venture on her behalf either.      But get out she did, carefully closing the door and looking ahead into the dark forest. It used to never frighten her in daylight — there was always sun, and warm stumps, and songbirds.      Well, she did have a bird with her. And was it not just great? She smiled at Pretty Bird, and he smiled back, and they cheered each other up — and they walked onward, straight into the woods toward the Wall of Thorns.      They moved quickly, Briar Rose barely keeping up with her guide even though he clutched her hand. He kept looking around, peering, listening, but there was silence, even owls were not hooting. And she thought they hooted every night! She really wanted to make friends with one! Not now, of course.      "Why doesn't Faerie Godmother come?" she enquired.      “Because,” answered Diaval. The aunts would always answer the same way — she figured all adults do — and she never liked this answer. “She's very busy tonight.”      “What is she doing?”      “Curious little thing, aren’t you?” The raven shook his head. “These are important matters, and they do not concern you or even me.”      But Aurora was no fool. Of course she figured it out.      “She is waiting for me there, isn’t she?” she beamed. “Is that my present?”      Diaval stopped.      "No," he said, looking at her. His face looked confused. “I… already told you,” he frowned. She felt embarrassed — she had not forgotten his words, but for some reason she thought that... “Listen,” he squatted down. “I guess I need to be upfront with you. Yeah?”      “Yes,” she nodded.      "You see, it's a secret that we're going to the Moors," he said. “On any other day, we shouldn't be doing this. I take you as an exception, because this is your gift and many have long wanted to meet you. But we must keep this back from everyone, including… Faerie Godmother. Especially Faerie Godmother. Do you understand?”      Aurora paused — but finally nodded. Diaval sighed. They hurried forward, even faster than before, almost at a run.      Finally they saw the Wall – first its top far ahead, and then the thick low thorns slithering above the ground like the frozen tentacles of octopuses. She heard they have a lot of tentacles. But she doubted they were as prickly. When she had been here for the first time, Briar Rose had ripped a hole in her dress and even cut her finger —  the latter made aunties make such a fuss!      But she had never seen the Wall at night. It really looked scary now. It no longer looked like a huge overgrown bush — it was a real wall.      How will they get through it?      Oh! Oh!      Maybe Pretty Bird knows the magic word? Some special spell? She will remember it – and then next time she will be able to come there herself and he will not have to worry! Oh, finally!      Raven stopped at the Wall — ten feet away, maybe eight, maybe more — and asked her to speak softly — and to climb on his back. Of course, Aurora agreed, although she was already too old to be carried around. But maybe that was part of the plan.      She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and twined her legs around his stomach. He moved closer to the thorns.      "Aurora," Pretty Bird said, his tone suddenly serious. Hanging around his neck, the girl felt his shoulders tighten. “If this doesn’t work out, promise you won’t be too cross with me, please.”      She smiled.      “Of course I won’t! I promise” she assured him, snuggling closer.      “Good. Good,” he breathed, and they walked to the Wall itself.      The raven looked up at the sky, at the moon, and then again at the thorn — and tapped on it, and cleared his throat, and stamped his foot.      But nothing has changed.      He stamped his foot some more, took hold of Aurora more firmly, and snorted, and shifted from foot to foot, and clicked his tongue, and shook his head, and sighed — and then suddenly there was a big noise.      Aurora gasped. Pretty Bird gasped too. The wall continued to growl and rattle and clatter until its branches slowly began to recede back and to the sides, unwind, part in front of them.      Pretty Bird sighed slowly and deeply. He stepped forward, more and more, deeper and deeper...      As they walked, the raven perked up. He gave her a gentle shake, patted her knee.      “It will be a lot of fun!” he noddled. “You will see great many things! The Moors have all kinds of beauty – enough for a lifetime! Not to mention all the special entertainment tonight, just for your arrival.”      “Really?”      “Why, of course! It's your birthday, after all!.. We're about to see someone. Don't forget to say hello and thank him for letting us through. His name is Balthazar. Good?”      Aurora nodded.      It was dark and damp inside the wall, and the spikes only parted a little, trying to catch on her nightgown — but Pretty Bird no longer looked nervous or hurried — which meant she had nothing to fear. The darkness parted, it had a colour now — something sapphire-blue was looming ahead of them, like will-o’-the-wisps. Maybe that were indeed them? Oh, she will see them! She will see so much!      “Balthazar!” the raven hissed far ahead. “Come on, step back, you’re ruining the first impression.”      