The Vastness of Blue

Chapter 1 – Puck

She lay on the grassy knoll staring out at the vastness beyond. If only the constant affection of the earth had wavered, even for a moment she thought, she would be lost to the ground, lost forever in the vastness of blue. This constancy never wavered though, never faltered in its sometimes suffocating affinity, not for beast nor boulder. Something in the warmth of the underlying rock was lacking, Puck thought, broken, to love with such ferocity that outlived freedom. Puck had seen the ruined towers, crumbling in their ascent, the earth had pulled them back into its embrace. She had witnessed its heartache when looking down from the top of a very tall tree, it seemed the ground would wish her back so fast she’d perish.

Puck rolled over to press an ear to the ground, startling several starlings from the meadow into flight. Her gaze followed as they flitted away, they did not share her weight, she mused. Perhaps they were not cared for by the earth, who was possibly affronted by their leaving without a trace. Even though they returned without fail it must have been too difficult to bear the sorrow of each parting. There must be lands beyond the sky, Puck thought, for birds to pay the price to fly.

The ground hummed beneath her ear, not long now until the land would thunder with a cohort of horses. She had named it the endless stampede and it was her favourite way to travel. Hidden from sight on the crest of the knoll, Puck waited for the horses to almost trample her underfoot, then with a loud cry jumped from the earths embrace and into the fray. Her outstretched hand clasped a knotted mane, the momentum landing her swiftly on the leading mares back. Heading the stampede, the horse caught unawares could neither rear nor bolt, but rolled her eyes, disgruntled at Pucks free ride. Puck paid no attention as she was now experiencing as close to flying as she ever wished to feel.

The land expanded out before her and she let out a whoop of sheer joy causing some mares to toss their manes and snort at her undignified outburst and a few stallions to whinny in agreement at the elation to be felt by being swift and that alone.

The grassland plains grew distant, soft moss turned to rocky outcrop underfoot as the landscape streamed past. The sun wavered behind peaks of low lying scrub as though it were playing some sort of game. Puck had an uneasy feeling it was a game she had played before long ago. The sun hides and waits, she recalled, making her feel such despair before returning with a grin and silly noises to make her gurgle with laughter, its eyes crinkled with love. But the sun has no eyes. She had once woken from a dream so vivid that she stared into the sun searching for those eyes of love and in doing so was blinded for days. Everyday night and day the sun plays the game with the earth, with joy it seemed, but no eyes. So, where had that memory come from?

Her ride now flagging slightly from the extra weight, tiny as the girl was, whinnied in relief when Puck gently guided her to the edge of the herd. The peaks were not a pleasant dismount so Puck looked for signs of mud or heather to break her fall. The mare would slow but would not stop and Puck would not presume to make her. Seizing the opportunity Puck threw herself clear of the mare and landed limp upon a heather bed. No rocks this time.

Giggling she scrambled out of the scrub and ran up the nearest stone slope, her tiny bare feet were perfect for clambering and as the ascent got steeper she started to climb, hands and feet intuitively finding footholds in the rock face. Mountain goats stared at her with their little ones either transfixed in amazement or simply nonplussed, she could never tell with goats.

She reached the summit breathless and grinning just as the sun was winking its last farewell at the swollen moon above.

The vista stretched out before her wept at the suns departure, bled tormented rivers of colour before lying depleted in blue hued shadows for the moon to console. Pucks insides growled, she had suppressed this long enough, it was time to eat. Clothed in rags the girl carried very little but of her favourite possessions was a large and perfectly flat, round leaf.

She set to work quickly with the fading light, gathering fresh leaves, new shoots pungent and spiced with the vigour of spring. Rolling her precious leaf into a cone she approached an exhausted mountain goat lying into the shelter of the rock face its little one sleepy but tottering around in what looked like defiance. Selina? Puck soothed to the mother, softly treading towards her and gesturing at the newborn kid who was now almost asleep and in the way of Pucks path. Lina? Puck whispered. The goat stared for an eternity into Pucks eyes before bleating her soft response. Gently, the little girl tip-toed over the now-sleeping newborn and made her way towards a spring that bubbled out of the hill-side.

She filled the leaf cone with fresh water and scrambled back up to her watch point to dine on spiced leaves and clear water in the moonlight. Puck grinned as she settled down against a mossy boulder.

The air was crisp and the world was without end.

Chapter 2 – Invasion

It was the same each night, something screamed the word Selina and Puck would open her cracked eyes to the pain of straw coloured light and chickens pecking at her toes. Little grubs they must have seemed to them, tiny and wiggling, they must have looked delicious. The sensation made her scream and the startled chickens scattered in every direction flapping about flustered in panic. It made her laugh to see them this way, and so her howling turned to giggles, her mobile became the soft fall of feathers and the chickens had chided her glee. Puck they’d said sternly, Puck, Puck!, she simply laughed at them.

