by G. Wulfing
G. Wulfing, 2007.
Butterfly
Once upon a time, in that place that is neither this world nor the next, a Chlyh sat and looked at her reflection. She looked for only a moment, for she knew that she did not look lovely. She turned away from the pool and started to weep. “I am so ugly!” she cried. “It is no wonder that the other creatures do not like me.”
The Chlyh lived in a forest with many other creatures. She was the only Chlyh that she knew of.
After an hour, the Chlyh stopped crying, and reminded herself that so long as she did what was right, it did not matter what anyone thought of her. She got up and walked, sniffling, to her home, which was a cave covered with ferns on one side of a clearing. Smaller ferns grew on top of the cave, and large ferns grew at either side of the entrance, covering it with their fronds.
The Chlyh could not remember how many years she had lived there. But for all those years, she had been alone. No one really liked to spend time with her; partly because she was foul in appearance, and partly because most of the creatures wanted to spend time with creatures who were like themselves: no one was like the Chlyh.
When she had first come to the forest, however long ago that had been, the creatures had named her ‘the Chlyh’, because they did not know what she was: ‘Chlyh’ meant an unknown, strange thing, never seen before. They had stared at her, to begin with, and the Chlyh had been ashamed and embarrassed. She made herself a covering of bark, tied and lashed together with plant fibres; big and bulky, to hide her ugly shape, with a hood to pull down over her head and shade her face. She kept her tail tucked away under the garment, out of sight, for it was especially hideous.
The Chlyh lived by eating toadstools. They appeared in Autumn, and she had to dry them and store them for the other three seasons when there were none. She also ate berries, and the leaves and flowers of herbs.
One day she was out looking for the last of the fungi. It was late Autumn, and the sharpness of Winter was in the air. Before long, the first frosts would come.
The Chlyh pushed past a thicket of branches and brambles, and suddenly saw two big brown eyes looking into hers. The first thing that she noticed about the eyes, after their presence and their colour, was how kind they looked.
The Chlyh and the owner of the eyes froze for a second in surprise at seeing each other. Then they both stepped back and looked at each other. The owner of the large brown eyes was reptilian, with a long neck and a wedge-shaped head, and a row of short spines down its back. It had large, batlike wings, folded against its back, and two legs with three great strong claws on each foot, plus a smaller claw on each heel. It stood about as tall as the Chlyh, and its scales were green.
“Hello,” said the Chlyh, shyly, feeling that it would be impolite to say nothing.
“Hello,” replied the creature. “What are you?”
“I am called the Chlyh,” said the Chlyh. “What are you?”
“I am a Wyvern.” The creature’s voice was friendly.
“I’ve never seen one before,” said the Chlyh, so curious and fascinated by the brown eyes that she almost forgot to be shy. “Are there more of you?”
“Yes; there were once. I don’t know if there are any left.”
“Where do you live?” asked the Chlyh.
“Everywhere,” answered the Wyvern. He smiled. The Chlyh had never seen such a warm, gentle smile directed at her before. And this creature didn’t even know her! The Chlyh remained silent for a moment, lost in the thought of that smile.
“Where do you live?” asked the Wyvern in return.
“In a cave,” said the Chlyh.
“What do you eat?” asked the Wyvern with the brown eyes.
“Toadstools,” said the Chlyh. “And berries and herbs.”
“You’ll be running out of toadstools and berries soon,” remarked the Wyvern; not patronisingly, just making a remark. “Do you dry them for the Winter?”
The Chlyh nodded, feeling shy again. It had been a while since anyone had asked her this many questions. She had been in the forest for so long that most of the creatures knew all they needed to know about her, and none of them really wanted to have a long conversation with her.
The Wyvern broke the pause with, “I saw some claddas over there,” – he gestured with his snout. “I ate them, but I could show you the spot, and if you wait a few days they might pop up again.”
The Chlyh nodded. “Thank you.”
“This way,” said the Wyvern, turning. He showed her a patch of dark earth in the middle of a spread of green moss.
