The Retelling of The Well

"There weren't always dragons in the Valley. There weren't always..." kept racing through Cherilia's mind as she paced in her chicken-leg hut. Up and down she went, her feet chasing her thoughts, and nearly stepping on the dried burdock that had fallen from the clothesline. She hadn't had the time that morning to change her muddied skirts, but even if she had, she most likely wouldn't have achieved the presence of mind to remember to change anyway. Much was already underway.

The clock outside struck twelve, ringing through the town loudly. Cherilia jolted to a halt in her pacing. She grabbed her shawl from the hook and steadied herself to greet the daytime. Outwardly, you wouldn't be able to see her mouth moving; but, if you got close enough to hear beneath her tremouring lips, a constant stream of muttering flowed: "there... weren't...in..."

She broke off into a brisk walk. Her mind cleared with every purposeful step towards the Valley's square. Out emerged the villagers of the Valley from their huts and large oak Tromes sprouting nascent spring buds. They were dressed to impress; some wore large pine garlands covered in pixie dust and marinated in vats of purplish onion skins to turn them into a glaring red, others wore lace bonnets woven from spider silk, while families with five or more children opted for the modest tri-coloured horsetails instead. The time had come, and they were going to rise to the occasion.

Cherilia was one of the first to reach the square. She joined the growing throng of villagers lining up in front of the stage. Behind her, the rest of the villagers piled in. A curiosity quickly gathered in the air.

On the stage stood the big five Elders circling The Well: Chomin, wearing a simple green robe, Miro and Mino in brown, their mice tails wagging, Pewell in black, and lastly, to the very left of the stage, the mighty Droghnt in red. Droghnt's scales glistened under the midday sun, reflecting brilliantly. In his presence, Cherilia was reminded of why the very first night of the meetings took place and their importance.

"This time, there's much to be changed," a little mouse-mom towering over nothing but the pebbles below said to her husband.

"That's what you think but the Elders probably know more," he said.

"But one, only one? How are they to decide?"

The husband shook his big ears in protest of his wife's questioning. "Not a job for us, my love."

On the stage, Chomin held out his wrinkled hands and a gust of wind started picking up. Cherilia looked around to spot Emin before the ceremony but to no avail.

"Welcome to the annual Retelling at The Well," his voice resonated throughout the square. The wind settled and a series of vibrant pixies began flying in zigzag patterns. Willow branches from nearby trees sunk towards the stage, carving out a shimmering backdrop in tandem with the pixies.

"Last year, we had great success with alerting against the invasion of The Dreiyd. The invasion of The Dreiyd caused many casualties among our friends and family. Under the prudent guidance of our panel," Chomin waved a solemn hand at the Elders standing beside him, "we managed to reverse the invasion to the joy and benefit of all of us here."

The husband mouse nodded his large mouse head in agreement.

"The invasion of The Dreiyd," Chomin made the calculated choice to steer his eyes away from Droghnt, "led by the neighbouring dragons, was not a reflection of the dragons in our community."

The Elders behind him nodded in agreement.

"And," Chomin said, lifting his hand to the sky. "We are in recognition of our dragons' power." A blinding ray of fire rose from Chomin's hand and shot symbolically into the sky.

"But," Chomin continued, "each year we are granted the portal from The Well. We are granted the choice. We must make a choice in time: how are we to improve the previous year by changing only one thing from the past. Once the decision is made, our reality undergoes a drastic, permanent change. We were fortunate to choose correctly last year. This year, we are called upon to make a judicious, wise decision yet again."

"In recognition of the invasion of The Dreiyd, Droghnt will announce this year's decision."

Droghnt, eyes shining, came forward. Cherilia held her breath. To her right, she finally caught a glimpse of Emin's straw hair.

"We have the opportunity this year to enact great change," Droghnt started. "Among the many include using the cure that we were able to cultivate to save Chomin's wife after her death."

A murmur erupted in the crowd. They knew the importance of Linda to Chomin, and Chomin himself would never use his position as an Elder to procure any self-interest.

"And, had we covered our crops before the great hailstorm of last spring, we would have thrice as much yield." The farmers started banging their feet heartily.

"Lastly, we have seen immeasurable hate incited towards the dragon community in the aftermath of the invasion of The Dreiyd. I'd like to take this moment to remind you that dragons, much like myself, within our community are not like The Dreiyd. We are not malicious or cruel. We have worked with you side-by-side to build our land to what it is today."

Droghnt raised his mouth towards the sky and blew out a hot stream of red fire mixed with amber.

"For this reason," Droghnt boomed as The Well started to turn a bright blue, "this year, we will be going back in time to change this very-"

But before The Well could turn purple in anticipation of The Retelling, Cherilia pushed past the two dragons standing in front of her. She reached The Well and stuck out her hand. A burst of burning hot amber emerged from her hand, as it had from Droghnt's mouth. It worked. To her own surprise, the practice with the drago juice helped her unleash her own stream. In the corner of her eye, Emin, also as practiced, sprouted branches from the ground to keep the awakening crowd away.

Cherilia looked at the stream of amber bursting from her hand, at Chomin's advancing frame, and shouted into The Well: "There weren't always dragons in the Valley."