She woke between two nanny goats, their heavy hot breaths dissipated from the bliss of sleep and into the sharp surrounding dawn. Where do we go? Puck thought as she gazed dreamily at them, when we enter unknown realms alone with such trust in our hearts, we leave our bodies and loved ones behind, even the earth cannot claim us from these travels, but where is it we go? She stretched out her legs before her gently, trying not to wake her warm companions. The little ones were up already, yawning and looking out over the vista with fresh eyes, no doubt brimming with curiosity.

Puck herself looked across the lands she loved, there was so much left to explore, so many questions unanswered. She wondered if the sheep and goats of the mountain lands looked up to this new dawn and felt jealous that the sheep of the sky were wearing such lustrous pink coats this morning. Or if they will feel any pangs of loss watching them dissipate in the rising sun. Puck would not wait to find out. Carefully extracting herself from the warmth, Puck bowed her thanks once again and whispered silly nonsense noises of farewell to the little ones before leaving. Her descent was slow, still waking she took care to mind her footfalls down the mountain. Today her feet were itching to run, to hop, to dance and it would not be acceptable for Puck to sustain a twisted ankle before the day had even begun.

Fog cloaked the moorlands, a worn shroud, pressed against the features of the earths face. Puck sat and waited.

Time slowed on mornings like this, unable to travel with any speed for fear of falling, there was little to do but watch as the world became covered, a protected exquisite secret.

Climbing atop a boulder, though she knew the lowlands were stretched out ahead for many miles, she may as well have been on the precipice of the highest mountain as the fog lay like clouds below.

Life, Puck pondered, was consistent in its pace and seemed to take great means to slow the sprawling surface. The late frost that comes to chide eager spring shoots back into hiding. The trees that fell from overreaching. Even the elements were not immune to the pace, the power of a cascading river trapped in frozen shards, stilled. Dormancy was the true core of vitality. Patient yet unrelenting, not a single thing immune. All would wax and wane akin to phases of the moon.

The young spring sun shone hard and bright across the low lands, slowly burning the fog away and life resumed with sleepy ease. Does with newborns gently picked their way across the moors as Puck trod softly past them.

She froze. The hairs on her arms and legs tingled. The world around her stood still, dumbstruck as a shattered splintered dagger tore the sky’s horizon. Refracted shards glinted painfully into Pucks eyes as she stared with unfounded horror rising in her throat. Her skin grew clammy with fear and she lost her footing on a mossy rock, splashing into shallow puddles. The noise broke the spell around her and observant silence turned to panic. Creatures flew, bolted and scarpered in every direction, crawling over each other in fear. Puck sat in shock where she had fell, muddy and transfixed upon the scene. The sun had fractured as it sometimes does through ice, and torn into the blue-grey sky emerged a nightmare. A gargantuan hornets nest, with scales of shining obsidian it steamed, filling the empty moors with its echoing hiss. Puck crouched, petrified in fascinated horror, unable to look away as the nest cracked open, spilling out the swarm within.

The moors surrounding Puck were empty now and she felt alone. She wished she had fled with the others, but swallowing down her fear, she scrambled through the brush and bracken towards the glinting hell-mouth. Time scraped by as Puck crept slowly closer, eyes fixed on the behemoth. The mountain was far greater than it had looked from the moors and as she grew closer, it threatened day with constant shadow in its wake. The swarm was still spewing from a tiny crack, though Puck noticed, they were not insects but flesh and bone just like her.

Where she wore rags of jade faded by her jaunts beneath the summer sun, they had shining blackened plates like the beetles wore in the forest. But they were not insects, they had eyes like Pucks eyes and hands too. Their faces seemed to be made of stone, gazes hard and eyes steely. They trampled up the moor beneath their boots and marched without care of the havoc that they caused, not seeing the remnants of fractured, disturbed contentment that once was, nor the tendrils of this morning’s fog still receding in shrinking shadows.

Neither did they see Puck crouched low, thankful for her jade and muddied rags, she melted into a crevice as she watched over the invasion in torment.

Chapter 3 – Sighted

He saw her. Barely.

Filthy, shameful, ragged and unkempt.

He saw her wear her mud with honour, for protection. What honour is there cowering in the quagmire? He scoffed.

Sir he called behind him on the watch tower, Potential dweller sighting, north-eastern bank, circa two point five kilometre.

Do not circa me lad, a gravel voice sneered in disgust, its source did not move, gargantuan and fully clad in obsiduite, the titan would not deign to struggle up for an uncertain sighting.

Point five two three, Sir! the boy replied, then placing his eye back to the scope let out a strangled cry. Terrified, he altered the scopes position. The titan