489 A.D.
Everything felt new to Gryfflette, as he wandered through the thick grass; it was damp and his ankles were cold. Everything felt new to Gryfflette because in a sense, everything was new. Springtime had begun and the many rains over recent days had started the growth of life.
On this day, Gryfflette saw that the sun was sometimes hiding behind the clouds; they were rimmed in grey, but otherwise white. When the sun hid behind these clouds, Gryfflette would feel horribly cold; no relief he could think of for his bare arms. But this was not reason enough for him to go back home.
The wind whipped his blond curls; sometimes covering his eyes, so sometimes Gryfflette could not see.
Gryfflette was not far from home. He was only twenty feet away, down the small steep hill of Benwick, and his mother knew where he was. She knew her child and her child was always wandering, wandering.
Malaline was Gryfflette’s mother. Malaline had lost Gryfflette once, but only once. Just for ten minutes, just that one time, when Gryfflette had just turned to the age of three.
Just that one time, when Gryfflette was chasing that snake.
Malaline’s heart had pounded so, those moments when she realized she had lost Gryfflette. For Gryfflette was her only son and her husband would surely have killed her, had he been found dead.
However, Gryfflette had not been found dead because on that day, he had only been chasing that green and gold snake, which was fat in the belly, and slow enough for three-year old legs to keep up with.
And thankfully, slow enough for Malaline’s legs to catch up with, too. Her hands were also quick enough to catch the snake. She had made Gryfflette eat it for supper that night.
She had also smacked his face, when she had caught up to him.
Gryfflette was four and half, now, so he never wandered, wandered very far.
Gryfflette had only stopped wandering now, for he was enthralled with the white-lined body of wiggles he found beneath the rock, which he was holding in his hand. The wiggles were grubs, but he did not know. He was deciding whether to eat one and he did not hear the sudden silence, until the trumpets sounded.
Romans arriving.
Every hair on Gryfflette’s body stood on end. This was another new feeling for him. He knew everybody in the village would be excited, and he turned to run home because he was excited, too.
His mother was running towards him, down the hill; Gryfflette noticed right away. When they reached each other, she scooped him into her arms.
“Gryfflette,” she murmured, into his curly hair.
The rock in his hand dropped back onto the ground, killing a spider and severing off three of its seven and half legs. His mother began to run, tripping on her brown dress skirts, as she climbed back up the small hill.
Everything felt new to Gryfflette, as he wandered through the thick grass; it was damp and his ankles were cold. Everything felt new to Gryfflette because in a sense, everything was new. Springtime had begun and the many rains over recent days had started the growth of life.
On this day, Gryfflette saw that the sun was sometimes hiding behind the clouds; they were rimmed in grey, but otherwise white. When the sun hid behind these clouds, Gryfflette would feel horribly cold; no relief he could think of for his bare arms. But this was not reason enough for him to go back home.
The wind whipped his blond curls; sometimes covering his eyes, so sometimes Gryfflette could not see.
Gryfflette was not far from home. He was only twenty feet away, down the small steep hill of Benwick, and his mother knew where he was. She knew her child and her child was always wandering, wandering.
Malaline was Gryfflette’s mother. Malaline had lost Gryfflette once, but only once. Just for ten minutes, just that one time, when Gryfflette had just turned to the age of three.
Just that one time, when Gryfflette was chasing that snake.
Malaline’s heart had pounded so, those moments when she realized she had lost Gryfflette. For Gryfflette was her only son and her husband would surely have killed her, had he been found dead.
However, Gryfflette had not been found dead because on that day, he had only been chasing that green and gold snake, which was fat in the belly, and slow enough for three-year old legs to keep up with.
And thankfully, slow enough for Malaline’s legs to catch up with, too. Her hands were also quick enough to catch the snake. She had made Gryfflette eat it for supper that night.
She had also smacked his face, when she had caught up to him.
Gryfflette was four and half, now, so he never wandered, wandered very far.
Gryfflette had only stopped wandering now, for he was enthralled with the white-lined body of wiggles he found beneath the rock, which he was holding in his hand. The wiggles were grubs, but he did not know. He was deciding whether to eat one and he did not hear the sudden silence, until the trumpets sounded.
Romans arriving.
Every hair on Gryfflette’s body stood on end. This was another new feeling for him. He knew everybody in the village would be excited, and he turned to run home because he was excited, too.
His mother was running towards him, down the hill; Gryfflette noticed right away. When they reached each other, she scooped him into her arms.
“Gryfflette,” she murmured, into his curly hair.
The rock in his hand dropped back onto the ground, killing a spider and severing off three of its seven and half legs. His mother began to run, tripping on her brown dress skirts, as she climbed back up the small hill.
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