The Writings of a Dreamer

They had travelled for 3 hours before they stopped in a wood for breakfast. It was another 5 hours after that before lunch. They travelled in silence, only talking when they were thirsty or needed the bathroom. By evening they were very close to the capital. The Guardian had said that they wouldn’t travel in to the city until the next day. They had supper and slept.

The next day the girl and the Guardian flew over and around the town, searching for a good place to enter on foot. They found an alley and landed at the entrance. The girl waited for the Guardian to turn into a pigeon. The Guardian flew overhead as the girl hurried through the alleyways.
“The Palace is ahead! Be careful!” the Guardian cried in pigeon.
“Ok!” The girl replied, also in pigeon. She clung to her bow and arrow, in case she needed it. Her quiver hung loosely on her back and she tightened it. She didn’t know if these guards would attack girls or not. The bandits did.
As they approached the castle, the girl became more and more nervous. She tried not to show it, though, by walking proudly, with her head high. The guards spied the girl quickly but did not put themselves on their guard, though she had her weapon. The girl strode up to the gate-and the head guard.
“May I come in,” the girl said sweetly.
“Your name,” The guard growled
“I don’t have one,” The girl said calmly. “Tell the queen that her daughter from eleven years ago has come to meet her.”
The Head Guard gasped, bowed and ran into the house shouting, “Princess Tralonia has come! The namesake of the country has come!”
The Girl looked at the guardian, puzzled. “What was that all about? Tell me!” She asked the Guardian in Pigeon. The Guards stared at her. What was the Princess saying? And why was she squawking like that? The girl saw the puzzled looks on the Guards’ face and said, in the language of her people, “I grew up with this bird. I know the language of the birds.”
“Oh” Said one of the Guards.
Suddenly, a beautiful lady with flowing red hair and a crown on her head came rushing out of the palace-the queen. The girl bowed before her mother as she approached. When she stood up again, the queen stopped, all of a sudden, and looked at the girl, noticing a startling resemblance in the girl to herself. The Queen exclaimed “My Daughter has returned!” and gave her daughter a hug and started to lead her inside. The girl stopped her. “Wait. I must bring my adopted mother with me.”
“Adopted Mother?” The Queen asked.
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“Over there,” the girl pointed to the Guardian. “She brought me up, fed me, and taught me how to defend myself. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her.”
“That pigeon brought you up?”
“Well, there’s a bit more to it than that, but I will explain that later.” The girl beckoned to the pigeon and it flew over and landed on her shoulder. Then she followed her mother inside.

The 15th of April, 1790 Outside of Paris!

Papa has found an alley that we can use for escape! We snuck down it last night. We are now hiding in a little caverne that we found until night. Maman says she is scared. She does the rosary about ten times every day! Papa does not know where we will go next. Mon Dieu I am afraid. What have we done to deserve this? What did Marie do to deserve this? Or Louis? God, help me! I am off to do my rosary now.

Maybe I should tell you a bit about Maggie.

Maggie O’Brien is an 11-year-old girl who recently moved to Canada for reasons that will be described throughout the book. Maggie plays the fiddle and her mother does Irish dancing. People would come to love their talent and would crowd around their porch on warm days to watch the merrymaking. They made many friends in this way, even though Maggie was homeschooled. Altogether, Canada worked quite well, thanks to a plain brown fiddle and a pair of flying feet.

Lucy could not believe what she was seeing in front of her. She had never known such things existed in the world. The top was a head of some really cool creature that had thin eyebrows and huge wide eyes. The figure had deep, dark, flaring nostrils and a very wide grin with a huge tongue sticking out.

Lucy giggled to herself.

This creature had short arms with long claws. Squeezed in between the claws was most of a mans hat. Under the hat was a man’s face and shoulders. The man had a grim look on his face. The spirit had drained out of his face, unlike the creature above him.

That was it.

This is the most wonderful thing in the world, Lucy thought, I’m going to sketch it.

So she took out her sketchbook and began to draw.

Tigger

The next day the girl packed her things in her sealskin bag and grabbed for her bow and arrow. It was early morning and there wasn’t much light. The Guardian Bird had said that “we must leave early for the capital is over 3000 wing-beats away”. (foot-note: And, if you didn’t know, 3000 wing-beats is a long way.) When the girl climbed onto the Birds’ back, it was a swan. As they soared into the sky, the girl became nervous. They barely spoke. In some places you could see signs of life. Most places, though, people were still asleep. This was lucky. It made it easier not to be noticed when the bird and child stopped for a drink. It wasn’t until after a few hours of flying did the girl notice figures moving outside. The first person the girl saw was a young girl a few years younger than her. She had blond hair that hung down her back — all the way to her waist. There are other girl humans then, she thought. I thought there were just men humans.

