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All the flowers have been harvested from the fields and the slopes are empty, barren and never green. The sunny sky has darkened to a deep shade of violet. The grey ash remains of the burnt forest start to fall over the charred earth and the snake of the stony river is now a deep brown colour. The armoured trout is as black as the coal from the forge. When the birds begin to sing, the first pulse of the sun spreads over the top of the mountain silhouetting the small butterfly near the lichen and the frosty grasses. Today, the river runs cold again. The stone eddies are formed, and the lizard dreams that she'll never taste the sweet nectar of the willow and the wild cherry.
The butterflies fluttered around the lichen and sapphire leaves. The workers were gone. The workers were back home in the warm nest – where they gulp down the immortally precious, but just as ephemeral poison: the nectar of the daisy and the violet, which, after 20 years, had only the patina of black.
– I'm so hungry! The mother squeezed out of the nest.
The young lizard stopped her dream to come and watch the mother, who was the same colour as the morning ice, stretch out her green arms and grasp limply the tiny green buds that she used to hide in for the honeymoon with the dragonfly. The mother gnawed, loosening the tiny petals, just as she had done before and after the birth of the little girl.
– Mother! The baby girl called, and then clung to her neck.
– Shhh, don't be so bad! The mother gently swept the beautiful dark hair away, already dreaming of the next hurtle towards death. The chirping was the only sound in the woodland. The wind rustled a few leaves, but the most poignant sound was the sound of the mother, who had just finished gnawing apart the petals, and the floor of the nest chirping nervously. The mother kicked impatiently at the last strand of the haystack, where the butterfly had rested only a second before, and curled up for the next hibernation.
The mother slowly crumbled into the darkness of the nest and consoled herself for the last time with the knowledge that her daughter would soon drown in the blood of the dragonfly, and so would she. The mother, gnawing the petals of the beautiful flowers that she knew would soon be dinner, passed the time imagining the taste of the honeyed nectar and the sweet song of the bright-blue dragonfly who filled her belly with fire. Deep in the shadow of the willow, the lizard sighed, stretched and began to dream. It was repeated again and again. Today was no different from yesterday – no different from the day before.
The aroma of the honeyed nectar gradually came to her. Like some strange new breath in her body. The sun glistened brightly in the sky and the damp was mixed with the emerald light, it was like a flash. The scent came from the edge of the meadow. The dangerous border to the beautiful forest. The emerald forest. A forest that burns in the middle of autumn. The brightest nectar. The sweetest honey. A forest of the immortal fire. Suddenly, the taste of the nectar overpowered all of her senses. It was like a flash.