*read this for the finding of littlest dude
Where Roland lives, the air is sweet on his tongue, and trees grow tall, stretching up to the sky so far up one is sometimes unable to see the very tops. One afternoon when the sun plays hide-and-seek beneath clouds, he ventures a little way from camp, promising his uncles he would not run too far off, and settles on a patch of grass near the wild berries with his trusty kaleidoscope. He pretends one moment to be a pirate on a great ship, peering through his spyglass in search for treasure, and another moment, he is a wizard, gazing into a mystical world that changes with a flick of fingers. Lying recumbent on the ground, he loses himself in a galaxy of spinning colours and intricate patterns.
When something nudges his foot, he looks down to find a little animal much like a reddish puppy biting his boot. It yips furiously before grabbing his kaleidoscope with its mouth and scampering off into the undergrowth. Perplexed and unwilling to let the small four-legged creature depart so easily with his possession, he scrambles after it, in his vexation forgetting his promise to his uncles to always let them know his whereabouts.
Trampling over tangled grass and through overgrown shrubs, he comes to a glade with rocks embedded in the earth, some piled atop each other to form a small stony hill. The creature he pursues leaps onto a boulder, and others of its kind pops up as it does, scattered in various hiding places behind the rocks.
“Dangerous for a tiny one like you to be out alone.”
A voice, thin and reedy like wind coursing through trees, speaks, and Roland turns to find a larger version of the dog-like creatures at his side, its thick brush dipped with white sweeping through the air. Emerald eyes glimmer in a pointed face, betraying an odd combination of wisdom and cunning.
“Hello,” he says curiously.
He is inquisitive, not because the animal spoke to him, for it is not the first time he has conversed with a non-human being, but because he has not encountered a creature like the one who sits on his haunches before him.
“Are you a dog?” he asks politely.
The animal makes a sound caught between stifled laughter and a contemptuous snort. Its fangs gleam in the open-mouthed grimace.
“I shall pretend you didn’t say that,” it replies, but there is no meanness in its tone. “Where are your parents?”
Roland thinks of his father who lies in the ground. “Gone,” he says.
He thinks of Regina, who has not come to see him since Papa’s death.
“I don’t have a Mama,” he replies.
The creature flicks its tail. “Everyone has a mother.”
On the rocks, little copies of the animal are rough-housing with each other, and another from the family appears, the Mama, Roland thinks, who begins to groom one of her babies, the smallest with black-tipped ears.
“He took my kaleidoscope,” he says.
Climbing the stony hill, he retrieves the 5-inch tube from where it has rolled into a small gap between the rocks. He picks it up, makes a note of the bite marks in the coloured paper near the eyepiece, and rubs it carefully against his chest to rid it of the grime from the ground. The creature follows him, perches on a flat granite, and it licks a paw to wash its face. From afar comes a quiet rumbling, and the skies are a little greyer than before.
The animal lifts its muzzle into the air and sniffs hard. “Gonna be a heavy one,” it remarks.
“Can you take me home?” Roland asks.
“I’m afraid not, but I daresay they’ll come looking for you soon.”
Soon comes a day later. In the meantime, the two older, larger creatures graciously offer him their hole in the ground, a den which keeps him warm and dry during the storm that lasts the entire night. Upon learning that he does not partake of the fresh, raw meat of rabbits, they pull off stalks of edible berries which are ripe and sweet and keep the hunger pangs at bay.
He wakes from a deep sleep to a voice calling his name, and it is a voice that warms his heart. In the darkness, he scampers from the hole, pauses long enough to grab his kaleidoscope, and bursts into the half-light of dawn, barrelling into the arms of Regina, who grips him so hard, he loses his breath. But he doesn’t want her to let him go.
“Did you forget me?” he asks.
He hears her breathe hard.
“No.” She pulls back, touching his chin. Her voice breaks. “I would never forget you.”
He looks at her solemnly. “I thought you did.”
The creature emerges from its hole, silent in its movements, but Roland notices all the same. He hasn’t thanked it for its hospitality, but he is loathed to leave Regina’s embrace. When she turns, her breath catches, and her arms tighten around him.
“It’s all right,” Roland says. “He let me sleep in his home and gave me berries.”
Her lips curve in a smile. “The fox let you share his home?”
He twists around in her arms as they leave the clearing, his eyes meeting the pair of wise, green ones on the rocky mound. A fox then, he thinks, with its thick coat the colour of deep red sunset, black limbs, and a bushy tail. He waves goodbye, fixed on its mersmerizing gaze, of which promises a whole universe he has barely began to explore, until they go around a bend, and his newfound friend disappears from sight.
There is a baby in the castle, and his name is Nathan. Regina tells him the baby is a little over a month old. In the cot, the infant kicks and gurgles nonsensical sounds. He is tiny with a shock of black hair and eyes that roam, occasionally gazing at nothing in particular. Roland stares at him, a furrow between his brows, as the baby jerks and hits itself in the face with its own fist.
It wouldn’t have made a difference, he tells himself. He would still have chosen to live with Regina, even if he has to share her with a baby who requires her love and a man who looks like his father, but isn’t.
The baby – Nathan, he reminds himself – takes up more of her time than he thought he would.
“It cries always,” he complains to the fox, whom he has come to know as Verlek.
“Babies usually do,” the animal replies mildly. “They grow out of it.”
He gets to wander about less than when he was with the Merry Men. Too often Regina has her hands full with Nathan, and Roland prefers not to be out with the copy of his father. Why can’t this new Robin take care of the baby, so Regina has more time to spend with him?
