Wizard Boy
The wizard boy was straggling far behind, as I lead him through the forest. I could feel anger bubble up inside me, each time he snapped a twig with his careless strides. I had promised to help the wretched boy, but I wasn’t sure I could tolerate much more of his company. Why should I help him, anyway? No one was there to help me navigate these woods when I was young, and injured, and afraid. I had to learn how to thrive in this environment. Of course it was mostly trial and error for the first several years, but I survived. I paused, giving the boy a chance to catch up, but as I watched him stumble this way and that, I knew it could take him awhile.
I sighed, and perched myself on a fallen tree, running my fingers against the wet moss that grew the length of the trunk. It was good moss. I would have to remember this spot the next to time one of my recipes called for some good, wet moss. I drummed my fingers against the tree trunk, as he lumbered through the woods I held so dear. The boy let out an amusing squawk when he tripped over the roots of an old oak tree. I had had enough. I chanted a tune I had invented, asking the surrounding trees for some assistance. Their branches reached out to him, scooping the boy into their wooden arms. The wizard howled as he was unceremoniously passed from tree to tree. Finally, a sturdy yew dropped him at my feet.
“Thank you, friends,” I chortled, as the wizard boy labored to his feet.
“That was most unpleasant,” he glared at me, brushing sediment from his already torn breeches.
“I warned you to earn your keep.”