The Minstrel Finds a Brave Spot
By:
The Princess
“I have found a spot,” the minstrel announced to the darkness as the princess came running up to him. They had agreed to meet just before moonrise, at a place where they had never played before, a dark corner on the outskirts of the village.
“A spot?!” she cried in anticipation, “A spot to play?”
“The sort of spot that’s kind of scary at night, and charming during the day.” He had thought himself quite clever for finding it, though it had been entirely by accident. One moment he was on a familiar path, the next following a strange curiosity away into the woods. He’d thought himself most brave at the time, and still did in fact, for the woods at night were always a little frightening. “Follow me, and I’ll take you there.”
So, he turned and led the way up a scree of dirt and stones to a train track filled with weeds and rough rock.
“Oooh,” the princess pulled her coat close around her shoulders, with dark eyes wide, “It is ever so creepy! What fun!” The minstrel smiled. In a few moments, they had emerged from the tree shadows and found themselves facing a holey bridge over a heavy black river.
“Oh! Oh my!” The princess was utterly charmed, “It’s just…perfect!” And then she went skipping onto the bridge, leaping from plank to plank, pausing here and there to put her face down to one of the gaps and ‘ooh’ with butterflies dancing in her stomach.
The minstrel hadn’t been expecting this sort of response. So he followed her, stepping carefully to avoid the holes, and wondering how she could even see what was hole and what was a dark wet plank. They amused themselves for some time chattering over the superb discovery, and wondering what on earth they were going to name such a glorious spot. Soon, however, the princess began to dance about again. He watched her skittering with a bemused look until he saw her race right up to edge of the bridge. Then he became alarmed!
“Do you suppose that’s a good idea?!” The princess leaned her head out over the water and waved at her black reflection.
“Is what a good idea?” The minstrel pursed his lips.
“Leaning.”
“When you lean you get all sorts of butterflies! It’s fun. Here, come here! Come, come…oooh.” She stared fixedly at something that the minstrel couldn’t see from where he was standing, happily safe and secure in the middle of the bridge.
“Hm.” She hummed. He frowned. She had the sort of look she got when she was about to do something. Curiosity had just gotten the better of him when she sat down on the edge.
“I just don’t think that’s a good idea.” His voice strained.
Then the princess jumped, and landed smartly on a wooden support beam. It was wide enough to sit on, and stuck out several feet beyond the planking behind her. She eyed her situation with satisfaction, and promptly sat down with her head over the end of the beam.
“Oh my.” The minstrel said, “You would do that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes! I would. Oooh, there are more support beams further down…but I don’t think these shoes are very practical for that.” The princess looked with disappointed accusation at her feet.
“No,” the minstrel was quick to agree, “I don’t think they would at all be very good for climbing.” There was a pause.
“Would you like to try?” The princess whirled around, sitting with her knees up by her chin and the end of the beam only an inch away from her back. Her stomach had settled down now, for the butterflies there had realized all was safe and were no longer fluttering at the height and narrowness of her whereabouts.
The minstrel eyed the wooden beam suspiciously, peering at the deep dark water so far from the bridge.
“You’ll get the butterflies,” the princess said in an obnoxiously delighted voice, “when you walk out as far as you can.” Her pale face stayed turned upward to him from her airy perch. “Come on—I’ll move for you.” In a half moment she had scampered back onto the bridge.
The minstrel took a breath. He sat down on the bridges edges and scooted his legs over. He felt the air with his toes until the solid wood met them. He eased gingerly onto the beam.
Then he opened his eyes.
“I’m here,” he announced. He was half surprised at it himself.
“Good,” the princess clapped appreciatively at his feat. “Don’t you want to go to the tip?”
The minstrels toes inched forward, tiny bit by bit as he thought things to himself like “She asks an awful lot of a fellow,” and “I don’t want to, thanks very much” and “I am a brave minstrel!” until he finally reached the end of the beam.
He looked up and saw all the stars that the city lights hadn’t hidden with their pink glow. He looked around and saw the river banks of trees watching his courage. Then he looked down and all his butterflies fluttered their wings.
“Hurray!” the princess cried with glee, “You’ve done it! Isn’t it lovely?”
And it was. The minstrel could see none of the bridge behind him, only the bottomless river and the charcoal sparkling sky, and the naked arms of black trees.
“I feel as though,” he said proudly, “I am standing in the air! As if I am in the middle of the sky!”
“You are” the princess murmured. The minstrel stood there until the princess began to feel impatient. He clambered back onto the bridge looking just so pleased with himself.
“I did it,” he reminded himself as he looked at the beam. “I stood there.” He pointed to be sure she had remembered and would marvel at him.
“Yes, you did.” Their scampering and games continued on the middle of the bridge, nicely safe and free from the butterflies, but by the time the moon had begun to hide itself below the tree line the minstrel ran to and fro on the very edge without scarcely any flutterings at all, and the princess had discovered a new game she was good at.
