The patriarch found a jut of unmowed barley and began to swing at it, clumsily at first. Half of the stalks bent under his slow swing, and the others cut unevenly with shredded ends. A few more swings were necessary to bring the grain down all the way. Grandpa stepped forward into the tall crop and tried again. Slowly, patch by patch, he worked up his swing to the point where he could fell a full swath in one sweep. The sun fell happily on his arms and face, and the wind cooled him well. Tiny beads of sweat formed on his head, under his old floppy hat, to the point where he decided to take it off and stuff it into his belt. It felt wonderful to be working like this again - Grandpa began to hum to himself.
He didn't notice how far into the field he had moved, and how distant he was from the others.
* * *
When the noon horn finally sounded, Grandpa was several acres deep into the crops. He looked up in astonishment when the horn call came from so far away, then turned to look back at his handiwork. A neat line of low-cut grain stretched behind him, perfectly sheared and ready to be bundled. Grandpa sat down to rest, proud of himself.
"Look at that. I've actually gotten ahead of 'em all!"
The wind in the stalks rattled in agreement. A few birds chirped overhead, and he looked up at them dancing in the light blue sky. He watched them for several minutes, until their chirping was interrupted by the growling of his stomach.
"Well, can't sit out here forever. Time for lunch�"
But as the elder creaked to his feet, something dashed across the open path he had created from the right to the left. It was black and white, very small, and very fast. A giggle sounded in its wake.
"Hey, child," Grandpa said with a grin, "did they send you to find me?"
The little figure ran across the open path again, this time jumping midway across and flinging its tiny hands into the air with a gleeful shout. It vanished into the grain again, rustling and crunching along.
"Did they think I was lost?" Grandpa chuckled, hoisting his scythe up and dusting off his pants.
"Well, I'm coming back now� could you show me the way home?" The path was obvious, but Grandpa had decided to entertain the youngster and offer him a chance to play hero.
The giggling stopped and the crunch of dry stalks came more slowly. A rustle to the right side of the path revealed a tiny black and white face with two huge golden eyes, unlike anything seen in Breezegale before.
The elder stared, astonished. This was no village child!
The young boy clambored out of the grain and stood in the middle of the path, staring back at the elder with equal curiosity. He was completely naked, and covered from head to toe in pitch black fur, except for his muzzle, the tip of his short tail and the huge fluffy ends of his two ridiculously long ears. Small bits of grass and brambles were snarled into these white patches where the fur was thicker, suggesting a wildness about the boy.
After a few moments of staring at eachother, the boy sneezed and poked at his tiny black nose.
This brought Grandpa back to his senses. The boy was obviously alone and strange to the area. His silence suggested that he was either incredibly shy, or didn't yet know how to talk. Though the size of a toddler, he was very well coordinated and swift on his feet, hinting that he might be as old as eight years. As for his species� that remained a mystery. He appeared to be a cross between a dog and a rabbit, though such a radical hybrid was impossible in Phantomile.
Grandpa cautiously approached, and, deciding that the little creature wasn't about to dash away into the thick fields, knelt down next to him.
"Hello, there. What's your name?"
To Grandpa's great surprise, the boy spoke.
"Klonoa!" A big smile appeared on the little boy's face, and his golden eyes twinkled.
"Well, then! Hello, Klonoa. My name is Grandpa. I'm the elder of a village near here. Where do you come from?"
"Klonoa?" The eyes became quizzical, and the face expressed a wondrous confusion.
"Where are your parents?"
"Klonoa?"
"What species are you?"
"Klonoa? Wha? Wa?" Klonoa's eyes grew even wider, and he reached a small hand up to Grandpa's face, as though searching for the source of so many strange sounds.
"Hoo boy� that's about all you can say, hm?"
"Hoo!" Klonoa imitated, smiling again. The sound pleased him enourmously.
Grandpa smiled and scooped up the little boy with both arms, leaving his scythe in the field. Klonoa did not protest - in fact, he laughed. He seemed to enjoy being picked up and held aloft in the soft summer wind.
"I'm going to take you back to Breezegale, little Klonoa. Would you like that?"
"Wa-hoo!" Klonoa burbled, wiggling happily.
