The Field of White Flowers (By Hain)

(has a yuki-warashi)

"Young Master Timothy? It's time to wake up."

Tim opened his eyes slowly, looking up at the polished white ceiling of his bedroom. The new house his stepfather had purchased, in order to keep them closer to his work, was much larger then the small cottage he remembered before. Sluggishly, Tim sat up in his bed, his small, thin arms and legs supporting him as he stretched, his short brown hair ruffled from sleeping on his arm, rubbing his eyes sleepily as the resident maid waited, hands folded in her lap, awaiting her next order.

"Thank you very much, Emilia. Please go tell Mother I'll be downstairs shortly."
"Yes, young master Timothy." Emilia, the maid, bowed to Tim elegantly before turning and walking out of the doorway, towards the staircase. Tim sighed; mother was probably eating breakfast already. Slowly, he dressed for the day, luxurious blue cotton shirt and pants fitting snugly over his small body as he hurried down the wooden stairs to the dining room, where his mother had already begun eating, several of the maids running to and fro, picking up old dishes, cleaning and dusting, or preparing breakfast in the kitchen. The room was empty, a large table designed for guests being the centerpiece of the room. Various paintings and pieces of art hung around the dining room, and the stone floor gave the room a cold, regal feel as Tim walked to the chair next to Mother, pulling it out and sitting down.

"Now now, Timothy," mother said, taking a small bite out of a poached egg one of the maids had prepared, "You know better. Let the maids pull out the chair for you next time."

"Yes, mother." Tim lowered his eyes to the table, where one of the maids had set a plate containing a poached egg and a piece of toast without him realizing. Next to the plate was a glass of milk, which he picked up and gratefully drank.

"How have you been, Timothy? I heard you've been excelling in your studies, your tutors say you're a very bright pupil." Mother had just finished the last of her breakfast, daintily wiping her face clean with a napkin and setting it on her plate, just in time for a nearby maid to pick it up and walk off into the kitchen.

"I'm doing fine, Mother. My studies have been going well, perhaps I could use the free time to go shopping, or take a walk around the town-"

"Timothy, what have I said? Shopping is servant's work, and the town is full of heretics and miscreants. Your father is an important officer in the local Crusades, you know. Quite a few of those child-nappers would love to get their hands on you."

Timothy looked down at his plate, a knot forming in his stomach. Always, the same excuse. But how could he go against it? Gritting his teeth, he continued to stare at his food. "....Yes, Mother. I'm sorry."

"Good boy." Mother nodded towards one of the maids, who produced a large wine glass, followed by a bottle of fine red wine, imported from the traders in Zippangu. " Now, Mother will be busy entertaining guests tonight. I suppose, since you've worked so hard, you may take the day off and do whatever you wish to. But remember, Timothy; do not go into the town."

Tim's heart was overwhelmed with joy, which he barely managed to suppress into a slight smile as he nodded warmly towards his Mother. "Thank you, Mother," he said quickly, hopping out of his chair and heading into the common room, the maids taking care of what he had left behind in his excitement. Mother took the glass of red wine, drinking it quickly before holding it out again, a smirk on her face as she watched her son run off.


Upstairs in his room, Tim browsed through his clothing selection. Ever since Mother had married his new stepfather, the Crusade officer, she had changed, indulging in every material pleasure she could. Before, the two had made due in a small cottage, in one of the original Church controlled towns. Once his new stepfather stepped in, however, Timothy was pulled out of his normal life of modesty, away from his friends, and shipped to the town of Whitestone, a small settlement next to a large range of mountains deep in the Zippangu region. Stepfather was always gone, Mother was always entertaining the other military wives, and Tim was forbidden from playing with the children of the village, because of "their heretical beliefs in the false gods." His stepfather once assured him that one day, he would be able to play with them all once again, once they had accepted the True Gods. Timothy, though, just wanted someone to play with. Every day, the house appeared larger, his mother grew more distant, and his old life seemed to be floating away, out of his grasp.

