The sky was sharp that chill autumn day, when light glanced momentarily behind ebony and ashen-grey clouds protruding from some distant place, some further mountain where such clouds come, and to where they pass. An autumn wood warbler continued his lonesome song he had not quite finished in August, hiding in the rushes and the willows. His once ostentatious coat had dulled to a handsome yet quiet chestnut among the crimson conflagration of earnest leaves. They seemed to put on their show, and prove their beauty before they, too, would lose their luster and wait quietly for the waltz to sunder the seasons and breathe upon the world its blanketed slumber. This simplicity seemed out of reach, it could be said, for Nature had always hidden its secrets from hasty, busy folk.

‘Well, now, I say to that-- go along, busybodies, and let me sit quietly for a moment's peace, for heaven's sake! No one takes time to listen to the lazy streams or walk through endless fields of tall grass and dandelions anymore. Why cannot simple folk stay with their simplicity?’

Nostalgia found a way in, and reminiscing was inevitable; someone spoke.

‘What was that, Luth? Were you talking to someone?’

It had been too early then to think of such things.

‘We should play that you are the king, is all,’ she had replied.

‘You sure?’

‘Quite.’

She placed the cloth crown that had been embroidered in gold thread upon his head, and he took the air of a king instantly, and quite seamlessly. Then, amongst his orange august robes that followed his arm, pointed to a distant hill somewhere to the west—it was really always to the west, for their quest was never completed in a day’s work.

‘I, King of these lands, decree that we must venture forth!’

‘Hail, Matteo!’ announced his brother, grasping a large stick meant to be a staff, but noticeably out of scale and much taller than he; he dropped to one knee, and King Matteo gave him his blessing.

The King's brother was the mysterious yet wise traveler of the forest, clad in red, who was set on meeting them later, when it was planned that they would be driven back by the enemy and into the ancient forest. He grinned in his usual manner, and ran to take his place across the small field and into the half-bare maples and neatly placed firewood.

‘You can meet me once you’re lost,’ the Adventurer shouted back, ‘And I’ll appear to guide you through your journey,’ but ‘ your journey’ was sent out from somewhere in the brush.

‘Well, my King,’ the Shield-maiden of the King inquired, turning to the one who had once again been crowned, ‘where should we walk this time?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, wherever our feet take us, I guess.’

‘Well, in the meantime, we can walk slowly and regally, discussing the important matters of the king. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?’

Flanking the lower side of the hill, they could not see how the warbler had fallen further into the brush, but a silence had fallen now over the land, nature's dread quite quickly humbled itself to the sky. King Matteo's Shield-maiden took his hand and ran to the top of the hill, their bare feet landing softly upon sharp leaves, and shouted at the sky as a fell wind began to burst from the encompassing countryside. Rushing far from the distant hills and forest edges where cows would graze came the ashen-grey clouds and their ebony friends, rolling and running, dancing and sailing on the wings of the wind. Within mere minutes they had caught up to the hill.

'Hurry, my King!' the Maiden exclaimed, out of joy, or fear, or excitement, she did not know, but they fled down the hill and across the field into the wood, where the Adventurer had promised to greet them. Before they could reside below the arms of the trees, however, a downpour got the best of them, and rushing into the forest came the Maiden and her King.

'Run!' laughed the Adventurer, abandoning his staff and taking the hand of the Maiden; the sky was on fire for only a moment before a gong; and then a blast that must have shaken the entire earth. They all jumped with a start, and bolted as wild mustangs in the spring. A storm had come, and they ran from their imaginings, down the hill, and into the house for comfort and supper.