The Chlyh nodded her thanks, then scurried off. She was amazed that someone had offered to help her. It made her nervous. She went back to her cave and carried on drying her fungi and berries, but over the next few days, she thought often of the Wyvern. How beautiful he was, with his warm brown eyes and his grass-green scales that turned coppery when the light reflected off them. If only she could be so beautiful. And he had smiled at her! Perhaps he smiled that way at everybody. The Wyvern was probably very polite. Perhaps all Wyverns were very polite. The Chlyh sighed the sigh that she gave whenever she saw a beautiful creature and envied it.
After several days had passed, the Chlyh went back to the spot where the claddas had grown. She didn’t expect to see the Wyvern again – perhaps he had already moved on to somewhere else, since he lived everywhere – but she was half hoping that she would, just in case she could see his shimmering scales again, and so she could know that she had not imagined that smile.
The Chlyh bent over the patch of bare earth, searching for the tiny stubs of emerging fungi.
“Hello,” said a voice. It was the Wyvern’s voice, warm and polite and friendly.
The Chlyh jumped up and looked toward the voice. The Wyvern was standing a few paces away. “I was eating over there, and I saw you come.”
“Hello,” said the Chlyh.
“Have the claddas sprouted?” asked the Wyvern.
“Not yet.” She dared to add, “I think they will, though; if the frosts don’t come early.”
The Wyvern nodded. He came a couple of steps closer. “What is that garment that you are wearing?” he asked.
The Chlyh looked down at her garment. “It’s made of bark. I made it.”
“Do all Chlyhs wear clothes like that?” asked the Wyvern curiously.
“I don’t know,” answered the Chlyh. “I’m the only one.”
“Really?” said the Wyvern. “That explains why I have never seen a Chlyh before.”
The Wyvern stood and looked at her for a long moment. The Chlyh felt uncomfortable.
“Why do you wear it?” asked the Wyvern.
“Because I am ugly,” said the Chlyh in a whisper, hanging her head.
“It covers so much of you,” commented the Wyvern. “May I see what you look like without it?”
“But why?” asked the Chlyh, astonished.
“Because I am curious. I know almost all the creatures in the world, but I have never seen a Chlyh.”
“You won’t like me. I am ugly.”
“I have seen all manner of creatures. I won’t be shocked.”
The Chlyh stood there, thinking, hanging her head. “I am too ashamed.”
“What is there to be ashamed of?” asked the Wyvern.
Slowly, the Chlyh took off her garment made of bark. The Wyvern gasped.
“You’re beautiful!” he said in astonishment.
The Chlyh immediately started to weep. “Please, don’t tease me!” she wailed, overcome with misery. She snatched up her covering and ran away, all the way back to her cave. She went into the farthest corner of it and wept, throwing her covering over herself and burying her head in her arms.
It was two days before she could bear to leave the cave again.
Another two days passed before she saw the Wyvern again. During that time the Chlyh crept miserably about, buried deep within her covering, never straying far from her cave, and hiding herself whenever
another creature came within eyesight or earshot. She was almost continually in tears; they dripped on the few fungi that she collected and plipped onto the leaves as she passed. She wanted to be alone; she almost wanted to die.
On the third day, she heard a voice say, “Hello.” The Chlyh took one look in the direction of the voice, though she already knew whose it was, and ran in the opposite direction.
“Stop, please wait! I didn’t mean to upset you!”
The Chlyh dove into some bushes and tried to fight her way through them. They were thick and tangled. The Chlyh ended up deep within them; surrounded by thorns. She could not get out the other side. In her struggles, the bark covering had become caught on the thorny branches, and had torn half off her.
She heard the Wyvern’s voice calling to her from without the bushes. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to upset you. I wasn’t teasing you; you really are beautiful.”
The Chlyh burst into tears again. The Wyvern heard her sobs.
“Please don’t cry. I’m sorry that I upset you. I just … I’m sorry.”
The Chlyh could not stop crying. After a few moments the Wyvern’s muffled voice asked, “Why are you crying?”
The Chlyh could not answer. The Wyvern waited and then said, “I know what you are. I recognised you when you took off your covering.” He paused briefly. “You’re a Huldre.”
The Chlyh’s breath stuck in her throat. Was that what she was?
“There were some of them where I came from, a long time ago. I don’t know if there are any left now.”
There was a long moment of silence.
Then the Chlyh’s voice came from inside the