When they were young, the seven children of the Rain and the Sun were inseparable. They were magnificent, these children. When they were born, so too were colors born into the world. And the colors bore the names of the seven children. Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, and Violet.
What each child touched became that color. The red petals of a rose, the orange cheeks of a young fairy, the green spires of a pine, the indigo eye of a peacock’s feather. They would join hands and skip through the world, coloring as they went.Continue reading
“This is what it looks like,” Sig said, handing over the page where he had drawn a picture of the flower he wanted the scouting party—the children—to find. He wanted to go himself, to search for the flower, to seek help in a nearby town, but he had to stay where he was needed. “There may not be many,” he warned, “this close to winter.”Continue reading
Had they listened to their father, the children would have been safe in their beds on that blustery night. But as it was, they were shivering before a pitiful fire no bigger than a candle flame and just as delicate, while a pack of goblins stood by the cave mouth arguing over what to do with their prize of three healthy children. Continue reading