Sir Lyman and the Morning Gate

Epilogue

Hoolie stretched out in the grass beside Hoarguard and his small lake. He lay on his back, soaking up the noon sun, one eye on a trio of young gnomes sporting at the lake's edge, the other tracking a pair of amorous ducks paddling on the open water. The ducks reminded him of Sir Lyman.

"Hoarguard?"

"Yes," the old willow roused itself to answer.

"How long has it been since you came through the Morning Gate?"

The ducks had disappeared around a bend in the lake before Hoolie received a reply. It began as a low rumbling laughter.

"I do not remember." Which was odd coming from Hoarguard, who knew and remembered everything from this corner of the world. "A long time." Which must mean a very, very long time indeed. "An age."

An age. Just so, thought Hoolie. What a different place the world must have been, with no bar between this world and that of dreams, the Morning Gate not yet conceived.

"Would you ever go back?" wondered Hoolie.

The deep laughter died.

"No." The answer was final. "With each passing season, I grow more a part of this world."

"Hm," murmured Hoolie.

There was another long pause. Then, just a whisper from the old willow, "I dream now."

"Ah!" Perhaps that was the line one crossed. Reality's definitive test of citizenship. And what did Hoarguard dream of? Hoolie was just about to pose the question, when his three young charges came bouncing back from the lake.

One carried a boat before him, whooshing it back and forth in the air, imagination making up for the temporary lack of water. The second walked awkwardly, burdened as he was by a fat green frog as big as his head. The third, and youngest, had one fist full of flowers and the other fist stuck most of the way in her mouth.

"I'm hungry!" declared the gnome with the boat.

"Mhmhmhm!" Head, fist and pigtails bobbed agreement.

"I have a frog!" announced the third. He was excited about the frog now, but he'd realize he was hungry too, soon enough.

"A picnic with food? What a curious notion!" said Hoolie, but he was already laying out a tasty spread in Hoarguard's shade.

"Stories too!" suggested the older boy, setting his boat in a dry dock formed by Hoarguard's forking roots. The frog croaked. All agreed, stories should be on the menu as well.

"Very well, very well," Hoolie sighed dramatically. The young gnomes bombarded him with story suggestions, but Hoolie waved them all off. He had a particular tale in mind.

"Will there be monsters? Yes! Will there be danger? Yes!" Each announcement met with whoops and cheers.

"Quiet now, and listen close. I am going to tell the brand new story—"

"Yea!"

"—of Sir Lyman and the Morning Gate."

The young gnomes equipped themselves with food and settled into hushed anticipation. Hoolie smiled broadly and began.

"On a day... much like today, I was strolling down the forest road..."