Tales and Dreams

The gray mist had turned blue before them when Penny Rose opened her eyes and unclasped her hands from Lucif's fur. She glanced nervously over the edge. "What lies there, Lucif?"
Lucif looked at her for a moment, its quiet a weighing of time against the answer. "It's not always the same, child. Some say there is a harbor below us, others that there is only nothing. Some say that there is a land on the other side."
"And what do you think?"
"In my days, the people said there is a bridge that stretches from here to there. But you must be on the other side to see it."
"So how did they know?"
"They said that was where they came from."
"But no one kept a map?"
Lucif looked at her curiously. "I know of only one. But it was... lost. Long ago."
Penny Rose glanced again into the stillness ahead of them. "And what lives in the land on the Other Side now?"
Lucif sighed. "Our tales live there. And our dreams."
Penny Rose didn't know what Lucif meant, but she reached out a hand to caress Lucif's head, now bent in memory. "We'll get them back, Lucif," she said, not realizing she had said it until it was spoken. Lucif looked down into her eyes, and then snuffed, nudging her with its muzzle.
"I do believe you could, child."
Lucif stood, and walked slowly toward the edge, staring into the lightened haze. For one terrifying moment, Penny Rose thought it would not stop before the edge, but Lucif stilled and looked far and long. "What do you see?"
Lucif turned toward her, its eyes deep pools. "I am not sure. But I have never seen so far before."
Penny Rose gazed into the distance, but she could make nothing out, and shook her head. "I can't see anything."
Lucif took a deep breath. "Lucif?"
"Yes?"
"Where are we going now?"
Lucif walked back to her, and lay down in front of her. "Sit with me here awhile, child."
Penny Rose sat down, happily, the sunshine and the long night making her endlessly sleepy. She curled into Lucif's warm, soft form, and it leaned into her. "You must read me a story."
Penny Rose was mid-yawn. "Read you a story?"
"Yes, Reader, a long tale."
"But I am tired. And I have no book."
"Exactly," replied Lucif, as if it were clearly the best time to tell tales, especially with no literature at hand.
Penny Rose frowned into her lap. A story, a history. A history. Perhaps read back from memory? "Well... Centuries ago the ancients lived in the land; they made many monuments and..."
Lucif stopped her. "No, not that history, child. The History."
Penny Rose's hand, as it did in times of worry, had unwittingly wandered to her pocket, where the Box lay. She started as her fingers touched it and found the surface more than warm - even hot, and quivering. Under her finger tips she felt the small ridges of letters running through it. How long had it been doing that?
She drew it out and watched it shine bright, even in the sunlight. Lucif's breath purred a moment of satisfaction at the sight. "Yes, The History," it said, its mirrored eyes transfixed by the moving letters. They reflected and multiplied there, and Penny Rose began to read a different tale there than in the letters of the box. A tale of long days and long battles. Of blood, and memory and more that Penny Rose could not read, as Lucif's eyes turned back to her and then closed resolutely. "That is not The History either, child," it said quietly, but with what sounded like regret. "And not a tale you should have to bear so early."
Penny Rose's gaze moved back to the box, whose script had slowed and become smaller in the absence of her attention, but under her curious comprehension the letters fattened, became clearer, shined brighter, moved faster. She watched as they seemed to start hovering over the surface of the box, and as she read them it lit more from inside, hovering over her hand. "Read to me," prompted Lucif gently, and Penny Rose drew a breath to begin.