Chapter 2: Shadows and Songs
As the soft promise of adventure stirred the air, Willow, Girl, and Sage gathered near the sleeping fountain. Sunbeams slipped through tangled boughs, casting patchwork patterns over the mossy stones and brushing the courtyard’s heart with golden light. The silence was tender, stitched with hope and an edge of nervous wonder.
Sage, steady as ever, bent low and traced slow circles in the dew with his ancient claw. "We must listen carefully," he murmured, "for truth wears many disguises. Sometimes, answers flutter as wind, sometimes they curl as riddles."
Girl crouched beside one of the old walls, craning to see the lichen’s strange, swirling marks. “Look, Willow! The moss is spelling pictures—see here, like musical notes dancing across stones! Or frogs jumping along a log. Or—or maybe both?!”
Willow’s eyes, pale green and kind, brightened with cautious curiosity. She reached out, tracing the patterns with a gentle fingertip. As she pressed one lichen-shaped note, a faint hum sang from the stone, so soft it almost hid behind a bird’s sigh.
“It’s music!” Willow realized, wonder trailing in her voice. "Each note is waiting for its turn."
Sage smiled, his shell glinting in the dappled sun. “Indeed. The river’s song was always a puzzle—part memory, part hope. To awaken it, you must coax each note to remember itself.”
Girl bounced to her feet, fists balled with excitement. “Let’s make a band! I call conductor!” She grabbed a stick and flourished it grandly, earning an amused snort from a sleepy beetle.
The trio set to work. Sage gravely tapped the first ‘note’ with his shell, which gave a gentle thrum like water slipping over pebbles. Willow gingerly brushed the next, and it trembled sweetly, sharp and clear. Girl poked the third—out of order, as it turned out, since it only let out a tired "plonk"—and giggled when Sage said, “Our composer may need some practice.”
But Girl, undeterred, sang a playful verse about frogs with muddy socks while Willow watched the shimmering patterns of light as if the courtyard were holding its breath. With every correctly set note, a forgotten tuft of moss blinked green, or a lily unfolded, shaking off dust from decades of dreaming.
Willow, more confident now, tilted her head, listening past the hush to the melody etched into the earth. She hummed softly, following the sequence—low, then high, then in-between. Girl added a warbling harmony, and Sage’s grave bass filled the spaces between leaves.
At last, the final note quivered under Willow’s hand, and a ripple of blue light flickered along a dry groove near the fountain. The air trembled, and a single droplet formed at the fountain’s lip, shining with possibilities.
But then, the glade’s shadows thickened, swirling into the heart of the empty fountain. The garden’s creatures fell silent—except for Girl, who straightened nervously, her stick lowered. Out from the misty well of the fountain rose a shape like a story half-forgotten: gigantic, its body woven from bark and ancient river water, crowned in silvery reeds. Its eyes, blue as dusk and twice as deep, were rimmed with sadness.
Girl gasped and took a quick step back, bumping into Sage.
The gentle giant—the so-called Monster—looked down, its gaze full of yearning and regret. Its voice flowed like midnight water: "Who calls to the sleeping river and wakes the sorrow in my heart?"
Willow stood still, her branches trembling but her voice calm. "We did," she replied softly. “We miss the river’s laughter. The flowers droop, and the minnows play marbles with dew. We only wish for the Courtyard’s song to return.”
For a moment, the Monster’s sorrow was a cloak; tears glimmered and fell, vanishing to mist before they touched the earth. “Long ago, this garden forgot its melody. My sadness became a shadow, sealing the river away. I remember only lullabies of loneliness now.”
Girl peeked out from behind Sage, her voice small but bright. “I used to think river monsters were scary. But you look sadder than my tortoise when I leave him alone too long. Maybe… maybe we could share our song with you?”
Sage nodded, his eyes wise and warm. “Even old wounds can heal with kindness and company. Sometimes, the hardest thing is asking for help—or believing we can change.”
Willow stepped forward, empathy flowing from her like gentle rain. She told the Monster about the thirsty moss, the dragonflies who missed their races, and the violets hoping for water to tickle their toes. “It’s not just us, but the whole garden yearning for the river’s touch. If you listen, you can hear their love carried in our song.”
Encouraged, the Monster knelt beside the fountain, lowering its massive head so that willow leaves nearly brushed its brow. The trio, gathered close, began to sing: low notes for deep roots, high ones for wind and laughter, and twining melodies for the river’s once-sparkling journey. Girl provided a jubilant, slightly off-key skip; Sage’s harmonies were as steady as sunlight on old stone; and Willow, at their center, held the tune with gentle grace.
As their voices blended, the shadows around the Monster loosened, swirling away into the brightening air. The Monster blinked, its eyes clearing. Then—miracle!—the first droplets trickled from the fountain’s heart, catching the blue flicker and scattering it in sparkling crescents across the dry streambed. The lilies lifted their heads. Moss fluffed with relief. A shy chorus of frogs croaked with unexpected joy.
The river was not yet a torrent, but its hope had awakened. A path of shimmering promise traced through the earth, ready for wonder to grow. The Monster, no longer monstrous, smiled—a small, uncertain smile—and brushed away tears that now glimmered with gratitude instead of grief.
“Thank you,” it whispered, its voice softer, almost fragile. “For singing with me, and not forgetting what was lost. Perhaps together, we might remember more.”
Willow took the Monster’s giant, gentle hand, and Girl offered her conductor’s stick as a gift—a baton for a new symphony yet to come. Sage, with a contented sigh, motioned toward the now-brightening river groove. “Nature’s song is never truly gone. It only waits to be sung again.”
And so, wonder flowed through the Courtyard, and a trio became four—a harmony mending what sadness once unraveled. The river’s journey, and their adventure, had only just begun.