Finding his old, leather clothes, Tim quickly redressed, tossing his comfortable cotton linens in a small basket next to his door. Normally, when he had free time, Tim would help the servants of the house with their work, either folding clothes, or taking out the garbage. However, they were always very distant with him, no matter how hard he tried. Scared of Mother, most likely. Tightening the cord used to hold up his trousers, Tim practically flew down the stairs, out the door, and away from the small courtyard in front of his house, down the winding path leading to Whitestone.

It was Autumn, and the leaves of the trees along the path were changing colors. Up in the mountain range, the snow-covered peaks were growing, as snow piled on top of the earthen behemoths that shadowed the town. The air was crisp and cold. Tim was thankful he had chosen his leather shirt and work pants instead of his cotton clothes; they kept him much warmer in the cool weather, without overheating him.Brushing his bangs out from in front of his eyes, Tim observed his surroundings. To his right loomed the large mountains, a sea of trees blocking sight of anything between the road and those large white shapes in the distance. To his left, an ocean of heather and wild grassroot cascades as a light wind blew in from behind him. In front was the winding cobblestone road, the only thing connecting his lonely house to the rest of the town. However, in between his house and the town, sat another house; a small, rickety shack, the field behind it plowed and fenced off. From what Tim could see, there seemed to be a vegetable garden on the other side of the fence. An old woman stood in the vegetable garden, tending the ground.

An idea struck Tim, and he picked up the pace, waving towards the old woman in the garden. "Excuse me," he shouted as loudly as he could, "Ma'am? Would you like some help?" From the vegetable patch, the old woman looked up, and waved back towards Tim. He broke into a slight jog, and in a short time, reached the other side of the wire fencing, breathing slightly heavier.

The old woman smiled, a kind smile, showing both wisdom and warmth, leaning on a garden hoe as she observed Tim. Her clothing was covered in the dirt of her garden, and her hands were calloused and rough as they gripped the tool. "Ah, hello there, young lad," she said, stepping closer to the fence. "Did I mishear you, or did you offer to help me?"

"My name is Timothy Westeld, Son of Antony Westeld.," Tim said, bowing politely. "I'd very much like to help you, if you don't mind." He looked up, and the old woman's eyes seemed to glimmer with an unreadable emotion.

"Why, I wouldn't mind at all, young Timothy. Come around front, and I'll invite you in." The old woman leaned the garden hoe against the back of her shack, and stepped in through a rickety door, slamming it behind her. Quickly, Tim made his way to the front of the house, and the old woman opened it just in time. "Come in, come in," she waved, standing aside, and he gratefully stepped into the house, the door creaking shut behind him. The inside of the small cabin was cramped, a small table next to a rocking chair dominating the center of the main room, sitting next to a small clay fireplace. Behind a doorway, Tim could see what might be a kitchen, an old, dull knife sticking out of a wooden cutting board. The old woman smiled walking across her living room to the door leading out to the garden, opening it. "Well, young Timothy, I'm going to be tilling the right side of the field for use next year. Best to break up the ground before the snow falls, to make it easier afterward."

Tim nodded, following the old woman outside into the vegetable patch. She handed him a large garden hoe, next to the one she had been using earlier, and the two began breaking up the packed earth. It was hard work, but after a good hour or so, the two had turned the solid, rough patch of earth into a darkened, rich field, small lines running down in even intervals. On the other side of the garden sat a large bed of vegetables, stalks of corn growing in the back, while tomato vines took up a small section in the left. Peas, carrots, and cabbages were also present, as Tim leaned his garden hoe back up against the side of the small shack, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

The old woman laughed, placing her garden hoe back where it belonged, patting Tim on the shoulder. "You work very hard for someone your age. Especially the son of a rich man. How can I thank you for your hard work?"

Tim closed his eyes, thinking. The one thing he truly wanted, his mother would not let him have. He shook his head, opening his eyes and turning to face the old woman, who nodded slowly, a mysterious, knowing smile on her face, a small twinkle in her eye.

