THE DESERT PONY

MAGICAL ADVENTURES AND PONY TALES SERIES

ANGHARAD THOMPSON REES

CONTENTS

The Desert Pony

1. Lake Furkan

2. It’s a Goat’s Life

3. Market Day

4. A Seeker’s Tear

5. Sky High

6. Lavender and Primrose

7. A Fond Farewell

Also by Angharad Thompson Rees

About the Author

THE DESERT PONY

‘Pure white feathers sprouted from around the saddle, at first disappearing in the wind. And then more and more appeared, until two large wings formed and spread out gracefully from the pony’s shoulders.’

1

LAKE FURKAN

Once upon a time, in a land now overgrown and lost, there was a magical lake. In itself, the lake was rather ordinary with its crystal-tipped surface and a light silver mist hovering over it. However, where the lake was situated was far from ordinary indeed. Lake Furkan, as it was known then, swelled in many places at different times, and not one person ever saw it in the same place twice. This caused a problem, as one tends to get a hefty thirst when riding under the flaming sun and over scorching sand, so weary travellers depended upon it. You may have guessed – Lake Furkan was located in the middle, at the end, or somewhere in between the desert dunes. And not just any old desert – it was in the Sahara Desert itself.

It was said if you were to bathe within the turquoise waters of Lake Furkan, your youthful looks would remain for one hundred and forty-two days, and seven seconds. If you drank the water at sundown (when the water shimmered gold), you would discover the world’s riches and learn the art of alchemy to maintain your treasure. Yet, if you bottled this water and neither drank it, bathed within it, nor dipped your big toe below the surface of it, something truly magical was said to happen.

However, nobody had ever seen this magic. You see, by the time weary travellers happened upon Lake Furkan (you can never find it by looking, you’ll understand), they would have dry throats from sand storms, burnt faces from sunstroke, and the thirst of a camel’s aunt. There was, nevertheless, a sign at the perimeter of the lake that explained exactly what they must do if they were lucky (or unlucky) enough to discover it:

Bathe in me when blue

And your youth will stay with you

Drink me when I’m gold

And your fortune will unfold

Don’t wet your lips or skin

And your adventures will begin

So bottle me and keep

If it’s magic that you seek.

But if you do all three

You’ll break the law of Cree

And soon you’ll understand

You’ll never leave the sand.

Many scoundrels and gentlemen had read this sign and yet in their greed, they attempted all three. This, my friend, had resulted in a rather odd-looking fence around the perimeter of the lake (wherever it happens to magically appear). The fence was sure to make your spine tingle and knees knock, as it was made up entirely of skeleton bones. But this is not a story about skeletons or bones; this is a story about a boy named Hannan and his Arabian pony, Sahar. So, let us go back and begin where all great stories arise – with a choice, and a promise of adventure…

* * *

2

IT’S A GOAT’S LIFE

Standing upon a mountaintop, Hannan gazed into the distance. Around him, a herd of goats bleated merrily while bells around their necks tinkled with hollow chimes. Dry grass, almost green, beneath his feet was a perfect place, Hannan decided, to lie down, rest, and watch the tiny wisps of clouds float across the sky.

‘We’d better find shelter before nightfall,’ Hannan advised his goats a few hours later. ‘It’s hot in the sun, but we’ll freeze to death under moonlight.’

Of course they didn’t answer him, but his goats were all Hannan had for company. In fact, they were all he had for family too. Many years ago, Hannan’s parents went in search of a magical cure to heal his mother’s curious disease. You see, a peculiar melancholy had taken away her happiness and left her feeling terribly sad for no reason at all. Hannan’s father had heard folktales and legends about an enchanted lake that had the power to heal any ailment. So with horses, camels, food, and water, young Hannan’s parents had left him behind with Grandmamma, and they embarked on a journey into the Sahara Desert in search of the mysterious lake and magical cure. But they never returned, and Grandmamma had died of grief, leaving Hannan on his own – besides a few goats. And this was the reason he liked to stand on the mountaintop and gaze towards the horizon. Even after four and a bit years, Hannan still hoped for the return of his mother and father from the wild, perilous sands.

Before the sun dipped below the surface of the sky, Hannan herded his goats down the rocky mountain to a familiar cave for shelter. You may wonder why he didn’t go home… well, the mountains were his home. He moved day-by-day, week-by-week and month-by-month, finding fresh grass to feed his stock. With the healthiest goats in the land, Hannan made good money by selling them. He often passed through colourful markets, selling his goats as well as bartering for food and clothing. It wasn’t an extraordinary life, but Hannan felt as though he had no other choice.

Reaching the dark entrance to the cave, his goats became uncharacteristically nervous. They bleated, their heads high, refusing to enter.

‘Go on with you!’ Hannan called, waving his arms and a long stick. One by one, the goats entered and Hannan emptied the last of their food onto the ground. Then he slumped to the floor. He was used to the dark and was not in the least bit scared. Hannan sat crossed-legged and began eating a crust of stale bread, when a strange voice broke the silence and startled him.

‘Looks like your last morsel of food,’ a coarse voice said. ‘Would you be so kind as to share with a hungry old man?’

With a swift scratch, a match was lit. A lantern shone, and a stranger glowed in an amber light. The old man’s face was deeply wrinkled and weather worn, but his eyes shone with the brightness of a monkey – mischievous, inquisitive and kind. His salt and pepper-coloured beard flowed with a pleasant softness not often found in shabby facial hair. And his eyebrows rose, waiting for Hannan’s reply, but Hannan was far too stunned to say a word. Instead, he broke the bread in half. It snapped with a crunch in the silence and sent crumbs falling to the floor (hastily eaten by an astute goat). Hannan offered the bread to the stranger with an outstretched hand.

