"Skén:nen! Come on, wake up! You'll miss breakfast!" a little voice calls.
Peace opens her eyes. She is no longer dreaming, she realizes- this is real life. The voice belongs to Abigail Lockwood. She is not in a garden, but inside of a human house.
"Abigail!" a slightly deeper voice says. "Don't bother her- there's plenty here to go around! Why don't you come with me to feed the horses?"
"Really?" she says, excitement clear in her tone.
Peace, her vision still blurred from sleep, makes out the form of two figures departing through the open door. Peter and Abigail. She rubs her eyes, trying to fight off a yawn.
"Did you sleep well?" Mrs. Lockwood inquires. Peace turns her head to see the older woman sweeping up the floor. In a chair at the table sits Timothy, and in his lap is a very fluffy black and white kitten. He is attempting to brush out its fur, but the little feline seems rather content to try and eat the brush than allow it to comb through its fur.
"I did, thank you," Peace says to her. She does not sleep very often, and when she does, it is usually a fitful rest. This night, she managed to sleep with no disruptions.
"That's good to hear. Would you like some porridge? It's still warm," offers Mrs. Lockwood.
"Porridge?" Peace questions. She doesn't eat much either, and this word is foreign to her. She has been absent from Earth for quite awhile.
"You've never had porridge, my dear?" she says incredulously.
Peace shakes her head. Food isn't something she needs to live, after all. How is she to know the names of the things human consume?
"Well. You'll have to try some, then. We have strawberry jam you can add to flavor it."
"Alright, then. I'll try it," Peace says. She stretches her arms before standing, and then proceeds to stretch her legs. It's odd stretching her limbs in human form, as this is normally something she does as a swan. When she is sure her muscles are properly loosened, she neatly folds up the blanket and leaves it on the rocking chair.
"What is its name?" she asks Timothy as she takes a seat beside him at the table.
"I call him Cricket," Timothy says. He flushes in the slightest when Peace reaches over and gives the kitten on his lap a brief scratching behind the ears. Cricket purrs, ceasing his assault on the brush.
"He's very cute," she remarks.
"He's a rascal, that one," Mrs. Lockwood says with a chuckle as she sets a bowl down infront of Peace. Peace smiles and thanks her. It's odd, but she feels as if she is a part of this family, even if it is just for a short while.
YOU ARE READING
Little Blue Strings
General Fiction**COMPLETED** This is the story of Life, Death, a lonely human, and all those other names and faces that linger or are forgotten by time. It is a story of the violent and chaotic world, and the places in which, every now and then, everything is stil...
