Serial Short Story #1, Part 2

On Summer Morns, Zelda became the village mascot, much like the lone stray, a nomad moving from place to place and person to person, a pet equally loyal to any hand that feeds it.  This was because in the Season of Summer, the ice man would cometh at the very last light of day, when the sun was at its weakest— the optimum time in which Zelda to erect her igloo.

By midnight, exhausted and spent, the igloo would finally be complete, and she would plunge into her raft bed and fall deeply asleep before her head hit the willow leaf pillow, completely oblivious to the drip drop drip of melting ice already upon her. By sun up she’d be adrift in the stream that had once been her igloo, floating through town until the heat of the day had evaporated it completely, landing her on some random street corner, where she would wake, hungry, tired, and iglooless.

Whichever village street it was—and it was a different street each morning— the people at whose doorsteps she found herself would treat her to breakfast, pat her on the back, and give her directions back to her tiny plot of land. She was known and loved by all, and so this happened all along her route. Folks left out bowls of water, straw hats, worn sandals, lunch, snacks, and dinner until she’d finally arrive, most often, by the very last light of day back at her igloostead, where she would meet the iceman who had cometh, and start building again.

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