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“I step heavily on the ground and men call me ‘runner’. I walk up onto the ash trunk and beneath its underground roots. Say what I am called”.

This was what faintly came to Alfredo’s ears before he opened his eyes, forletting the phosphenes in his dreams. “Roots”, the last word he heard prior to seeing the sunlight spilled around him, spread itself in the soil of his conscience. It was a web buried in his thought and seemed to come from the mouth of the stone just before him.

But when the image became odd and he stared amazed at it, he couldn’t see anything but a large rock faking its unawareness, standing so imposing that none could tell it to get off of its high horse.

The trees looked around to each other and really softly whispered something through the wind. Outraged, Alfredo shouted “Falem algo que eu também possa entender!”, but the old wooden sentinels swallowed their words and swiftly sent them through their roots, across a web of fungi that interconnected them.

There was a mellifluous roar in the air, like a smooth, sweet and torturing pleasure. Alfredo then saw a fin whale laid down close to him, and it had its back to the green and brown ground. The fin whale calmly smoked a rustic pipe which exhaled a thick fog. That giant being gently struggled against the buzzing flies around its wet body, when it noticed Alfredo.

— What do we have got here, eh? You seem to be a quite nice lad, come on. Let’s talk a little bit.

Alfredo then noticed that that fin whale strangely spoke English, and no less oddly he understood each and every word, both in his ears and his mind. He thus suddenly realised the reason why the English-speaking trees silenced their ethereal humming when he shouted at them.

— Come on, mate. Will you make me wait here indefinitely? I may have all the time of the world, but that doesn’t mean I like spending it in a foolish way.

— I’m… — said Alfredo surprisingly finding English words in his mouth. I’m not sure where I am. Sir, could you help me please?

— “Sir”?, asked the fin whale with an iridescent giggle. Do I look like a male? Hold your horses!

— I just thought you were a guy… sorry, attempted Alfredo to kindly redress.

— Most males do, said the fin whale unconcerned. That’s maybe because you’re expecting that I wear a wig and a skirt with lipstick in my huge lips just because I’m a she-whale. But, to put an end to your other wondering, you are in England. More precisely, you are in Aylesford, in the shire of Kent.

“Kent? How’s that possible?”, asked Alfredo to himself. He then noticed the fin whale steadily gazing at his face.

— Everything is possible here, said the fin whale and then looked to the sky while blew a heavy thump of smoke.

All the world looked like ephemeral wistful phosphenes around them. Alfredo then got up and waved goodbye. Walking through the woods he repeatedly asked to himself “What steps heavily on the ground, men call runner, walks up onto the ash trunk and beneath its underground roots? This may be something impossible to imagine. This non-sense stuff ought to be only madness”.

After walking for a while and seeing no living being besides the suspicious trees, Alfredo had a déjà vu. He saw the same stone, the same old stone dressed with moss, but it was somewhat taller, even more defiant than before. Once again it could listen the wind whispering “roots” although his ears couldn’t fetch the sound’s origin.

Than, from behind the rock a bright being appeared. It wasn’t a dwarf, however It was like a human in a smaller shape.

— Never look a gift horse in the mouth, said the little figure. Alfredo’s mind seemed to burst in doubt but the forbearing little one straightforwardly said: I’m an elf. Yes. White shining skin, short body, blue eyes and yellow hair. Yes.

— I just thought you were more…

— Taller?, asked the elf. Everyone deems likewise since Peter Jackson’s movies. We are not so small as it was designed by Victorian Era artists, nevertheless we are not that high. Who would like to be so tall? I don’t. I like my perfect size because I can easily hide from orcs. You know, some thousand years ago an orc-bred people invaded this land. A shame. They’re still rulers. Yes. Don’t say that loud. Not the first invasion, though. Some five hundred years before there has been another one. But those are tales for another day. Yes. Perhaps. Who knows?

Alfredo began to ponder and realised that all that stuff was only making him lose his time. He did step behind three times, and then he turned back, running as speedy as he could. When drops of sweat began to form a waterfall in his body and he thought to be safe, he then stopped his frenzied rush and leaned his hands in his knees and breathed violently. When he raised his head, he was just before the stone once again though.

— Whoa!, said the elf, appearing from behind the stone anew. Giddy-up! You seem to be so fast that you cannot be doing anything but running from yourself. Well, I guess it is time to stop breaking away from the Wyrd and face it. This is the White Horse Stone. Yes. Do you know who it is said to honourably lay down beneath it? I bet you don’t.

Once again everything looked like blazing phosphenes and Alfredo saw the White Horse Stone and its moss armour that bravely withstands against the time. The stone had something sacred about it, and it seemed to shine without a light to Alfredo’s eyes, almost as it had a trembling anger confined within it, like a shrine of an ancient and powerful god.

— Not a god, said the elf. Or maybe. It is said that the Sun is actually a woman. The offspring of the sky-walker were two twin brothers. Yes. They were Jutes and came from the lands later stolen by the Danes. An old folk. One of them was the first king who came from the peoples of the dagger and the spear. Hengest was his name. Yes. The other one died when they finally ambushed the king Vortigern and his noble folk. His name was… Horsa.

When the elf said this last word, Bealdor, the god of light shone like an infinite star in the sky and threw his light against the rock. The White Horse Stone then tore apart and from its remains a man raised up, a man with leather shoes, blue cloth strips tied around his shins and light brown wool trousers. He had a leather belt from which hanged a dagger sheath. Also, there was a light blue tunic fully decorated in its edges with yellow and red patterns, a green cloak tied around his neck with a shiny golden brooch as if it was designed by Wēland, the godly smith himself. Upon his head there was a red Phrygian cap, contrasting with his moustache and long hairs.

They stared amazed at that figure, a tall, strong and grim man, a warrior indeed.

— You’re chomping at the bit to know him, innit?, asked the elf.

— Yes, said Alfredo. What’s your name, sir?

— I am the ripping boar!, said he furiously, defiantly wielding his seax dagger. I am the ripping boar!

The Anglo-Saxon man then attacked Alfredo. They fought for a while but the enemy was more skilled and stronger, killing Alfredo with his dagger and eating his body. Alfredo woke up in the agreste with a stem of fennel sprouting and living in his chest. He got back in the saddle and kept his life on. All the world looked like phosphenes to him.

Îagûara Seaxnēating