Lucerne's key

The Air of the Forest enveloped Rose like a mist. It was thick, sweet, and to breathe it was surprisingly easy and pleasant. Each breath brought with it a bouquet of incredible aromas: a floral nectar with a hint of cinnamon, the smell of damp earth after rain and something else, barely familiar, like the smell of an old book. She took a few steps forward, and the soft moss under her feet was springing up, absorbing every sound. But that silence was deceptive. It was filled with a quiet, melodious hum from the leaves. They were not just green; they overflowed in all shades of emerald and silver, and when the wind blew branches, they uttered that same wonderful crystal chant she had heard at the very beginning. Rosa turned around. Where the door should have been, there was a dark arch in the trunk of the giant, dark tree, covered with velvety reddish moss. The crack was barely noticeable. A calming warmth emanated from the key in her pocket, as if he were telling her: “The way back is always open”. This gave the girl some courage. She moved further into the forest. The light was scattered, golden, as if carefully filtered. It fell from the sky, which was covered by a glowing fog, and illuminated incredible details: giant ferns whose leaves were sprinkled with tiny luminous drops; mushrooms radiating tender blue and pink light like lanterns; flowing rushes with water so transparent, that it flowed on smooth colored pebbles. Rose walked, enchanted, oblivious to the time. She reached out her hand and gently touched the bark of the rainbow tree. It was not rough, but smooth and cool, and pulsed in a barely perceptible rhythm, as if there were a huge living heart beating inside. It was the sound that brought her out of the trance. At first, it was just a quiet cry, but the further she went, the clearer it became. It was not a cry of pain or terror. It was a plaintive, helpless whimper, so melancholy that Rosa’s heart had choked unwittingly. She turned away from the path that she instinctively walked along, and, through the huge roots, came out into a small meadow. The source of the sound was here. In the middle of the glade grew a strange bush, its flexible, resilient branches were covered with long sharp thorns. And there was a little creature beating in the thick of these branches. Rose froze as she looked at it. It was the size of a large squirrel. He had a furry body, shimmering in shades of gray and blue like a pigeon’s wing, and huge, bottomless eyes of liquid gold. But the most amazing thing was his wings. Not like birds, but rather like a butterfly or moth, the same delicate and translucent, with intricate pattern of light-silver streaks. One wing was free, and the other and one of the legs were tangled in thorny branches. The more the creature battled to free itself, the more the bonds of life wrapped around it. It saw Rose, and in his golden eyes flared fear. It grew stronger, absorbing those plaintive sounds. “Quiet, quiet,” said Rosa softly as she slowly approached. “I will not harm you. I will help”. She didn’t know if the creature understood her, but her tone seemed to be soothing. The creature is quiet, watching her movements with dangerous interest. As she got closer, Rosa saw that the thorns were not just sharp; there was a sticky liquid on their ends. The trap was very cunning. She carefully extended her hand, trying not to hurt herself, and reached for the thickest branch into which the creature’s claws had fallen. The branch was alive and firm, she resisted as if not willing to let go of her prey. “Hold on,” Rose whispered to the prisoner. She put her feet in the ground and slowly, with constant effort, began to bend the branch. The wooden spring gave way unwillingly. A quiet click was heard, and the creature’s paw was released. Now it was necessary to free the wing. It was compressed by a few thinner shoots. Rose had to work with her fingers, carefully spreading the thorns of the branches one by one. One of the thorns still scratched the back of her palm, a drop of blood sprang out. She sucked on the wound and continued. Finally, the last branch bounced off, and the wing flattened. The creature, having felt freedom, with a slight movement broke out of the trap and fell on the moss at her feet. It was too weak and scared to fly away. It sat, breathing heavily, its furry body trembling, and the damaged wing lying unwillingly on the ground. Rose squatted, trying to seem smaller and not so frightening. “It’s all right,” she said quietly. “You’re free.” The golden eyes looked at