"I see.....you want a friend." The old woman walked back into the house, and Tim followed politely, wiping his feet on the small straw rug in front of the door. "I might know of a place where you can make a friend...you won't be in trouble for it, either. It isn't in town."

Tim blinked. How did she know that he would be in trouble if he went into town? Come to think of it, how did she know his stepfather was rich? Leaning in slightly, he looked the old woman directly in the eyes, curiosity burning inside of him. "Where? Is it far? How did you know?"

"Oh, a good mile east of here, into the forest. Break away from the road left of the large tree stump, and you'll find a small patch of flowers. Plenty of time to play there before sunset approaches, I assure you." The old woman sat down in her rocking chair, leaning back and closing her eyes. "Go now, young Timothy, and thank you again for your hard work." Bowing politely, Tim walked out of the house, his other questions forgotten in his excitement. Sure enough, there was a break farther down the cobblestone road, leading into the forest and into the mountains. He hurried along, eager to see what the old woman had described to him.

The cobblestone road eventually led up to a huge tree trunk, the road itself maneuvering around the large piece of wood. Remembering his instructions, Tim stepped off the road, heading into the treeline to the left, the soft crumple of leaves sounding as his leather boots ground them into fine powder.

Eventually, the ocean of trees parted, revealing a field of beautiful white flowers. A faint, alluring scent filled the clearing, and Tim marveled at the sight. It was as if a small pool of snow had settled on this clearing. However, something in the middle of the field quickly caught Tim's attention. A small girl, with pure, white hair, a light blue kimono, and a deep blue sash stood in the center of the field, examining a flower in her hands as she stood there against a background of red, orange, and brown. Tim cautiously took a step forward, and the girl perked up, looking directly at Tim and smiling. "Hello there."

Tim blinked in surprise. The girl was as young as him, and her clothing was completely different from the village people, who wore tough wool vests and strange straw hats. She was delicate, and beautiful, like the flowers that surrounded her. His mouth felt dry as he raised a hand, waving slightly. "H-hello....my name is Timothy Westeld, I'm the son of Antony Westeld. What's your name?"

"My name is Eira." The girl smiled again, soft and gentle, setting the flower down in the center of the patch and walking over to Tim. "It's nice to meet you, Timothy...What are you doing here?"

"I'm just...passing through," Tim said, thinking back to the old woman he had helped earlier. "My house is up the road, away from the village...I thought I might take a walk..."

Eira leaned in, taking Tim's hand and gently pulling. Her skin was cool to the touch, and slightly blue, as if she had been in the cold for too long. "Come play with me," she said, smiling. "It'll be fun."

Tim nodded numbly, letting the beautiful girl lead him deeper into the flower field. It was like a dream. The two laughed and played in the flowers, Eira showing an almost unnatural level of grace in her movements. When they got tired, the two sat down in the middle of the field and talked, watching the clouds pass by. Eira was the daughter of a traveling merchant, she said. Her father's caravan was parked farther up along the road, and about to head through the mountains.

"So that's why your skin is blue." Tim chuckled, poking Eira's hand. She blushed, quickly pulling away, and Tim looked at her, confused. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Mommy says the first man who touches me should marry me." Eira covered her face with her sleeves, a furious blush covering her pale blue skin. Tim blinked; his first chance at making a new friend, and he was already going to mess it up. Hurriedly, he pulled Eira into a hug. She tensed up, letting out a small squeak, but relaxed in his arms.

"If that's what your mother says, then I'll do it," Tim said, smiling at Eira. "If you promise to be my friend, that is. Is it a deal?" He held out his pinkie, initiating a ritual practice all children go through when making a promise.

Eira's smile widened, and she slid her fragile blue hand out of her kimono, wrapping her pinkie around Tim's. "If you promise to marry me, I promise to be your friend." They sat like that for a little while, eyes never straying from each other, until the cry of a local bird snapped the two out of it. Tim grinned, jumping up, and offered a hand to Eira. "Come on; we've still got time to play before sundown!"