CHAPTER IV

The dreamer ran down the long staircase and along the Road Without End, the white queen's cold, mirthless laughter ringing in his ears. He ran until his lungs gave out, and he fell to the ground, gasping. A raven circled overhead, it's calls sounded like laughter.

"Those used to be my ravens." Said a voice behind him. "A fitting punishment for all my thievery, to have the only two things that were ever truly mine taken away from me."

The dreamer jumped up and whirled around. There was an old man standing before him. He wore a long coat, tall leather boots, and a broad hat, and he was carrying a sturdy staff made from some strange black wood. His clothes were dusty and faded, his long hair and beard were white, and his face was worn and covered in wrinkles, but he stood strong and tall. His hat covered one of his eyes, with the other he gazed piercingly at the dreamer.

"I didn't hear you come up." Said the dreamer, sheepishly.

"Nobody ever does." Said the old man. "And what, if I may ask, were you doing down there? Did you drop something?"

"Ah, no..." Said the dreamer. "Well, actually, I'm trying to find something beautiful."

"Beautiful? What does that mean?"

"What does it mean?" Said the dreamer, slightly taken aback, "It's just... the way something looks."

"Looks? Looks like what?"

"Looks like something beautiful!"

"I think you should explain yourself better. What makes something beautiful?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. Where I come from, some things, because of how they look, are described as being beautiful. That's all."

"Oh, that makes things easier. So if you want to know if something is beautiful or not, you could just compare it to something that is already considered as being beautiful. You could even quantify beauty, if you wished."

"Er... well... I suppose so."

"Then what about the white queen? Surely, if you applied to her the standards of beauty commonly used for women in the world from which you come, she would be judged as being very beautiful. Indeed, you could even say that her perfection is impossible to assail."

"But her perfection is horrible!" Said the dreamer, vexed at the mere thought of the white queen. "Perfection isn't beauty. In fact, I had often thought, of my friend, that her imperfections made her more beautiful. But to gaze upon the white queen freezes my heart to the very core!"

"The heart?" Said the old man. "So there's more to it then the eyes? Beauty also touches the heart?"

"Certainly." Said the dreamer. "Now that you mention it, I suppose that's what makes something beautiful. The way it touches the heart. My heart has been cold since I came to this land, and I think it is from a lack of beauty."

"Ah." Said the old man, scratching his beard. "Now let me think... Now that we've established what beauty is, maybe I can help you. Hmm... I think I've figured it out.

"What is it?" Asked the dreamer.

"The white queen rules this land through the power of a dreamer, and everything in it was created by her. This explains why there is no beauty, for this beauty you describe would surely be a loathsome thing before her sight. But there was another dreamer once, and thus, there exists in this land a single flower, that possesses a strange quality that, now that I know what the word means, I would describe as beauty."

"How do I find it?"

"Find it? Oh. Sorry. I didn't know you wanted to find something beautiful. I just thought you wanted to know where something beautiful was.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean that, I'm sorry to get your hopes up. If you wanted to find the flower, you would have to go to the crone of the forest.

"Okay. Where does she live?"

The magician looked at the dreamer again.

"You are a rare sort." He said. "Ah, such heroic bravery! You, who without flinching, will follow your destiny, to whatever end it might lead! Oh, if only that destiny was life!"

"So where does she live?" Asked the dreamer, who was becoming a bit vexed.

"If you continue along the road," Said the magician, "You will reach the forest, and if you walk far enough into the forest, you will find her hut."

The dreamer stood silent for a moment. He was very confused, and somewhat worried. Suddenly he noticed something so strange, it distracted him.

"Hey, where did your shadow go?"

"Ummm.. don't know anything about that."

"No, look, you don't have a shadow."

"Well look here now, it's no responsibility of mine if I have a shadow or not. Anything that happened because of it, is no business of mine. A man can't be expected to know what his shadow is doing all the time. Don't blame me for it."

"Don't take offense." Said the dreamer. "I wouldn't expect your shadow to do anything. I was just wondering why you didn't have one."

"Oh." Said the old man, seemingly much relieved. "Well, if you journey to the ends of time and space, you just might meet him."

"I certainly won't be going that far."

"Oh don't be so sure about that. But anyways... look at the size of that elephant!"

The old man pointed and the dreamer turned, looked, but there was no elephant in sight. And when he turned back the old man was gone, and he was alone.