“What are you?”
She smiles as she hauls me out of the liquid “I was expecting a ‘who”?
“What?” I am puzzled.
“Who are you?’ Not ‘what are you?”
What difference does it make? I say to myself.
I see the stag on the other side of the foreign lake, resting. My heart is no longer beating hard and I take this to mean that I am no longer afraid. I must have left my wits at the bottom of this lake because if I had them about me I would spread my wings and fly far far away from these…things. Yet, there is something about the way this being is fashioned that compels me to stay and study her. I know it’s a ‘her’ because she sounds feminine. Aside from that there isn’t anything feminine about her in the lome sense of the word; she looks nothing like Yovec or Mama Tchaek. Something like a lot of gold colored yarn is sprouting from her head the way grass sprouts from the ground.
Does she water her head, then?
Her skin is not pale or even translucent but it glows and is the color of a baby lome’s nose when he is crying. Her eyes are endless depth of blue and they are half the size of my endless depths of black. Amazingly, it does not diminish their beauty; I could stare into her eyes for the rest of my life now that I have lost my wits. She is robed in white like a fresh born lome too.
Why does she have robes on? Does she have something to hide? Or is she just a large, deformed baby lome?
Suddenly, I feel naked and a shade of pink creeps into my cheeks when she turns and catches me staring at her.
“I’m surprised you do not ask questions.” She says as she bends once again, reaching into the strange lake with her left hand.
“My mother gives me firm knocks on me head when I ask visitors and strangers questions. She says I don’t mind me business”
She laughs. Her laughter is deep and throaty…bubbling up from her insides.
“Maybe you do ask a lot of questions then but I can handle your questions. Go on, ask.”
She still has her left hand beneath the surface and she is still bent uncomfortably, facing the other direction, facing the stag.
“Who are you? What is your name? Where are you from?”
“My name is Lysa. You needn’t know where I am from; you wouldn’t understand.”
“I dinna want to think that you think me to be simple.”
“No, you’re not simple, Tchink. If you were simple, you wouldn’t be standing here right now.”
My heart slammed against my chest.
“How do you know my name?”
“There are a lot of things that I know, Tchink. For example, I know that you should be meeting your friends at the meadow right now and I also know that you would love some fish.”
She finally brings her hand out of the liquid and along with her hand, a big wriggly thing. It looks like an over fed slug with big eyes and mouth. She calls it fish and she says that I would like to have some of it but all I want to do is run to the meadow.
“I would love to get back to my friends now.”
She smiles again then nods her approval.
“We have so much to talk about Tchink but you can go meet your friends now.”
My heart swells with relief and sadness at the same time but I manage to spread my wings and fly.
I will come back for my wits at a more opportune time.