But Aurora had no idea what he was talking about.      Balthazar was... a huge tree. A huge living tree!      In the darkness it seemed as if a house had come to life and swayed before them. The arms, legs and torso of Balthazar were as if woven from thick twigs and branches — what if they really were? Moss on his chest and belly gleamed in the blue lights as he rose to step aside — and as Aurora swam under the last arch of thornbushes and he looked down at the two of them, she saw his green, horned head high above.      She was almost scared.      But he let them in! she remembered. Oh, right! Good gracious!      “Thank you for helping us through, sire Balthazar!” she exclaimed, nodding, regretting that she was sitting on the back of a raven and could not make a real curtsy. “I… um… Your horns are so pretty!”      Two large black holes in place of Balthazar's eyes grew narrow — his mouth, dozens of splinters, flung open — and he smiled and emitted a low, hoarse hum.      The raven laughed.      “Well, wasn't that worth it, you oak? When was the last time you’ve received compliments?” He winked at her and added, “Well done. You appeased him.”      Balthazar murmured something frivolous — and put a huge spear, overgrown with leaves and greenery, to the Wall — and it closed behind them like a healed wound, as if the passage had never existed. Everything that was on the other side, remained on the other side.      And on this side...      “Hey! Welcome to the Moors, princess!” the raven rang out.      She saw a lot of blue, a lot of green and black, a lot of white, shiny and...      Blue were the ponds and streams, their murmur weaved into the air, reflections twinkling in the moonlight like a measured swing of a pendulum. Blue were the flares and specks flattering above the water, blue was the even light that seemed to come from under the water itself, hovering in the air like northern lights — she has always wanted to see it, ever since she read somewhere that it was called aurora as well.      Green was the moss that covered everything like a richly embroidered carpet, green were the crowns of the trees rising into the sky, and black were their trunks — black and dark brown and light gray, wrinkled and smooth, thin and thick.      White was the water all around her — there, there, and there, one! another! and a third waterfall! — like long gray braids on noble old ladies. It cascaded from the tops of the hills the same way it did from the wheel of the watermill back home — but there was so much water here, thundering rather than murmuring, and the wind carried it and turned it into mist in the place where it hit the river.      But there was also pink, and yellow, and gold — creatures were showing up in the corners, floating out, crawling out, cautiously, timidly — oh! how many! who was it? They murmured among themselves just like water — but their whispering turned into words. "Human! Human!", "Girl! The girl is already here!”      “All right, all right, that’s it, don’t make a fuss,” drawled the raven, calmly moving past all these rainbow lights. “I mean, please make a fuss, but just… be quieter, will you?”      Aurora laughed. She had never heard of a quiet fuss.      They walked on, the girl fidgeting, wishing to be put down but afraid to ask. The ground beneath them gleamed, water and mud, a dangerous thing. What if she falls? On the other hand, what if they both fall?      More and more unseen creatures were showing up — getting out of the murky water were huge big-eyed... stones? They looked at her, and she said hello — and they immediately hid in the water. She hoped they would peek out again.      But their place was immediately taken.      “And who is that?” she pointed with her finger — but pointing was improper and she drew her hand back.      “These are wallerbogs,” said the raven. She did not know what the first part of the word meant, but it sounded beautiful. “But I’m not letting you anywhere near these lads,” Pretty Bird suddenly shook his head — and when the pointy-eared antennaed wallerbogs bellowed, he turned to them: “Nope!”      “Why??” Aurora yowled.      “Because!” the raven answered in an adult way. He grunted, "I need you brought back in one piece."      They walked along the riverside to the high ground, to the rocks and grass, and he finally lowered the girl to her feet. Cattails rustled around them, and she ran her hand over their velvet tops. Green lights fluttered from under the leaves, and it seems they even had faces — but the raven stopped at the roots of a large tree a little behind her, and she returned to him.      "So, rules first!" he said, folding his arms over his chest as she stopped in front of him. “You, and you all — and you over there, especially you!” he nodded towards the wallerbogs. “Stay low. Nice and quiet. I know that already, and you know it, and you — oh, I sure hope you know!” he pointed to them again. They sullenly and resentfully sniffed their noses, twitched their aerials with a charming pink fringe. “I know we chose this spot on purpose, but it never hurts to be careful. We don't growl, we don't bite. We don’t answer tricky questions. We don’t throw the girl into the mud and don’t dip her into the water,” he eyed everyone. “And you,” he looked at Aurora, “you don’t throw yourself into the mud and don’t dip into the water.”      