The enemy warriors tore down the street, rampaging or killing everything in their path. They were as loud as thunder, and they were headed for Ratala’s house

10 years later

Ratala sat in the dining room of her parents’ house. They had very important guests, and Ratala had to act formal. She HATED acting formal. Her mother hated the fact that Ratala always ran wild, and the fact that her Father encouraged it. Ratala did not know why her father did encourage her. She would soon learn.
She was thinking about this as she sat there in her latten dress. She hated latten fabric. It was smooth and pretty but itchy. And all latten dresses must go to your toes. Ratala hated that kind of dress. Short dresses were her kind. She did sometimes wish she could wear boys’ clothes but she never mentioned it to her mother. That wasn’t the kind of thing you asked the Governess of Vtasla.
All of a sudden, Ratala heard a strange thing come from her mother’s mouth.
“Where is your son? You said you brought him to meet Ratala.” Ratala was astounded. She new that she was twelve and that was the age girls started meeting boys they might want to marry, but Ratala had never thought she would have to do so herself. She dreamed of becoming a Warrior. Not a housewife.
The boy who walked in was about 13 or 14. Ratala was glad to see that it was one of her friends. He often ran around with her outside and complained just as much as she did about formal occasions. He rolled his eyes at her when no one looking. She struggled to hold back giggles. Maybe she wouldn’t mind as much if this boy was her husband. He wouldn’t make her stay cooped up inside. He new she wouldn’t want to.

The 8th of April, 1790

I was scared. Terribly scared. I could hear their footsteps approaching. Thud. Thud. Thud. How many men were there? 1? 2? 3? More than three? I hope not. More than three would be terrifying. The most we could hope for was that they would be Royalists too. Probably not though. Their boots were dangerously loud for Royalists. These days, Royalists don’t wear heavy boots. They’d give us away too easily. Oh, why had we hidden in a dead-end street. If we hadn’t, we could have at least run away. Winding through the narrow alleys of Paris. We also couldn’t climb, the barrier wall. Maman and I had too long and fancy skirts, being the daughter and wife of a Courtier. That rank was now no use. In fact, that rank was now dangerous. That word. Dangerous. I am beginning to hate that word.

Later

Thud. Thud. Thud. They were approaching. Did they know our hiding spot? I hoped not. If they did, we would be doomed for the Guillotine. Oh, I wish I could write to the young princess. She was my best friend. She is also still alive but she has escaped the terrors of this revolution. Oh, Oh, Oh! I wish I was out of this scrape. I wish that Marie had been a bit more sensible. If she had, she might have not been beheaded. Marie, Marie, Marie. This is the first time in my life I have hated you. You made so many loyal people turn against you and you have made it hard for those who did not turn away.

One evening, while chatting over supper, The Guardian Bird made a seemingly strange remark.
“You should have some contact with your own kind.”
“Why? Aren’t all humans Bandits?” The girl looked puzzled.
“No. There are villages and towns and cities that hold quite sophisticated people-the people who are the bandits’ target.”
“You mean… That I should have contact with these ‘sophisticated people’?”
“Yes”
“But why?”
“Because nothing will come of you if you stay with me all your life. You need somebody besides me.”
“But I don’t want anybody besides you!” The girl looked startled and afraid. “What if these people will want to hurt me? Want if they think I am ugly and have no right to live in their land?”
“Do not worry about that, my dear. You are the daughter of the current King and Queen. You look a lot like the Queen, who is treasured for her beauty. You shall not have fear of their not accepting you.”
The girl gaped at the Guardian Bird.
“We shall leave on the morrow. Be ready, my dear girl.” The guardian smiled at the girl kindly. “Now, to bed.”

“Hey Tiger! Whatcha doin’ here“

Rose looked up. Tiger? She hadn’t been called that in a year! She whirled around in her chair. Ryan? This was the wrong time for her childhood annoyance to turn up.

“Hi,” She said coldly.

“So?” He looked at her inquiringly.

“What?”

“What are you doing at the library if you aren’t looking for books?”

“None of your business.” She tried to turn around but he put his hand on her shoulder and stopped her.

“What are you doing?” Her insisted.

“Writing. Stories.”

“Since when do you do that?”

“Since last year.”

“Are you successful?” His hand was still on her shoulder.

“Yes.”

“I published one of the stories in a magazine last month.”

“Why didn’t I know that?”

“Oh. Sorry. It was a girls magazine,” She told him sarcastically. “Can I go back to my writing now?”

“Uh. Yeah. Sure.” He left.

Such an annoying person. Good thing she didn’t go to school any more. He’d be surprised when she didn’t turn up at school the next day.

The Guardian bird, who was now in disguise as an eagle, swooped gracefully through the forest with her girl on her back. The girl, who was of age 11 in human years, clutched her bag that held her winter dress and her tools. The girl held tightly on to her eagle “Mother” with her other arm. She had waist length orange hair and wore a sleeveless dress of sealskin and swan feathers-her summer dress. In her hair she wore a band of sealskin from which hung several feathers. The girl and her Guardian had just come in contact with bandits and had left their campsite to find another. As they flew, the girl spotted an open patch shielded by a canopy of trees. “Land there” she whispered to the Guardian in the language of the land, which she had been taught as a toddler. “It looks a safe place to camp.” When they landed, the girl went off into the woods to get camp supplies, bringing with her bow and arrow to ward off danger. She crept through the woods in her bare feet, feet that had been hardened over years of only wearing moccasins in winter. There came a rustle in the woods ahead. The girl scrambled up a tree. Looking down, she saw a bear. They needed supper, the girl thought. Pulling her bow tight, she aimed and fired. The arrow hit the bear in the middle of the back, piercing through the heart. The girl called “caught a bear. Need help carrying it to camp.” In swan language, her best animal language. Instantly the Guardian swooped down and they began to drag the animal back to camp. The girl went back out to gather the needed supplies.