Dameldun swerved his large car painted the color of clouds before the storm. Speeding away from the cottage at the edge of the forest, dust kicked up after him. He cursed and muttered under his breath at not being able to get into the forest once again.

“You will not get away with this, Sarana! I’ll have her! Mark my word, you will pay! You and all of your weak pathetic friends will pay!” he screamed out of the window, but no one was listening out there.

He screeched to a stop at the end of the same narrow street I’d found my way to and jumped out of his car. He marched to the back door of the produce shop and swung it open forcefully, letting it slam behind him as he stormed in to find his brother, Mr. Pickens.

Dameldun stood in the corner between shelves lined with colorful produce. He was hunched over, breathing hard. The lines of his brow wrinkled and his skin was hot. Seconds later, the shelves lining the walls were across the floor with apples and pears and plums scattering all the way to the door.

“What the heck, Dameldun?! This is my shop!” Pirkle Pickens yelled. Pirkle picked up the downed shelf and Dameldun stepped out of the way, still furious.

“They’ve blocked me from the forest, Pirkle. I cannot go back in. If I do, I am permanently trapped there and my magic rendered useless. They think they can control me? Keep me from my daughter? Yeah. That’s what they think, but they don’t know me, Pirkle. They have no idea what I can do,” he moaned from beside the door. His heartache had become a physical pain in his chest.

“Don’t do anything foolish, Dameldun. Maybe when she’s older she’ll be ready to see you on her own. It will be her choice then,” Mr. Pickens said, trying to reason with his older brother.

“Or maybe, I’ll make it so she has to come out to me.”

Dameldun rubbed both hands against his temples as the idea that would take my family and friends was hatched.

I could see it in his eyes. A distinctive change in his sinister orbs, that went from having a sliver of hope to slithering hate. Then he smiled, an evil smile, and his laugh cackled through the produce shop. Pirkle Pickens stepped back, towards the front door.

“We’ve been a peaceful town, Dameldun. This is my home. It’s where my mother lives,” Mr. Pickens said timidly.

“I don’t want to do anything to Middleton. Middleton has done nothing to me. No one here has taken her from me or tried to keep me from her.”

Dameldun scoured the shop, taking in the mess he’d caused. His gaze fell on the back door. He charged through the store, carelessly bumping into the shelves and sending more fruit to the floor. Dameldun burst through the back door, letting it slam behind him.

Mr. Pickens peaked out the rear window to the alley behind his store. His brother was gone, but the glimmer was still there. Mr. Pickens picked up his phone. He planned to warn someone. Then he put it back down. Perhaps, Dameldun had chosen to leave, and if he had, that would be for the best and no one would need to know that he’d nearly lost it in his shop. Mr. Pickens needed to keep the promise he’d made to their father years before to always help protect Dameldun from his rash tendencies.

Then I was with Dameldun again. What I was seeing now must have been days later. Where he’d been clean-shaven before, his beard had grown enough to be scraggly but the clothes he wore were the same as when he’d left his brother. His big gray carriage was parked in front of the cottage and he stood on the dirt path towards where my magical forest was hidden.

In his hand was a dark green leather bag. He reached one hand into it and pulled out what appeared to be fine grains of sand. He poured the sand into his cupped hand.

He lifted his hands and from his fingers I could see a fine gray smoke begin to rise into the air. It continued to grow. Within minutes the smoke covered the tops of the trees and began to seep in and downwards through the leaves. The mist vanished once in the forest, becoming invisible, colorless, odorless, tasteless - deadly.

Once the smoke evaporated from his fingers he kneeled on the ground, his pants in the dirt and began to trace with one finger, writing something. Then I could see it. He was scrawling letters on the ground.

FOR

AMARILLA

___________

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