She giggled and nodded.      “All that aside... you are free to do whatever you want as long as you stay here,” he gestured around the pond, the bank around it, to the black line of trees. “I have a couple of ideas for what we can do, I hope we’ll have time for that, but for now you can just walk around if you wish. Look at all the folk gathered just to stare at you, that’s enough for another hundred years. Will that do?”      She nodded again.      “If you get tired or want to go home, tell me right away.”      She nodded one last time — and then, her freedom granted, she ran off to examine every inch of the splendour she could see.      Everything here was the same yet so different. Pretty Bird was the same — but he talked and smiled and followed her like a sentry. The grass was the same as at home, but different, and the trees were different, and even the river looked completely different from the one that flowed through the forest in their kingdom —  sticking out of the water here and there were large black rocks like heads of curious observers.      There were plenty of observers here without their help, truly an embarrassment of riches. There were so many creatures, each so magnificent, that she had no idea whom to ask about first.      “Who are all these creatures? Are they elves? Or faeries? Or are they will-o'-the-wisps?” Aurora exploded.      “I'm afraid you're asking the wrong person, sweetheart. I’ve never even seen half of these guys before, I don’t know what they’re called,” he grimaced. How so? Aurora was amazed. He must have been living here for ages, how come he had not seen them before? Ah, adults were so blind and boring! She was glad that at least now he could see them. “I do know that these flying creatures are called dew faeries.”      He pointed towards the trembling sound reaching Aurora — she peered into the sparkling dust particles and it soon turned out that those dust particles had small antennae, like insects, and tiny transparent wings.      Rose held out her hand, and one of them sniffed her and sank down to the back of her hand, clinging to her finger. Now she saw them closer — their wings were not just transparent, they shimmered in blue and turquoise, and their skin shone iridescent like real dewdrops.      “So pretty... What beautiful wings you have, lady Dew Faerie!” the girl said. Lady Dew Faerie giggled. Another one joined her, and another one sat on her shoulder. A couple more were stayed behind. “What do you eat?”      “They won’t answer you,” the raven waved away, stepping away — she shook her head in his direction, and the fairies fleeted away from her. She hurried after him, watching where she stepped. “They speak their own language. I doubt they even understand human tongue.”      "But how do you talk to each other then?" Aurora wondered. The raven frowned and huffed something. “How do you talk to each other?” she repeated. “You have to talk somehow, to pass on information, to chat! To sing songs!”      “…There are those who know more than one language,” he finally answered reluctantly.      “Does Godmother?”      This time he replied even more slowly. “Yes.”      “And you? You don’t?”      “And I don’t,” sighed the raven. She wanted to say that he should not worry about that at all, because he knew raven tongue and human tongue — she wanted to ask if he understood all birds or only ravens — but he suddenly pointed to the right, to the water, to a group of already familiar pointy-eared creatures. "These loafers are called wallerbogs, I know that for sure," he grumbled. “As you can see, they are filthy, stinking, bathing in the dirtiest, blackest—”      A lump of mud landed right next to his shoe. The raven jumped back.      “Ay!!” he yelped.      “No one said we can’t throw you into the mud, you peacock!!” barked back at him.      Aurora laughed. Pretty Bird shook his head.      “As is evident, everyone here is very kind…” he drawled, stepping away from the water. “Especially to me…”      Aurora patted his arm with a giggle. He froze and looked at her but smiled. Aurora realised that he must be a little shy as a human. She stepped back to look at the flowers. Pink and blue, red and yellow, they were growing in real bouquets here and there along the paths and lowlands. Knotgrass was very fond of flowers, she always looked after the garden in their backyard, and she had a lot of flowers — in flower beds, in pots. But none of them were like the ones blooming here.      “What can you tell about flowers?” she said.      “I don't eat any of these.”      The girl laughed. “Are they not to your liking?”      “Someone always lives in them,” muttered the raven. “Or worse, they are alive in their own right, like Balthazar.”      “And who is Balthazar? Is he a tree? Or does he just look like one?”      “He’s one of the guards, there are many of them here.”      “Are they all that big?”      “Yes. They watch the Moors, they need to be big for that. I don't understand them either,” he added before she could even ask, “but fortunately they are easy to understand without words. They hardly speak. Although... maybe they do talk among themselves in some special way no one else can catch... I’ve heard trees can do that.”      “Who else do you know?”      “Hmm…” Raven pondered for some time. “I know… I know Robin. But he's not here, and he certainly won't be.”      “Why?”      “Because.”      “What a stupid answer!” Aurora exclaimed in warm blood. “Why do you say that?”      Raven sighed and crossed his arms. “Because there are things you are not supposed to know. And I don't want to lie to you, so this is all I can give you. I said that we shouldn’t answer tricky questions, and that applies to me too.”      Briar Rose frowned. She thought it was unfair that she was not supposed to know something, yet she was pleased that he was not lying to her. She nodded. “I didn't mean to ask tricky questions. I'm sorry.”      Right away the raven softened and smiled. “Oh, save that! You have nothing to apologize for. It’s all right. If anything, you’ve helped me. Now I know what it’s like being asked questions you don’t want to answer,” he chuckled, looking somewhere to the side. “Well? Why are we not having fun?” he declared loud, hands on his hips.      "I thought we shouldn’t to make noise?"      “But that doesn’t mean you should just sit here all the time! That is, you can do just that if that’s what you wish,” he tilted his head, “but that way you will miss the ride over the pond and the pie.”      “Pie?!” Aurora exclaimed — because she could not ever wrap her head around "a walk over the pond".      “Of course! Is it your birthday or not?”      “I already ate one!” she remembered suddenly. “Aunties have already made me a pie!”      "But that's not the pie from the Moors, now, is it?" squinted the raven.      Aurora jumped up. “I agree! I agree, I agree! And I want to ride... to ride what?”      “You’ll see,” Pretty Bird grinned and walked in the opposite direction, beckoning her. She hurried after him, trying to follow exactly in his footsteps so as not to slip.      They slowly moved along the shore, stepping over the roots of trees, and pixies flew past Aurora, landing on flowers, whispering. She greeted those who noticed her and stared at those going about their business paying her no mind. Some of the buzzing fairies flew up to the raven, but he was silent, and they fleeted away, laughing. Their giggles rang like bells.      The rush of the water grew louder the closer they got to the waterfall. Briar Rose tried to imagine what she would have to sit onto. Will it be a boat? But it could not be a boat! Can there be a simple ordinary boats in such a place? Surely she was about to see something magnificent, some kind of whimsical gimmick — she imagined... maybe a big bubble? A big magical non-popping bubble? Will they jump inside it and roll along the water's edge? That would be awesome... But would they be able to breathe inside one? And could Pretty Bird conjure such a thing?      Wait a minute! Did he even know how to conjure?      Oh! But of course! Silly her, how could she forget?      “Who will you turn into?” she asked behind his back. He hummed inquisitively. “Who will you turn into?” she echoed louder. The raven turned around. “To give me a ride.”      Diaval blinked in surprise and chuckled. “I won’t turn into anyone, I don’t know how,” he tossed, resuming his walk.      "Can't you do magic?"      “Not a whit. I'm the most boring creature up in here. I don’t even make mud,” the raven chortled.      “How interesting!” Aurora exclaimed, so as not to say too much. She was often told that she was a chatterbox. She probably was. If she had it her way, she would immediately tell Pretty Bird that he simply could not be the most boring creature here, and that moorfolk were just teasing him. That actually being a friend of her Faerie Godmother is very interesting — not to mention one certainly has to be quite a fascinating person himself to befriend a faerie! In any case, she, Aurora, considered him quite fascinating. But she decided not to say all this. “What are we going to sail on then?”      “Oh, you won't sail!” he beamed. That left her at her wit’s end. But they arrived to the very waterfall, and Pretty Bird stopped. “Step away a bit,” he pushed her slightly away from the edge — and whistled.      The next moment there was another whistle — except far away — but where?.. Did she not imagine it? Did it really come from the other side of the waterfall? But there must be a rock there! There…      Suddenly something long and sharp cut through the water — and then the waterfall itself split in two, bending around something — around someone. Aurora jumped away before the splash could soak her dress, and covered her face — but when she withdrew her hand, her eyes met the most extraordinary creature she could ever imagine.      