IV. They Must Walk Miles

With their legs finding the strength to walk, the young Datura carried their feet across the desert, step by step, into their naming day.

As they wandered, the young Datura felt the distance in their calves. True, the walkabout did not burn like playtime, which would have come and gone by now. The consistency, however, brought a different kind of stress, a new kind of dull ache that the young Datura found not altogether unpleasant.

Still, when their eyes settled on the shade appearing out of the desert in the middle distance, they relished the opportunity to sit and reflect on the elder’s riddle while sitting.

The ancient oakwood stretched out of the ground with dense trunks, a triumphant ascent of wood arching upwards and then falling low against the heat of the desert, tired from holding their patches of leaves. Their exhaustion provided the perfect escape from the brutal heat and did a fair job of concealing others who might have the same idea.

Such was the case as the young Datura noticed the signature vined arch of the Moonbeam, tucked between the lilting branches of the ancient oakwood, covered on one side in a sort of leafed yurt. Hidden perfectly in the bow of the branch was a thick wall of thorns and vines that gave way to an arch, emblazoned with a delicate, branchy moon. As all things need healing, so too does a Moonbeam make their den where it can do the most good.

The young Datura had seen this once before - a kind-hearted but clumsy creche-mate had once juked too hard and slammed into the side of the eating area, causing a crack in the wall and dislocating their arm from their shoulder. A Moonbeam was called in to assist when the Nursetrees could not properly re-set the arm, largely due to the particularly large frame on the little one. The Moonbeam spent nearly the entire day with the child, laughing and telling stories. Many of the creche got bored, expecting something out of their night-stories. Those who stuck around would spend many afternoons debating exactly when the arm was returned to its shoulder, such was the subtlety of the Moonbeam’s healing.

Their eyes explored the delicate latticework of the arch, and their eyes began to take in the faint whiff of burnt incense, uncommon to their young nose. Nervously, their hands pushed the drooping leaves that stood for a barrier between the Moonbeam’s lair and the outside world. Immediately, their face and hands were hit with the uncomfortable shift in humidity, a hot, wet wind desperate to escape into the desert. Though unexpected, the young Datura was not deterred, venturing into the dark, swampy home.

“Moonbeam? Are you here?”

“Shhhhhhhh.” The sound came out almost as a hiss, harsher tones dampened by the wet air. The young Datura’s head snapped towards it, revealing the form of the Moonbeam, propped up on a small pad. They were moderately sized, with wide shoulders that tapered towards a tidy waist. Their legs were crossed, and each hand was closed in a fist in their lap, touching in the center of the moonbeam’s stomach. Their long snout was tilted slightly downward, their eyes closed, brows furrowed. The young one had heard stories of magic-users engaged in deep fits of sleep and concentration, and quickly they put together that they may have disturbed some manner of arcane ritual.

“I am sorry, Moonbeam.” the little one whispered, turning their ears down in shame. “I did not mean to interrupt.”

The moonbeam’s brow rested, and the little one allowed themselves to exhale.

“I am not in need of healing, but I thought I could use the shade of your hut for a brief moment.”

The young one waited for a response, and after a beat, the Moonbeam tilted their head up slightly. The little one sighed, taking it as approval.

“Thank you.”

The young one took a moment to take stock of their legs, rubbing their sore calves and letting the soles of their feet hide from the sand, for only a moment. Eyeing the Moonbeam, the young one clumsily attempted to recreate the meditative pose, their dimensions not quite allowing the pieces to click together as smoothly. Even as they got into a shape, they did not find it particularly conducive to focusing on finding an answer to the elder’s riddle of sun and moon.

One eye lazily opening, pointed directly at the moonbeam, the young Datura spoke up. Perhaps the Moonbeam would have an opinion on the whereabouts of the Moon when not in the sky?

“....Moonbeam?”

After a moment, the Moonbeam’s head tilted up, slightly.

“I do not mean to disturb you, but you are so wise… I was wondering if you knew where sun and moon go when they are not in the sky?”

Silence hung thicker than the incense as the young one opened both eyes, staring intently at the meditative Moonbeam. Slowly, their head tilted upwards. Confused, the young one traced their eyeline through their closed lids to the ornamental moon above the arch. As the Datura’s head tilted up, their arms lazily slid out, each closed fist slowly blossoming open as it moved towards its nearest knee, the Moonbeam resting into their new position.

The little one cocked their head to the side, not sure what to make of this response. They counted the fingers, noted their open position. They tracked the eyeline several times - it was actually a little bit above the arched moon, but they had their eyes closed, so a slight misalignment was understandable. They stood, intending to triple-check their line-of-sight when they noted the lack of soreness in their legs.

And suddenly, they understood.

“They rest.” The young Datura’s smile widened on their jaw. “They rest! Of course, for they must walk miles across the sky, and at night they must rest. Otherwise, how could they ever have the strength for their labors? Hah! And I discovered it myself - thank you, Moon-”

“Shhhhhhhhhh.” The calming, dampened hiss came again. The young Datura’s joy resolved into a devious grin, their restored legs tilting in on themselves with excited anxious energy.

“My apologies, Moonbeam. Thank you for your wisdom. I think I am ready to continue my labors.”

As quietly as possible, the young Datura would leave the Moonbeam’s abode, the Moonbeams closed eyes still transfixed on a spot roughly correlating with the ornamental moon.

Though the young Datura wouldn’t see it, the Moonbeam’s head would continue to slowly tilt upwards, eventually hanging back at an uncomfortable angle. Their water dropper, hanging behind them above their hot rock sauna pit, would eventually spill a stream of water directly on the Moonbeam’s head, off their brow, and onto the hot stones, waking them from their deep slumber with a calm, reassuring, “Shhhhhhhhhhh.”

Wherever they might go next, it is only closer to themselves.