From that point on, it was Miranda herself who carried the nuts from Mr. Squirrel’s east-side stash, one-by-one each morning for Etham’s breakfast; that was a tiring task. And it was Miranda who took notes from Mr. Owl in a little book and gave his lessons awkwardly to the ogre; that was a very tough venture. And it was Miranda who guided her ogre boy by a light through the trees showing him all the beauty and magic of the ancient forest; that, however, was something Miranda could do even better than Miss Mourning Dove. At night they would dream together, as Etham slumped beneath a tree and Miranda slept in the ogre’s smaller, non-pointy ear. Each morning she would wake him with fairy kisses on each eyelid carrying a ruby raspberry filled with golden honey.
Life at that time for Miranda and Etham was not as bad as it might seem. Etham was still young enough to play and smile and laugh and run. He liked bugs and mud and climbing trees. Miranda had to do a lot of work, but the love Miranda felt for her ogre boy made her strong and fast. As you might have guessed, the speed of a fairy, like her strength, depends on her inspiration; and for those who love, there is no more powerful source of inspiration. Miranda could fly fast enough and stay strong enough to get all of her chores done in the morning. During the day, Etham broke down rocks into stone-flour for his bread. He was learning to feed himself like ogres do, by baking ground stones in the sun. He was particularly fond of the softer sandstone delicacies; his favourite of these was the pavé.
Soon Etham’s muscles began to bulge. He was proud of them. Soon he believed he was the strongest thing in all the ancient forest. He could crush a hundred rocks to powder in a day. Crushing two hundred rocks was not impossible. He raised his flexed arms towards the mighty oaks in envy and said “My tower will be even greater than you!” He thought to himself that now that he was the strongest creature in all the ancient forest, it was time to start building.
In the evening they walked together and shared twilight dreams by green ponds and played tricks on the grumpy spiders in the creaky willows who trailed their branches in the water like women washing hair. She told him stories about her friends and neighbours on the other side of the stream. He could not remember the squirrel or the mourning dove or the owl or the snake. She told him how she was born in the first glistening dew drop on the first morning that ever was; but he could not believe that anything had ever happened so long ago and he had difficulty imagining the beginnings of a forest beyond time. She told him that she missed her home in the reddest oak tree. He told her that he would build her a new home, a new home for both of them, a tower of stone.
“I love you and have always loved you.” she said.
“I will build us a tower of stone.” he said.