Luck - WIP

His name was Luck. A name anyone would tell you never to give a child. It was one thing to call a young pixie Rose. Roses are beautiful. And Pixies are beautiful as well. Boys on the other hand, well, boys can be a handful. And calling a young Piskie Luck was asking for two handfuls.
Piskies can be pesky and pestiferous. Someone named Luck can be both at the same time.
The wilder Piskies can be troublesome, taxing, and trying. Someone named Luck can be all three at once.
Worst still, his name was Luck. Not Good Luck. Nor Bad Luck. He wasn't named Happy Luck, or Surprised Luck, or even something like Luck of the Draw.
And don't get me started on Lucky.
No. Luck was named Luck.
And as anyone will tell you, luck can go any which way it chooses.
Luck was a Peskie through and through. Now, if you think he was at all lucky, that's a question for the end, isnt it?

****

Where to begin? While some of you are no doubt familiar with Pixies and Piskies and all sorts of things, some of you may be new to this.
You'd be surprised how many people tumble and trounce around the world never bothering to take a closer look at things. Most of the time those people smashing and bashing and making all sorts of trouble are called adults.
You would think being older made you wiser. You would think being taller made you stronger. You would think adults would know better.
But sometimes, they just don’t.
Now Pixies and Piskies are two sides of the same coin. One's a girl, and into all things girls like. Books, arithmetic, naming things, and generally being too good for their own good.
Piskies on the other hand are boys. And they like all sorts of things boys like. Books, arithmetic, naming things, and generally being up to no good.
Both of them are what we call Sprites. They're a sort of little people that live on the edges of things. Like I said, most adults run around going from the edge of one place to another without ever really noticing.
As I said, Sprites live on the edge. And if you're real quiet, and really attentive, you can spot them.
You can come across them where sidewalks end, crumbling and breaking into dirt and grass in a big empty lot in the middle of a city.
You can meet them near the ocean, on that part of the beach where the sand's still sand, but the water's more sea.
They live on hills and dells that aren't quite valleys, but not yet mountains.
And they're easiest to spot during the late afternoon, when the sun's just set, and the shadows are long, but the day's not yet done, and the night's not yet come.
Mostly, they live far away, in another place and time. But like all the other Folk, crossing those edges from there to here is easy.
Sprites aren't tall and serious like the great elves. And they aren't frumpy and dour like the dwarf fathers. They're a bit more troublesome than trolls, but not as troublesome as imps. They're kind of in the middle of all these peoples. Sort of on the edge of them all.
Now, more serious folk like dwarves or elves will tell you Sprites spend their days laughing with the sun, and their nights singing with the moon. But Sprites will tell you there's more to them than laughing and singing.
Sprites keep an eye on things.
What things?
Well, all things really. Some keep an eye on flowers and bees, making sure there will be plenty of honey. Others keep an eye on trees and leaves, making sure autumns are all shades of red and yellow and orange. There's some that keep an eye on rivers and fish, or fields and cows. There's even some that keep an eye on adults and children.
You may think this all sounds like a fancy way of saying they're lazy. But any Sprite worth his ears would tell you that is far from the truth.
"Someone's gotta keep an eye 'n things." they'd solemnly tell you, with a hand over their heart and a wink in their eye.