It had a long, bird-like beak, brown eyes that looked like amber, and small protrusions all over its face, like a tortoise’s shell. Almost his entire head was covered with them, but something soft and wrinkled stretched on both sides of the beak, moving with every breath of this wondrous beast. Stretched and slowly swaying in the air all around his muzzle were long thin tendrils, or tubes, or antennae — something! what was it? she did not know. However, he also had arms — short, skinny and hard, like a grasshopper's. Something pink was floating at its elbows, like flaps of cloth — she realized those were fins. As the creature glided closer she made out its side — just like a fish, but a bizarre one: a beautiful pink iridescent tail, large scales. It did indeed look like a huge fish — but for the bird-turtle head. That, and, of course, that it was soaring in the air.      Aurora used to thing that fish lives in water. Was that not the case? How can they fly? This fish could fly. Was it even a fish? Or a bird? Or... something else?      She stared at the creature floating — flying — towards them, gawking as it descended to the very edge of the water and stared right back at her.      “What do you say?” the bird spoke up. For a second Aurora even forgot that he was standing next to her.      Briar Rose took a step forward. The raven held her by the shoulder a little as if she were afraid — but in fact that was not the case at all. The spirit before her — she called it a spirit to herself — had such kind eyes that she could not be scared. She moved closer, stood face to face and reached out her hand to pet him. She hoped he — or she! — would not object.      The spirit moved its head to her palm and lightly poked the air around it with the tip of its beak, almost like those tiny faeries that sniffed at her. Finally it bowed its head. It actually bowed its head!! Now she could stroke it. Aurora placed her hand on the wight’s uneven forehead, ran her palm up and down. The creature's fins twitched, trembled, but it did not get angry. She did not think so.      "Smart girl," Pretty Bird said, and she beamed.      “Will he piggyback us?”      “Yes. Not “us”, though, just you,” he nodded. That alarmed her. She might not be afraid; still, she wished... she wished to stay by his side. “We won't fit together. But I will be watching you. Is that all right with you?” She nodded, her dull care chased away. Once more she stroked the creature's hard beak, and it turned closer to her and lowered itself. Pretty Bird helped her climb onto its back, or rather its neck, just above the place his large fin grew high like a wing. She tried not to touch his gills with her feet. The tendrils hovered in the air above her head. “Are you sitting comfortably? Wonderful. Don’t dive. Do not dive,” he ordered to the one she saddled.      “Thank you for doing me such a kind service!.. uh...” Aurora remembered her manners — and suddenly realised she had no idea whether to address the creature as a “sire”, or as a “dame”. “Are you a girl or a boy?” she whispered where she hoped the ear would be.      The raven frowned and looked the creature in the muzzle. It just hummed indistinctly.      "I think it's something else entirely," he drawled, shaking his head. How fascinating! She had never heard of such a thing. As the creature drifted slowly a couple of feet from the shore, she pondered it. “I'd love to tell you more things, but I'm afraid that's all I know,” Pretty Bird raised his voice a little, walking slowly along so as not to lose sight of them. “The one who could say more is…well, never mind,” he waved off.      “Faerie Godmother?” Aurora guessed. He nodded. “She must be very smart, isn’t she? Didn't she tell you anything? If I were her, I would have told you everything, all of it... You are friends, after all! Just like we are! What I don't understand is... I don't understand why she can't come? No, I know, I know!” she exclaimed. “I remember it's a secret. I mean... Why is it a secret? Why can't I be on the Moors? It's so beautiful here!” she threw up her hands — and so did little pixies fluttering around her, blue and tailed like mermaids. Maybe they were indeed mermaids? How will she know? Will one meeting be enough? “I've always wanted to come here! Why can't I?”      Raven looked very guilty.      "It's not about you at all," he managed. “It's not just you — all humans are forbidden to come to the Moors. Mistress... Your Faerie Godmother doesn't like that very much.”      “But why?”      “Because.” the raven became a boring adult again. “Don't fret about such trifles. Birthdays are supposed to be fun.”      “But my birthday was two days ago-o-oAaaaaaaa!!” she squealed as the creature suddenly jerked and leaped far, far away from Pretty Bird, from the shore and everything she knew.      The air hit her face, cool and wet. Water sprayed and splashed all around her — they floated, they flew ahead and to the right, to the other bank she had not set her foot to. Tendrils and antennae trembled merrily in the air, and wavelets riffled across the water, a dozen small and large rings rippling in waves.      They were closing in on the lights she had noticed when she first got here — purples, pinks, violets, shimmering in the air like a spell frozen in time. She hoped to feel something as they flew right through them — but alas! — one moment the illuminations were in front of her eyes, and the next they were but a mirage drifting away, a vague glare that left no trace on her.      Was that the same thing with clouds? When birds fly in the clouds, do they feel them? Are they heavy? Can one hit, touch them? Or do they also glide past like fog? She will have to ask. Now he can answer!      