"How do you stand to lie around all day?" Rosie threw her needlepoint aside in frustration, the thread knotted and tangled yet again.

"Well, I don't stand. That's sort of the point to lying down." Frodo picked up the discarded embroidery off the floor.

"Oh, very funny. I'm going mad here."

"Good, that means you're getting better. Three days ago you were sweet as honey and twice as docile, and I was rather worried. Would you like a drink of water?"

"No. And I don't want milk or tea either, before you ask."

"All right. One of your stories, then?"

Rosie sighed. "I've heard them all a hundred times already. Can't I just go for a little walk in the garden? I'm sure Sam would say that was all right."

"I've got strict instructions to see you stay in bed until he's home, and you're far less terrifying to defy the wishes of than he is." Frodo sat down beside the bed with a laugh. "I could sing for you, if you wanted."

"My ears don't need wounding on top of all my other troubles." Rosie teased. "I could make up a story for you, though, that might keep me occupied."

"Yes, tell me a tale." Frodo fluffed her pillows up and crawled beside her, laying down as she began to speak in a clear, even voice.

"Winter's Road.

"Once upon a time, there were four creatures that lived together in a wood. There was Summer, she had a laugh like morning and a smile like afternoon, and her hair was like sunlight on sand. Then there was Spring, with his earth-stained hands and solid strong legs. Autumn had golden-brown skin, and she shook the leaves off trees to watch them dance on the wind.

"Lastly, there was Winter. He was as smooth and cold as new snow, and wore a glittering icicle around his neck on a silver chain.

"They lived, these four, in a fork in the road that ran through the wood. It had been a hard road to follow, and so afraid were they of losing each other again that they tied their toes together with silvery yarn from Autumn's sewing box. Every connection had a different hue to it, even though they'd all come from the same skein.

"Spring and Winter were tied with a deep blue, for loyalty and devotion. Autumn and Spring had red, the colour of heart's blood, for romance and passion. Autumn and Winter's bond was yellow as daisies, for they'd both been adventurous dreamers until they'd discovered that excitement didn't agree with them as well as sunny afternoons did.

"Little Summer was tied to Spring with the brilliant green of fatherly love, and her bow from Autumn was the blush peach of motherhood. Lastly, Summer was tied to Winter with a knot of brightest purple, the colour of the berries he'd feed her when her mother and father didn't seem to notice, spoiling her like the loving uncle he was.

"Everyone who saw the four of them living in the fork in the road was sure their threads were going to tangle, that it would all end in a mess. But the four knew better, and never so much as got twisted around.

"But there was a weight in Winter's mind, because he knew that some day they'd have to keep walking down the road. There were two paths to take, the righthand one, that was sunny and lively and led to a lovely land, and the lefthand, which was misty, and difficult to see down. Winter knew that Summer, Spring and Autumn belonged on the sunny road, and hated to see them waiting at the fork without their happy ending.

"As well as the purple and blue and yellow threads, though, Winter had another string tied to him. It was as black as midnight, and stretched from far back down the difficult road they'd already walked. It led down the lefthand road, into the shadows, and was wrapped around Winter's neck so tight he knew he'd never be free.

"Now, Summer was just a baby, and Spring had done his best to protect Winter from the black thread for so long that Winter just didn't have the heart to tell him it was still there. So Autumn knew it was up to her to do something.

"She had a little pair of silver scissors, from her sewing box. Winter stole them sometimes, and tried to cut the purple and the yellow and the blue cords, so that Summer and Spring and Autumn could skip away down their bright path and not worry about Winter anymore. The threads would never sever, though, they were too strong.

"Autumn set about working away at the black thread, wearing it down day by day. Sometimes it was terribly hard work, for the black thread was at least as strong as the colourful ones, and wrapped so tightly around Winter's neck. Sometimes it made Autumn so tired she couldn't make her leaves dance, but still she kept at it, cutting away.

"Because one day, she knew, the black thread would break, and Winter would be free, and the four of them could walk the bright road together."

Frodo started crying when Rosie finished speaking, but his mouth was curled in the widest smile she'd seen him give in forever, so that was worth a thousand tears.

~

Pretty Good Year | email Mary