As a young writer builds her story and begins writing the words she begins to feel the world shift around her to encompass the description of the world she built, changing the world to encompass her reality. She keeps writing and the house she is writing in turns to dust as she writes a scene in the forest along a leaf covered path. The author's character appears on a winged horse walking towards the author but the author continues to write. As the character approaches the girl the horse sneezes startling the girl. She jumps up off the ground where she was sitting and writing to see that she too was in the regalia that she imagined the people in her world would wear.
The horse stopped and dropped its wings to the sides revealing a small child, no more than 10 years old, in a brown tunic and green leggings with a silver coronet on his tousled blond hair, one side falling over one of his pointed ears, falling asleep on the neck of the horse. The author knew this child immediately as the child she had imagined three years ago.
The child groggily rubbed his almond colored eyes and looked at the author, “don’t I know you from somewhere?”
The author exclaimed, “my little Lindir! How are you real?!”
The boy slid off the horse and hugged the author, “Lady Tallulah! I thought I knew your face!”
The author knelt down on the ground and looked at the child’s face, “I never thought I’d ever meet you in person, Lindir! Sing for me, my little bird?”
The boy broke into an enchanting song about the birds and the forest the author had written for the boy before she had written the story about him. The winged horse pranced around and eventually flew around the forest in between the trees for joy of the song. When the boy finished the song the author clapped as the horse neighed in pleasure.
“Beautiful, My Bird! Absolutely beautiful!” cheered the author.
“But my Lady, what else am I supposed to do besides sing? You haven’t written anything else for me to do. Write me a grand adventure with trials, dragons, fairies and anything else you can think of.”
“Wouldn’t you be happy if I just wrote you more songs to sing?”
“Singing is all well and good but a story cannot just be one of songs, it needs trials, development, action. So write for me, Lady. Give me a family to protect, give me dragons to tame, waterfalls to jump. Give me a life that generations will speak legends of.”
The author gently hugged the boy and he got back on the winged horse.
“Write for me, Lady Tallulah.”
The author found her paper again and started writing again, sending the boy on the adventures he so desired.
