Peren’s Tin Clock
The sound of Peren’s Tin Clock, a parting gift from a friend, rips him from his dream. It has already been a month since he left home, and yet he still dreams of the pines outside his bedroom window. The sun hasn’t risen yet, but he is wide awake. Peren lays still for a few minutes more, staring at the ceiling.
I have three days before studies begin. Better have a look around.
Peren swings his legs off the side of his bed. He’s small for an elf, but this bed is even smaller. He slips into baggy clothes, tidies up his hair, and heads down to the street. For a city surrounded by ice, it’s quite warm. Peren steps out of the inn, to the cool (but not cold!) morning, and begins making his way to a nearby tavern.
The inn, situated on the outer edge of the Fourth Ring, faces the center of the Rheasilvia. A garden surrounds the inn and extends out in front, wrapping around a fountain, topped with a regal dragon etched of obsidian. Peren recalls seeing similar statues dotted throughout the city. Beyond the fountain runs the main road, a cobbled and clean path. A breeze comes to pass, cool on his skin, but warm for the flowers around him. Even in the middle of summer, the wind and the early dawn conjure an image of late autumn at home.
Peren looks to the sky. The magenta shimmer of the dome is just barely visible in the predawn light. Suddenly, water fills the sky, far above the bounds of the magic. It must have been dozens of feet higher than the peak, as it takes much longer than Peren would have expected for it to come back down. To his surprise, as soon as the water hits the dome, it freezes. Instantly, the whole of Rheasilvia is shrouded in ice. The mystical shimmer that had been there just moments ago is gone and replaced by the subtle glow of the ice. People gather near Peren, all eyes towards the ice filled sky. A mist converges underneath, the intense cold of the ice interacting with the warm air at the top of the dome.
I’ve never seen anything like this…
The sun pierces the dawn. For a moment, rays of light slice the eastern sky, casting across the city, caressing the roofs of homes and stores. Then, the sky explodes in color. Blues, greens, purples, shades of yellow Peren has never seen. They dance, waving back and forth, as if sauntering into the morning. In an instant, his thoughts of the pines are gone, replaced by ice and stone, castles and dragons, beautiful lights in the morning sky. The last of the dome is covered in ice, blocking the light from the east, but filling the sky with more color. The lights dance on the obsidian statue, seemingly bringing it to life. Peren is stunned, unable to move or speak, and hardly able to breathe. Laughter can be heard somewhere off in the garden. The feelings of somberness brought by the chilled wind are dashed by the awe of the aurora borealis.
Peren, finally having regained control of himself, looks down at the fountain, and then to his necklace. He opens the clasp, revealing an image of his mother, who passed shortly before he left home.
She would have loved this garden.