Ronninflea: Chapter II

An Eternal Guardians Continued Story by Mire, Guilbeau, Angelle & Boudreaux


                              II.

"Flea!" the shrill voice of his youngest brother pierced the air as the lad walked through the entrance to the cave.  A small body came rushing from the dark interior of the cave, crashing into his legs with astonishing force.  

"Flea!" several squeaks followed, and soon a small mob had surrounded the elder boy, pinning his feet to the floor.  Ronninflea smiled and petted Madarot and Milloranan on the head.  "Where's mother, Millie?" he inquired of his sister, twisting her golden locks about his brown and calloused fingers.  She was the fourth child, second to Flea, but still too young to work.  She stared at him with pale, knowing eyes, searching his face.  Ronninflea knew that she was aware something was off.  Yet she did not press him.  She merely pointed past the sitting room and to the right.  Mother was in the kitchen.  Ronninflea nodded, swallowed quickly, and steeled himself to face his mother.  Little kids fell from him like molting feathers as he traversed the dark hole in the ground they had for years called home.

"Flea, is that you?" a voice came to him.  Flea swallowed, cold with dread.  His mother was neither harsh nor cruel nor aggressive, but Flea did not want to have to explain things to her.  He knew she would not understand any more than Mikelvic did, and he also did not want to face his own failure.

"Yes, Mother, I am here."

Cavillon came out of the kitchen.  She was a tall woman, broad in the shoulders and small in the waist.  Her hair was a pale yellow streaked with grey, though by elven standards she was young yet.  Hardship and loss had carved trenches in the skin about her mouth and eyes.  She looked at Ronninflea with a green gaze that was so very tired.

"What happened?" she inquired, her voice flat, dead.  She knew the story already.  It was the most recent in a never ending series of re-runs.  The smaller children noticed their mother's expression, her tone, the way she leaned against the wall with her arms folded, and they fled, leaving their older brother to stutter out his story with no audience but Mother and Millie.  

The story was soon told, and Ronninflea stood, fidgeting; he scratched one leg with his other foot, twisted his hands behind his back, and awaited his sentence.  However, his mother did not say a word.  She merely turned and went back to straightening up the remainders of the noonday meal.  Ronninflea blinked, only half surprised (his mother had not made any effort to chastise him in a long time) and finally left the room himself.  He left the house, in fact, and went down to the stream.

Ronninflea was well aware that he was not normal.  Oreollivan and Mikelvic were able to work without ever getting into any sort of trouble.  And while sometimes Ronninflea found himself frozen in place covered in a cold sweat and unable to breathe for no literally no reason at all, his younger siblings were quite lively and curious beings.  Oh, yes, Ronninflea knew that there was something wrong with him; no one else had the problems that he did.  The question was...what exactly WAS wrong with him?

To that, Ronninflea had no answer.  He could not remember a time when he had never been afraid of the dark or the creepy cats that lurked within it.  He had always feared nurses and knives and sudden noises.  Oreollivan had, a multitude of times, told him--gone to great lengths to SHOW him--that there was nothing to fear, that these things would not harm him.  Yet that did not help.  Mikelvic's less-than-encouraging shouting and shaking didn't, either.

Ronninflea swirled his toes in the warm, shallow water.  He wished that he could just "get over it" as Mik said.  He wished he could say he had tried.  But he couldn't.  When the fear gripped him, all he knew was that he couldn't breathe.  Nothing mattered except getting away from the danger.  He replayed the scene at the bar in his head as he watched the ripples.  A few salty tears rolled down his nose to join the freshwater at his feet.  The hardest part was not accepting that he was odd...useless…yes, even crippled.  He had known that for far too long to still be struggling with it.  No, the worst part was the look in his mother's eyes every time she saw him, the way Oreollivan had begun to give up defending him.  In a family where everyone had to be productive, Ronninflea was not only NOT helpful, but a pain.  He had brought nothing but suffering to those he loved.  They deserved better.