****

Now that you’ve got an idea about Sprites, you're probably wondering what sort of Sprite Luck was.
Like I said before, naming him Luck was just asking for trouble.
When he was just a wee handful, no bigger than your fist, he had a habit of rolling off things. He was born to a large family of Sprites, large enough to gift him with twelve sisters. These valiant Pixies were always watching the baby Luck. And bless them, they tried.
They'd place the cooing baby in his crib, and he'd somehow roll out.
They'd put him on a blanket under the shade of an oak tree, and he'd roll down the hill.
They'd leave him in his pen, to play near the fire, and he'd roll up and out the door.
Young Luck seemed to want to be everywhere and anywhere, so long as he was rolling. Soon his poor sisters learned to pass the young Sprite from one to the other.
From Lily to Rose. From Rose to Hyacinth From Hyacinth to Daisy. From Daisy to Bluebell. From Bluebell to Lilac. From Lilac to Camellia. And on and on, all the way down to little Clover.
When he'd grown into a wee bit bigger handful, he had the knack of falling into water. Any water. rivers, ponds, creeks, lakes, barrels of water, puddles, if it was wet, he was falling in it. Luck didn't know any better, being only five at the time. meanwhile his sisters longed for the days when he just rolled.
Still, all that water made him an excellent swimmer, and a master of several swimming strokes. He proudly bragged of his skill at the backstroke, the sidestroke, the backwards stroke, the upside-down stroke, and his personal favorite: the how-did-you-do-that stroke.
This last, he only performed for thrill seeking crowds or easily pleased younger Sprites.
But of all the tales Luck loved telling, he was most proud of the one he called The Conquering of the Beast.
And of all his tales, this one was the best known. This was due to the fact the Beast would become his companion and friend, Gryffin.
Some would say the conquering was more a taming. And that the taming was done more with food than swords.
Other's would say the Beast was more a kitten at the time. A mere cub of some wild cat family lost and afraid.
Luck would tell you differently.
Gryffin was a growling mess of matted fur and teeth. Luck had heard her howling from all the way near the honeycombs and had investigated because he was eight and no longer interested in rolling away or dropping in water.
When he came across the Beast, the woods were still flooded with mist and fog. The howls carried far and wide, bouncing off tree and shrub, making the sound fierce and terrible. As terrible as the noise was, it wasn't enough to deter young Luck. He'd given up rolling and dropping, and had taken up exploring, a far more grown up occupation.
To hear the tale, there had been much wrestling and grabbing, rolling and dropping, and finally, the mighty beast was subdued.
Both combatants had been so impressed by the other, the two became friends that day. And Luck, thinking the Beast too dark a name, instead named his new friend Gryffin, after the ferocious winged beasts of legend.
Now, Gryffin has no wings, at least none anyone knows about. But she's no less ferocious for the lack.
And, while Gryffin has grown a bit since her wild introduction to Luck's family, so has Luck. And what better way to explore the world with than with an excellent friend?

****

While Luck had many adventures and encounters around and about the home where he grew up, it's the tale of his first journey that this story is about. In many ways this journey was his first real and true adventure. And lucky for him, it wasn't his last.
Sometimes, as young Sprites grow into old Sprites, they get this wandering feeling in their legs. This growing desire in their feet. Sometimes these feelings just lead to more troublemaking for the young Piskie. And sometimes the feeling's so strong that the young Pixie can do nothing more than set out and see the world, until her heart is done wanting.
This feeling to explore had been growing steadily in Luck since the day he'd rescued Gryffin from hunger. Day by day he'd sit at home wondering about the world around him.
He'd sit and wonder what lay beyond the woods, while many a sister would pass by and remind him to do his chores.
Then he'd wonder what was over the mountains, while doing his chores.
Then he'd wonder where the great river went, while being scolded for doing his chores the wrong way.
Was it his fault he was busy wondering?
It didn't help that Gryffin would run off into the woods from time to time, to do whatever it is wild she-cats must do alone.
Luck was sure his best friend in the world was off having grand adventures. How many young cubs had Gryffin rescued from wild beasts? How many lost children had Gryffin led to safety? How many forests creatures had Gryffin rescued from cruel hunters?
Luck was pretty sure his best friend led the sort of life you could only wonder about.
"I'm no slouch." Luck thought to himself. "I'm nearly as tall as the old stump, and I'm sure I weigh more than a stone."
This was true. Luck was a bit taller than your average Piskie. And he weighed a bit more as well. He claimed it came from a healthy upbringing full of rolling and dropping.
Luck figured he was tall enough. And he was heavy enough. And when he thought about it, he was old enough too. Fourteen years was plenty old enough to explore the world. Gryffin was only about six, and she seemed no worse for all the adventure she must get up to.
And so, a week before he set off, Luck found himself at supper time, telling his family of his plans to see the world. His mother cried at the news, but also smiled, knowing sometimes a Piskie just needs to grow up a little outside of the home. His father nodded, accepting the fact his young son needed a bit of freedom if he was to know his place in the world.
His sisters seemed to fill all the emotions that lay between those of his mother, and those of his father.
And Gryffin just rolled her eyes. Amused that it had taken Luck this long to decide.

