The War of Colors

There weren't always dragons in the Valley, and certainly, there were not always dragons of the pocket-size variety..., Ezraha thought, as she waited for Shiloh. He would tell her more about the night of the massacre. She sighed with continued thought, Yes, the Massacre of Mum will now be a part of the Kaleidy weave, and oh, surely, a part of that Cruick Prop, titled The Victory in the Valley! She could see it- with so many assertions of right in that bold black print in that favored font (yes, she had once held and read and loved those books and papers that so shaped a Cruick's life).

If those Icks..., and she stopped, aware then of her drop. Shiloh had explained it once, "It's like a dropped stitch- a reversion to thought or a phrase or simply, a word, that is easy or seems a rightful part of the whole due to habit until you one day find yourself wearing a life that does not seem entirely yours. Pay attention, that's all. Then, pick up the stitch."

So, Icks... Shiloh would definitely consider this a reversion... She even thought it was, despite that small part of her that still thought it a fitting name. If those Cruicks... and again, she stopped, suddenly aware of the bigger tumble she had almost taken. This was not a dropped stitch to be picked up. This was not a thought to have presence. They were at war and although the Cruicks had not shown themselves to be cognizant of, let alone masterful in, thought-taking, it was a possibility that could not be denied or ignored. Many Kaleidy were skillful thought-takers. They knew from their own experience that it was a mature skill acquired by thoughtful minds, yet the Kaleidy paid special attention to things they did not know or experience.

"Oh no..." escaped with Ezraha's crumple into the burnt brush and she began to rock back and forth. She had tumbled her wait for Shiloh from the start and needed to silence her thoughts. yet soon sensed the salt that would pocket itself in his nearness. She was on her feet, and running toward him with her dragon thought confessional as he said, "Stop, there is no need for this. You are a Kaleidy now and all things that are part of you are part of the ever changing kaleidoscope that is this life. We can see and know the beauty of change- no thing is not meant to be part of that- we..."

Ezraha could not stop, "I thought about the dragon! I thought about the pocket dragons! If the Cruicks can take our thoughts...."

"Ezraha, it is a delight, the great swirl in you- but do not give it to this fear. The Cruicks cannot take a thought that they do not acknowledge as possible- no one can- our most skilled thought takers know this and so they make as close to nothing as they can, impossible. We know the Cruicks cannot do this- they cannot know a thing unless it has for them, established and stated limits, standardized form, one way of being. They cannot take a thought about dragons, full or pocket-size, because they do not believe dragons exist. They do not believe magic exists.'

He continued, "And were it such that I am absolutely wrong, because yes, we do acknowledge that possibility, then that is one among many changes to come. Come sit and I will tell you about the night that was for Mum."

Ezraha slid quietly next to Shiloh, and like a dragonfly skittered over her days among the Cruick, the more of the Tattersall, and the unending with the Kaleidy. She thought, and I am here, in this land of Mum, in the place of Whisper, among dragons big and pocket-sized, ready to be my part of the weave...