her now without fear, with silent question and gratitude. The creature made a short squealing sound, more like a bird chirping than anything else. Rosa looked at his wing. It was not torn, but clearly damaged. She remembered helping a neighbor’s cat with a twisted paw — it was all about peace. She looked around. There was a huge glowing blue mushroom umbrella nearby, which was drier and softer. “Let’s get you there,” she said, slowly extending her open palm. The creature looked at her hand for a few seconds, then creatively climbed on it. It was light as fur and warm. Rosa carefully carried him under the mushroom hat and arranged in a moth pit. “You need to rest, she said. I’ll sit with you”. She sat down beside her, leaning back against the smooth leg of the mushroom. The creature, having made himself comfortable, stared at the scratch on her arm. Then it looked at Rose, at the nearest tree and again at Rose as if to show something. “What do you want?” she asked. The creature, hovering, jumped to the base of the tree and poked a particularly large, amber-like growth on the bark. Rose approached and looked. Inside the growth slowly flowed a thick golden juice. She understood the hint. Pressing carefully, she squeezed out the drop of juice and smeared it with a scratch. The instant burning pain subsided, and the wound was covered with a thin glossy film. “Thank you,” said Rosa. In response, the creature seemed to have fun. It jumped up to the nearest bush and, displaying incredible dexterity, plucked a healthy paw from the branch. But it was no ordinary berry. It was the size of a grape and sprayed with all the colors of a rainbow, as if made from a soap bubble. The creature brought it and solemnly handed it to Rosa. She took the berry. It was supple and warm. The girl put it in her mouth. And the berry… disappeared. There was no taste, no texture. There was only an explosion of incredible sensations: the chill of a soft wind, the warmth of the summer sun on the skin, the sweetness of a ripe peach and a feeling of absolute, undisturbed happiness that lasted only one moment, but left after it a lasting, slight aftertaste of joy. “Wow,” exhaled Rose, and her face swelled with a broad smile. The creature, seeing her reaction, frolicked joyfully and jumped around, despite the diseased wing. It was clearly proud of its gift. “What’s your name?” asked Rosa. She did not expect a verbal answer and did not get it. The creature made a series of sounds: something between buzzing and squeaking. It sounded like “Mushki”. “Mushki?” said Rosa. The creature was seething with its little head. “Nice to meet you, Mushki. My name is Rose”. She had been with the Mushki for about an hour. During this time, the wing of the creature was noticeably thickened. It could already be moving from place to place. Rosa told him about her world, the city of Merico, the school and how she found the key. The Mushki seemed to listen with great interest, his golden eyes not detached from her face. The sun fog began to thicken, coloring in evening, purple tones. Rose understood that it was time to return. The thought of my mother getting worried made her come up. “I have to go, Mushki”. The little creature looked at her with such boundless longing that Rose’s heart shrunk again. It flew towards her and clung its paws to the edge of her jeans. “Do you… do you want to go with me?” she asked, incredulous. Mushki was boiling so vigorously that it seemed to be about to fall. Rose wondered. Could he live in her world? Would it hurt him? But the sight of his begging eyes was unbearable. And she understood that she was already attached to this funny little creature. “Well, she said. But it’s different there. There are no such berries and singing trees. And you’ll have to hide from other people. Promise?” The Mushki made a solemn roaring sound, which was no doubt sworn. Rosa smiled. She carefully picked it up. The Mushki settled in her folded palms, curled up with a ball and rubbed his face on her fingers. She went back to the arch in the tree. When she got there, she found a barely visible crack, touched it with the key, and the wood fibers broke open, opening a dark hole. For the last time she looked back at a shining, singing world, Rosa stepped into the darkness of an abandoned house. Rosa stood in the dusty hall, and it was as if an hour ago. But now she was not alone. A little piece of magic lay in her hands. She came out of the house on Aspen Street, and the evening air of Merico seemed flat and tasteless to her after the sweet breath of Forest.