Racing them were faeries and pixies jumping over the water's edge, glimmering sprites in blue lights. One of them grabbed the tendril of her handler and hung, swaying, and Aurora was able to get a closer look at her. The sprite had a pretty little face, round and blue, short flying hair, big pointy ears — oh the jealousy! she herself always wanted to have pointy ears! Another faerie flying ahead of them had a long scaly tail —that was why she reminded her of a mermaid. She was racing them now, overtaking them just a little, laughing as if they were not a hundred times her size, and they almost caught up with her! They almost —      “Hey-hey-hey!!” Pretty Bird whistled from somewhere far away. “No kidnappings, if you’d be so kind!!”      Aurora realised that they had almost crossed the line the raven had asked them not to cross. The spirit groaned in annoyance but obeyed — turning around like a huge longship, it proceeded to head back, its pace now much more measured.      Now she saw faeries and animals that had not crossed the pond and the river to look at her before the others — she, on the other hand, was able to look at them to her heart's content. On the ground, on the stones, in the water sat small creatures that looked like mushrooms, hedgehogs, stumps — they were all either moustachioed, or big-eared, or big-nosed, or pot-bellied, or all of the above. It seemed that she was lucky to see them solely because they wanted to be seen — otherwise she could easily confuse some of them with a fallen cone or a patch of moss. She tried to nod, wave or say hello to everyone because it was polite and because she was very happy to see them. Some of them looked exactly how she imagined fair folk to look like — but others were so different they exceeded any expectations...      They flew ashore, and Pretty Bird looked awfully disgruntled. At first she did not understand what the matter was — and then she saw her dress.      Well. That was her curse. She always ruined clothes. Aunties always said that even if they had a spinning wheel, they would never be able to catch up with her.      "You shouldn't have made me yell for all the Moors to hear," he muttered to the flying fish. “You’ve already… To hell with that,” he sighed, eyeing her nightgown.      He dismissed her faithful steed, giving it one last reproachful look as it hid behind the waterfall never to be seen. But soon enough the raven’s good humour returned — and even more so hers once she caught a glimpse of what was behind him.      “Pie!!”      She squelched through the water and mud towards her delicacy. Even a chipped tooth will not prevent her from tasting such a dainty! If it tasted as good as it looked, then she was in for a treat.      In the roots of the tree where the raven was waiting for them lay a basket. In it was a pie, though she doubted it could actually be called a pie. She knew pies are supposed to have dough — this one seemed to have none. She saw only fruits and berries. But it turned out that these were actually small cookies — almost the same as those she herself had left on her porch with a note. But the filling in them was completely different...      “What’s inside? Magic fruits?”      “Correct!”      “Will they do something?” Aurora asked, her mouth full. Raven frowned and tilted his head. “You said they were magical.”      “A-ah! No. Don’t worry. You won’t grow a second head, I promise,” he smiled. “Good stuff?”      “Delicious! Can I treat somebody?” she slurped.      “Well, you certainly can try...”      Aurora got to her feet, took a few cookies and went to look for tasters for her birthday dinner. She searched for them long, but find them she did: the dew faeries merrily chomped on half of them, crumb after crumb, and she herself ate the other half. She knew she was being watched from all sides, and it was very unusual and a little awkward, but she tried not to pay attention to it. She knew Pretty Bird was looking at her, too — but that felt nice.      When she galloped back, having already learned all the recesses and rises of the glen, he was still sitting under the tree — and she suddenly felt so joyful that he had done so much for her that her heart fluttered in her chest — and she threw herself on his neck, as is, wet and with biscuit crumbs.      He embraced her back.      “Thanks a lot!!” she shouted into his ear. “This is my best birthday ever! My bestest-bestest-bestest-bestest-...”      “O-o-oh...”      “...bestest-bestest birthday!”      “I’m very glad,” the raven chuckled.      “Thanks!” she echoed — and for a second she felt so bad that he was such a good friend yet she could not even know his name. He was indeed pretty, her Pretty Bird, but it was not the same. He called her by her first name — unlike her aunts — and although she liked the name Briar Rose, she was pleased that he did. She promised herself that if she ever got to learn his name, she would call him by his name too.      “Any cookies left?” he peered into the basket. “There are two more.”      “I thought you'd eat them!”      “I can't do that. Help yourself. It's yours.”      “I can’t! I ate too much! Can’t I take them back home and eat them tomorrow?”      “We agreed, no traces, remember?”      “Right…”      “Eat them later. We can stay... just a little longer,” he glanced around, up — and at her. “But when you're done, I will take you home.”      “No!”      “Yes, Aurora.”      “But I haven’t done so much yet!”      "We don't have much time," he shook his head.      She did not want any cookies anymore.      “Can I come back later? Just like today?”      Raven winced. “No.”      “Not even on my next birthday? Can't we ask Balthazar? Oh please!” She jumped to her feet. “Please!”      “No, sunshine,” said the raven contritely. “It's too dangerous.”      “But nothing happened to me! Why can't I?”      “Sorry, princess.”      She wanted to argue with him, but she did not want to at all. Besides, he was an adult, he knew the answers to tricky questions, and she did not. She had no choice but to sit, gazing at the cobalt water, at pixies sniffing around, frowning and hiding away, at wallerbogs burrowing in the mud, at the lights fading into the darkness, and let Pretty Bird hold her hand.      "You promised not to be cross with me," he murmured, brushing hair out of her face.      “I'm not cross with you. I’m really not,” she sniffled.      And they hugged again. And it probably was not all that bad.      She finished her two miserable biscuits, and they rose from the ground and brushed themselves off, and the raven tried to wipe whatever was on the hem of her shirt — but there was no more time to lose, and they trudged slowly back down the pond. She held his hand tightly. When she realised this, she felt sad again. When she realised that everyone was disappearing somewhere, and that it grew very dark and quiet, she felt even sadder.      "Please let me stay!" she cried, stopping in her tracks.      "Aurora, don't," he grimaced.      “Why can't I come back?”      “It’s too dangerous. It's against the rules.”      “But can you at least turn into a human? When you visit me back home, can you?”      The raven pursed his lips. “No, my child.”      “But why? Is that against the rules too?”      “Yes.”      “But why? Don't say "because"!” she shouted, squeezing his hand. “Please! You are my friend!”      “Aurora—”      “You are my friend! You are…”      “Traitor!”      Thunder seemed to rumble near them. Aurora squealed.      “Mistress!” cried the raven.      She saw just a glimpse — like lightning — horns, a staff, a white face — and after the lightning there was thunder: “Traitor!”      Suddenly the raven was right in front of her, in front of Aurora — he spread his arms to the sides, obscuring everything that was ahead. She could not see anything.      “What is going on here?” rumbled over him — over them all, in the very air.      “Mistress—”      “I see you are having a feast? Behind my back?!” she hissed, taking a step forward. Water itself seemed to rise in her wake, the grass rustled, the wind rose. There was no one else around, not even the wandering lights.      “No, we just—”      “I wish to feast too. I will eat game!”      He backed away, and Aurora backed away too — but there was a stream behind them, and they were getting closer and closer to the edge. But Faerie Godmother stepped forward, and the raven stepped back, and she stepped back too...      “How did you get through the Wall? Who helped you? Whom did you bribe?”      “I refuse to extradite.”      “How honourable!” she yelled, as if the word made her sick. “How honest! How reckless,” the fairy hissed, “how shameless, since you think that I won’t know what’s happening in my own kingdom! That you can— behind my back—”      “I would have told you—”      “Don’t lie to me!” she growled. “At least don’t lie to me now. If I hadn't found you, you would never have told me, and we both know it.”      Raven did not say anything. He did not say anything — yet she growled even harder as if she was expecting an answer anyway — she walked forward — he walked back — and Aurora...      “Move away from her,” thundered the faerie.      “No.”      “Move away from her right now.”      “No.”      Something flashed right before her eyes— and in a second the raven was no longer in front of her.      “Aurora!!”      “Who do you think you are to simply not follow my orders?!” Godmother snarled, striding towards him — Pretty Bird was now off to the side, far away from both of them, standing but staggering. “Answer me!”      “Mistress, just—”      “You brought a human! You brought our enemy! You—”      “It's just a misunderstanding...”      “You did all this behind my back! How could you?” she breathed. She looked like she was about to choke or burst into tears.      “Mistress, I’m begging you—”      "Do that," she stopped. “Beg!”      Raven was breathing heavily. He held out his hands. “I’m begging you, just let me bring her home, and then you can do—”      “Don't you impose conditions on me!” the faerie shouted. The earth shook. He backed away. “Do you know what I do with traitors?” Her hand lit up with emerald fire. “Do you?!”      She stepped forward towards him...      "Please don't scold him!!" Aurora suddenly cried out.      The Faerie Godmother jerked her head in her direction like a dart – and the girl suddenly grew petrified. All the words in the world got lost. But she had to collect them.      "Please don't be mad at him!" she bawled. "He's not to blame for anything! It's me, I asked for it! It's me!” she broke out, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I asked to be taken here!” she shrank — and cried even harder when Godmother started slowly turning her whole body towards her. She has dreamed of meeting her for so long, but now she was so afraid to look at her that she wanted to close her eyes and make her disappear. Her slow exhalation reminded Aurora of a hissing snake and she felt like she was about to be attacked. “He wanted to bring me back, he didn’t do anything wrong! It was a gift! Please don't punish him, he is my friend! He is my friend!” she howled. “He…”      Faerie Godmother took a quick step forward, straight towards Aurora — and before she could scream, or get frightened, or even blink — everything turned sparkling blue — and turned turtle — and then disappeared.      ...She woke up in her own bed late in the morning, when the sun had already completely rolled out past her window to hide behind the roof and trees, and aunties had already had breakfast — and for a second she thought she had only dreamed of all the adventures. But her nightshirt was stained, and her shoes were not in the hall, as expected, but by her very bed. It was all true, then. She was very happy — and then very upset.      The next few days were gloomy for Aurora. Pretty Bird had not shown up once, and his absence was as sad as it was frightening. Nothing could happen to him, could it? Faerie Godmother could not have hurt him. Faerie Godmothers are supposed to be kind... Yes, she got mad, but Pretty Bird broke the rules. She herself was a little upset that he had done so, but now she understood why. Maybe her aunties were not the only ones to adhere to some strict rules unknown to her. Maybe there was some written law forbidding humans from entering the Moors.      But what if now Pretty Bird is punished for breaking it? What if he is punished forever? Will he never come again? And all that because of her stupid wish!      All these days it was wonderful summer weather, and the grass was warm, and aunties rolled jam in jars and drank tea in the shade in the backyard, and the stars shone so brightly at night, and the birds sang their trills, but nothing, nothing in the world could please her.      This went on until one evening, while she was sitting in front of the house at the table alone, a large black dog appeared from behind the trees.      A very large black dog.      His ears hung sadly on the sides of his head, and he was all shaggy, like an unshorn lamb. Pretty Bird’s tail trailed behind him like a whisk as he walked slowly towards her. She threw herself from the table. She wanted to call out his name, but she was afraid that her aunts would hear her.      He stepped closer and Aurora collapsed onto the grass in front of him. He was taller than her — she had never known that dogs could be so big. But he did not look scary, even if his eyes were hidden behind curly tows. He looked so... so...      “Oh, Pretty Bird!” she sobbed, wrapping her arms around his neck, snuggling up to him. He bowed his head. “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” She stroked him and he whimpered and she cried. “I didn’t mean to… It’s all because of me… I didn’t want you to get in big trouble because of me! I thought you were friends! I thought…”      The dog growled softly and took his head away — he looked at her tear-stained face and began to lick it. He had a warm, rough, and nasty tongue. Aurora laughed.      "All right, I won't cry! I won’t cry! I'm not crying." she waved him away. Pretty Bird grunted contentedly and sank down on her lap, his big heavy shaggy head on her leg. Now that he lay down, he was finally shorter than her. “Am I still your friend?” she asked cautiously. He poked his snout into her side, rubbed against it. She stroked his ear. “Are you still her friend? I didn't mean to… I didn't mean to make anyone angry…” she flushed again and buried her face in his long fur, pressing against his neck and sobbing. Instead of a normal sound, there was some kind of nasty snorting of a detuned pipe, as if she had blown her nose, and she grew even more bitter, because what if Faerie Godmother was also here, and now she heard everything, and...      And the next second something changed.      Something near her hands dissolved, like a flower exploding, the pollen in its core scattering in the air, and then it enveloped the whole dog — and then instead of a dog there was a raven perched on her knee.      He himself seemed surprised — he fluttered off her leg with a croak. Aurora clapped her hands in delight. Pretty Bird soared into the sky, and she laughed with relief, and rose to her feet, and hurried to catch him — and he began to fly away, and she began to race him, and her laughter stuttered, and she was again so gleeful, so happy as if she had never known sadness.      She knew, she knew it! She knew that there was no need to be afraid of Godmother, that Godmother would not stay angry! She could not really be evil! Her Faerie Godmother was kind!      She knew it!