The Little Beggar

The little boy, only just six, approached the lion Keeper. He knew the lion guarded magic, a pool of mysterious liquid at his feet called Light.

But magic didn’t matter. Teague was simply hungry.

The Feie village’s shunning of its poorest could not go overlooked. The place was rich with commodities, yet lean at the same time, like firm, taut muscle. Garbage piles were small, every sinew of meat used, every bit of green eaten.

Teague reached the shimmering pool and knelt down before it. A woman sat across from him, rocking back and forth, yesterday’s tears staining her face.

Teague looked at her nervously, but she ignored him.

“May I drink from your pool, lion?” Teague asked.

The lion did not look down at Teague. Instead, he lifted his mighty head and roared into the morning.

Teague scrambled back away from him.

“You may not,” the lion said, his voice booming.

Teague got to his feet. Despite his fear, he looked up at the lion bravely. “You must help me.”

The lion quieted.

Teague moved closer, desperation clouding his mind. He walked up to the pool, cupped his hands, and plunged them into the Light.

But someone grabbed his arm, spilling the Light back into the pool. He looked up and saw the woman who’d been rocking nearby. Her eyes were clear now.

“You mustn’t,” she warned, eyes wild, looking up at the lion nervously. “He must give it to you freely.”

Teague’s eyes filled with tears as he looked up at her, both miserable and terrified. She laced her fingers with his and pulled him along and away from the lion.

“Someday, you will taste it,” she promised.

He looked back as she guided him down the hill.

Someday.


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