Amber Eyes

Once upon a time there was a young girl who lived in a mountain village in a faraway country. She had been born with a twisted leg and could only walk with great difficulty. Her family were very poor and barely survived on what they could grow on their little piece of land.

Amost everyone had forgotten her real name. Her nickname translated to Gimpy. She was much younger than her siblings. Her mother had not been happy to have another baby, much less a crippled girl and barely tolerated her. Girls were never as valuable as boys and were to be married off as soon as possible, but who would want this useless girl? Her father cherished her but was often too weary from his unending toil to pay much attention to her. He forbade his wife to physically abuse Gimpy in any way, but he could not stop her scolding tongue. Gimpy would limp away from the house into the nearby woods and fields to escape her mother's nagging. She sat so still for hours in a nearby clearing that birds and small animals lost their fear and went about their day as if she wasn't there. Her favorite was a fox who would look at her intently with his amber eyes before continuing on his travels.

One evening her father brought home a sturdy branch. He spent many hours whittling it until he had created a beautifully carved walking stick for Gimpy. She treasured that stick, both because it was from her father and allowed her to walk further. After a while, Gimpy begged him to teach her how to whittle. She began with simple wooden shapes which vaguely resembled the animals and birds she saw every day. As her skill improved, the carvings became more and more lifelike and detailed. She carved beautiful little rabbits, birds, cats, mice, frogs and her favorite, the fox. One day a peddler stopped by the house, selling ribbons, buttons, needles and other small items. Gimpy, sitting on a bench outside the home, happily stopped her carving to greet him and look at his ware. He put his tray down so she could look at the contents. While she was browsing, he looked at the little figures she had carved. They were so well done that he could almost see the cat's fur, the flip and twist of the jumping fish, the feathers of the soaring bird, the fox's bushy tail.

"Little girl," he said. "Will you sell me some of your carvings?"

Gimpy's mother. who had come out to look at the peddler's merchandise, heard him and suddenly had a gleam in her eye.

"We could never part with our dear daughter's work," she said craftily. "As you can see, she has few pleasures and puts all her heart and soul into these little wooden friends of hers."

Gimpy stared in amazement. Her mother never did more than glance at her work and carp about how much time she spent carving. She listened in dismay as her mother and the peddler began to haggle. They finally agreed on a price. Gimpy managed to hide her favorite carving of the fox as her mother went into the hut and returned with the wooden figures. The peddler dropped them into his satchel and paid her mother, who happily jingled the coins in her hand as he gathered his belongings and went on his way.

By the time the peddler returned a month later, Gimpy was exhausted and her fingers were stiff and sore from carving enough figures to satisfy her mother. The peddler looked at the carvings and noted something different, though he could not quite put his finger on it. He still bought and paid for everything she had made. Later, as he trudged along on his route, he realized that although the carving was still skillful, the figures were stiff and wooden in every sense of the word. The liveliness was gone.

Almost unable to bear her unhappiness, Gimpy limped off to her favorite clearing in the woods one summer evening. She sat there quietly. Gradually there was a rustling and fluttering as more and more creatures and birds gathered around her, as if news had spread of her return. Finally the fox appeared from the shadows, looked at her for a long time with his amber eyes, and slowly approached. Gimpy hardly dared to breathe as the fox delicately sniffed her stiff, sore hands. He sat down beside her and did not flinch as she stroked his soft fur. After a while, as darkness descended, the fox gave one sharp bark. The assembled animals and birds dispersed and the fox slipped off into the undergrowth.

Another month went by. The peddler returned to the village and stopped at Gimpy's home. Her mother opened the door, and to his surprise, yelled at him to go away. He continued into the village and the women gathered around to look at his tray. This was a pleasant diversion from their usual day. They plied the peddler with questions about his merchandise, haggled over prices and asked him for news from the regions he passed through. When he could get a word in, he asked about Gimpy. Conversation stopped immediately as the flustered women looked at each other. A young woman finally explained that no one had seen hide nor hair of Gimpy since his last visit. She had simply not been there one morning. The villagers searched everywhere without finding any trace of her. Her parents were distraught, though some said unkindly that her mother missed the income from the carvings more than she missed her daughter.

Not long before Gimpy disappeared, a tall, good looking young man had been seen in the area. Everyone seemed to know someone who knew someone who had seen him talk to Gimpy, but the peddler could find no one who had spoken directly to the stranger. Somehow it was agreed that he had thick auburn hair and sharp amber eyes. There were no sightings of him after Gimpy disappeared. The peddler concluded his sales, hitched his pack on his back and headed out of the village, pondering this strange story. Since the weather was good, he decided to stop for the night in what, unknown to him, had been Gimpy's favorite clearing. He lit a campfire, ate his supper, spread his bedroll and lay down. It was soon dark. There were rustling noises around him as nocturnal creatures began to venture out. He heard the soft beat of an owl's wings. He jumped nervously as he saw movement among the trees.

"Who is there?" he called out.

There was no answer. In the glow from the embers, against the backdrop of the dark woods, he saw two moving figures. The shorter figure limped. The taller figure paused and looked back. He was a handsome young man. His piercing amber eyes gleamed for a moment in the firelight before the figures merged into the darkness and disappeared. Shaken, the peddler lay back and started as he felt something hard on the blanket. It was a beautifully carved little wooden fox. He gazed towards the woods, smiling as he recognized Gimpy's handiwork. He slipped it into his pocket and settled for the night.