“It doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you, you know,” Verlek says, lifting a stiff hindleg to scratch an itch on his chest. “Your Mama can love both of you at the same time.”
“She’s not my Mama,” he says.
He is back in the castle at lunchtime to find Regina asleep by the fire and the slumbering baby resting against her. He descends into sullenness. At the table, he pushes uneaten vegetables about his plate, scowling when Robin reminds him to eat his greens.
“Regina doesn’t make me,” he replies, chin lifted.
Robin returns his gaze steadily. “I highly doubt that.”
In the air, there is a tension that holds, the way it gets before a storm breaks. Turmoil stirs within him, builds, and at the very last second before it strikes, Roland remembers his Papa and how disappointed he would be if he loses his temper. He stares down hard at the plate, grips his fork tighter in his hand, and finishes his meal in silence.
The letters swirl at dizzying speed on the page before him. He squints at the alphabet, baffled when the sharp, pointed letter at the beginning of the chain swaps places with the second one. He fetches a sigh, rolling pencil between thumb and finger, and kicks his feet against the wooden legs of the chair beneath him. Verlek would be waiting at their usual place near the tree with the fuzzy, yellow balls amongst its leaves. Perhaps even with the littlest cub he’s grown attached to. Yet here he is stuck indoors.
“Does this mean you’ve finished your homework?”
The smell of cinnamon and apple reaches him before he catches sight of Regina at the doorway. He brightens as she sets a slice of pie and a glass of milk before him, a wide smile crossing his face – a smile that fades when she picks up the sheet of untraced letters, forehead crinkling.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, unable to stand the thought of her being upset with him, but he does not understand why he has to learn something as boring as the alphabet. Is it truly necessary to do so in order “to be a gentleman”? What if all he wants is to be surrounded by nature and his animal friends?
At his age, he knows little on how to express such thoughts, so he merely wraps his arms around her waist, bowing his head, and hopes he is not in trouble for failing to complete his task. Her hands rest gently on him, and when no reprimand comes his way, he breathes out in relief.
“You don’t like your lessons?” she asks, voice soft.
“I like playing outside.” He crawls onto her lap when she sits beside him. “Why can’t you teach me?”
She touches her forehead to his, nudging his nose with hers. “Because you need a proper teacher.”
“And you have the baby,” he says. “And you’re tired.”
“Not too tired to spend time with you.”
He looks at the dark circles she hasn’t concealed under her eyes and wonders if grown-ups have always been good at lying.
Autumn arrives with a hint of chill, and a myriad of colours from goldens to reds invade the forest. It marks the second time Verlek has failed to show at their meeting place. In his worry, Roland steals off to the hill of stones towards the foxes’ den only to learn the dog fox has not returned home since the full moon. Ignoring the vixen’s advice to return straight home, with dread encircling his heart, he goes in search of his friend.
He finds him near the copse of silver birch – the familiar dark, reddish fur, now stained a darker shade, and he knows even before he reaches the creature that life has gone from it. A snare, expertly hidden from view, has been the cause of the fox’s demise, and there is blood and torn flesh, other beasts having been at its body.
Something rages within him, a beast of his own that threatens to tear loose, then he is sobbing loud, angry cries, hot tears streaming down his face, and he tugs at the metal claws of the snare, unaware of physical pain as the spiked edges dig into his hands for the anguish of losing another dear to him outweighs all else. Arms reach out to grab him from the body, keeping him from his dead friend, and he screams in rage, squirming and kicking in fury.
“It’s all right, Roland,” the one who has him says, and that it is the man who bears the face and voice of his father only enrages him further.
His screams are wordless cries of sorrow and grief piercing the air. He does not stop until his throat is hoarse and his voice nearly gone, and the large, hulking beast that had seemed so indomitable minutes ago now lies broken and spent, curved over Robin’s shoulder with silent tears that will not cease.
“You’re not my Papa,” he whispers amidst hiccups as Robin carts him back to the castle.
There is silence as Robin walks on at a brisk pace. “I know,” he says.
That night Regina lies beside him on his bed, a hand rubbing comforting circles on his back. He does not ask where the baby is, nor does he want to.
“Why didn’t you come back?” he asks, his voice scratchy. “When Papa died.”
She does not answer. How is she to tell the child she loves that for days following his father’s death, she could not look at him, for whenever she did, it reminded her of the man who had sacrificed his life for her? Each time, the guilt would return with a vengeance until it threatened to drown her in its depths.
She runs a finger over the soft curve of his cheek, and she tells him the truth.
“Because my heart was broken.” Her words are quiet. “I had to go away for a while.”
He recalls the pain in his chest. “My heart was broken too,” he says.
She kisses his forehead. “I’m sorry about your fox friend.”
In his chambers, the night brings forth a silence that lies heavy within the castle walls, broken by the sudden cries of a baby. She would have to go, and though he does not want her to, he says—
“I know,” she replies, and he is surprised when still she does not leave.
“You’re staying?” he asks, unable to keep the hopefulness from his voice. When she nods her affirmation, he adds, confusion colouring his words, “But Nathan needs you.”
In him is a sense of awe as when he watches autumn leaves twirling in the wind, or catches the smell of earth after rain, or sees fox cubs tumbling in play.
He grows quiet. If Regina loves him like she loves Henry, then—
A peep from a mouse would be louder. But she hears.
“Would you want me to be your Mama?” she asks, and it is a breathless question.
There is a stillness when wind ceases and every creature is silent before the first golden rays touch the earth, the world waiting in anticipation of a new day, and it seems to Roland the same stillness resides in this moment.
He nods, overwhelmed by emotion as he reaches for her, and for the second time that day, Roland Locksley cries.