****

It took Luck about a week to prepare for his departure. There were hasty lessons from his father. Words of wisdom from his mother. Various barbs and taunts from his sisters. And most of all, final goodbyes that needed to be said from his heart.
Luck had never before realized just where he and his family lived. Their homestead was far from any village, but not too close to the woods. The great river was a days walk away, and the mountains even further. From time to time the family travelled away to the fair, to meet other Sprites and learn of the world beyond.
But for the most part Luck and his family stuck to their own little corner. It was their land more than anyone's. And Luck had explored as much of it as he could. And now he was saying farewell.
Would he ever see the old stump where the family gathered midsummers?
Would he ever feel the breeze that came from the woods, heavy with the smell of summer?
Would he ever hear the buzzing of the thousands of bees at the honeycombs. diligently working away all spring?
As much as he would miss the land, he was sure he'd miss his home the most. It was a comfortable place, perfectly perfect in it's imperfection. It was all crooked angles and soft thatch. Several chimneys poked out from the roof. Some of it was made from stones carried from the great river and other stones from the nearby creek. Trees from the woods held up its many levels. And flowers from the fields all around decorated its yellowed walls.
A human might look at it, and call it small.
An elf would look at it, and call it a mess.
A dwarf would look at it, and call it anything but.
But a Sprite would look on the house and know, this was a home. A place to come to after a long road and longer journey.
On the eve of his departure, his mother came to him, eye rimmed red with farewell.

******

She was born without a name, as all Trolls are. Most of the time they’re called Hey You or You There. A particularly kindly Troll Mother may call her child Chip or Pebble. But these aren’t permanent names. They aren’t names the young Troll will keep.
Young Trolls are expected to do as they are told and not muck about with play or laughter or sitting around not working.
“A good Troll is a busy Troll, and a busy Troll is a good Troll.”
This is one of their many Troll sayings and as you can see, Troll’s are far too busy to worry much about sayings. Trolls make Dwarves look like lazy luggards, and that’s saying something. From the time a young Troll is first brought home, to the moment an old Troll is placed in the Big Cavern, all they do is work. It’s very busy work, making sure the world doesn’t fall apart.
They carve mountains and move oceans. They shift sand dunes and make sure trees grow straight. River stones are shaped just right because a busy Troll made it so. Grass is the right shade of green because Trolls are especially good with their Troll paints.
While Sprites sit around watching, Trolls move about doing.
This means Troll parents are much too busy to name their children.
Young Trolls, Nippers as they are called, are expected to come up with their own name, once they’ve gotten the hang of Troll life. Trolls being Trolls, most Nippers have a name within a few months of coming home. Some Nippers may take half a year. And most are named and working by the time their first birthday has arrived.
She was different from the other Nippers.
There wasn’t a job she wasn’t interested in. She wanted to carve mountains and shape pebbles. She wanted to paint flowers and grow forests. She wanted to wind ivy round trees and twirl whirlpools in ponds.
This was troubling for everyone around her. As Nippers were expected to choose just one job.
Her parents worried and worried.
What was to become of her? Just when it seemed she’d found her job, she’d move on to another. She was always moving, always choosing. Would she ever settle down and find a Troll husband?
And through all the worry, she never once chose a name.
She was aware of the trouble she as causing.
And she’d tried to live like a Troll, as Trolls wanted her to.
But she just couldn’t do it.
Instead she’d started on a name. It wasn’t finished, she wasn’t sure when it would be finished. But at least she’d started it.
She’d begun with V, as this seemed a good place to begin. V had this sound she loved. It wasn’t a sit around sound. It was a going sound. It was vivacious and had a good vibe to it. And it felt valuable.
It had taken her two years to add A. She had gone back and forth between following V with a vowel or a consonant. In the end, she figured a vowel following V would be just grand. And A just seemed so admirable and amazing and awesome.
The latest letter had only been added this summer, right after her fifteenth birthday. She’d chosen L because it was lovely and lithesome and most of all lucky. And luck was something she felt was lacking in her life.
Perhaps the L would finally set things right?