‘You are too kind,’ the old man muttered in between chomping at his new-found fare. ‘Although I fear I may break my teeth on this bread had I not already replaced them.’ He smiled, displaying an impressive set of perfectly pearly, straight teeth – all but one, which sparkled a deep red. Had Hannan seen a ruby before, he would have recognised the gem. The boy, despite all the peculiarity of the evening, could not help but smile back.

‘It’s no bother. I shall be attending the city market tomorrow. I’ll buy more grain for my goats… and more stale bread.’ He laughed lightly. ‘I’m Hannan, by the way.’

‘I know who you are, young man,’ the stranger replied, surprising Hannan somewhat. ‘But why, may I ask, would you bother to waste your hard-earned coins for more goat grain?’

‘Why? To feed my goats, of course! Then I’ll get good money when I sell them to afford to buy more grain and more goats. They can’t feed on this dreadful brown grass alone and stay nice and fat for the market,’ Hannan said matter-of-factly. He loved his goats, in a strange way.

‘But why do you need goats when you can have an adventure, young Hannan?’ the stranger asked, his eyes widening wickedly.

Hannan became unsettled, as did his goats, and several bells tinkled and echoed within the darkened cave.

‘An adventure? But this life is all I know,’ Hannan said sadly. Then, his eyes narrowed. ‘Just one moment. Who are you exactly; and how do you know my name?’ The young goat shepherd herded his stock away from the stranger.

And when the old man stood up, his height was rather unnerving. He wore a long crimson cloak embellished with large, fanciful golden tapestries that were previously hidden from sight within the shadows.

‘I know you, like I know every grain of sand in the desert. I know your goats as well as every droplet in faraway oceans. And what’s more, I know your dreams.’

Hannan backed away into a darkened corner, too worried to reply.

‘I’m a sorcerer. Sorcerer Scridgemore, at your service.’

Sorcerer Scridgemore folded from the waist, bowing low with a hearty chuckle.

‘A sorcerer!’ Hannan repeated in wonder. ‘You make magic? Can you find my parents?’

‘Oh no, dear boy,’ the sorcerer said, moving towards Hannan. He took the boy’s small hands into his large, wrinkly palms. ‘That type of magic is far beyond my power.’

In a flash, the sorcerer’s eyes glazed over and turned white and opaque.

Hannan gasped, stepping backwards and nearly falling over an unseen goat. Then the old man burst into song. The tune was as beautiful as it was haunting.

‘Do you have the courage

to search for what you seek,

and leave this life behind you

to trek the highest peak?

For if you have the bravery

to give up what you know,

the path will soon be open

and to adventure you will go.

But beware the thirst that follows,

beware your dusty clothes;

no drinking from the shallows,

or cleaning dirty toes.

‘Remember all these words,

for they guide you from the ills

of disappearing forever

in the long and distant hills.

Yet, if the Seeker’s brave

and believes in what he seeks,

he’ll no longer be a slave

of the boring and the meek.’

With a cough and a splutter, the sorcerer’s eyes turned the vibrant blue they previously were, and he looked rather confused and bewildered. ‘Oh!’ he said casually. ‘I must have nodded off!’

‘Nodded off?’ said Hannan. ‘You sang a song, with a message. Where’s this peak you mentioned?’ Hannan was eager to prove he was neither boring nor meek, yet the idea of an adventure was more scary than it was thrilling.

Sorcerer Scridgemore shrugged his shoulders and returned to biting into the stale bread. ‘I know nothing of a peak. But I do know if you have an ache in your heart and feel as though something is missing from your life, you must seek it as if your very soul depends on it,’ said the sorcerer. His eyes widened and he whispered as if sharing a secret. ‘But you have to be brave enough to give up the life you have, for the life you want.’

‘But how will I know where to go?’ asked Hannan.

‘Follow the signs, dear boy, follow the signs.’

And with that, the sorcerer closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep, serenading Hannan and his goats with the loudest, bone-rattling snores they were ever likely to hear.

* * *

3

MARKET DAY

Hannan had a fitful sleep, trying to remember all the many questions he wanted to ask the sorcerer, but unfortunately, he awoke only to his goats’ bleats and tinkling of their bells. He wondered if he had dreamed about the sorcerer; after all, it was quite a fanciful idea.

‘A sorcerer, indeed?’ Hannan laughed to himself as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He was quite happy to believe he had imagined the whole thing, until he noticed something twinkling in a stray sunbeam that shone towards the back of the cave. In fact, it sparkled so brightly that Hannan raised his arm to his face to protect his squinting eyes.

‘What is it?’ he asked his goats, picking up the small object no bigger than a one-penny piece.

In the palm of his hand and out of the sun’s rays, it looked like a small coin. It was made of gold – enough to buy a month’s supply of goat grain and food if he sold it at the market.

But on closer inspection, Hannan noticed a tiny pony within the centre, where the head of a king or pharaoh would usually be. And where the pony’s eye should be, was a tiny yet perfectly shaped ruby. Of course, as I’ve previously mentioned, Hannan didn’t know what a ruby was. He had no idea whether the coin (if sold) should give him enough grain not only for a month, but for ten years. And so off he went, with his goats and his coin, to the city market.

As always, the market was colourful and lively. Many flags in many colours flapped above makeshift tents and stalls, while people jeered and cheered. Bleating animals joined in with their own chorus. Hannan enjoyed the aromas of many spices as he herded his goats towards the same stall he had visited at this market ever since his parents disappeared into the desert. He knew what he would do – the same thing he did at every city market. He would sell two goats, and then buy enough grain and bread to last until he had two more goats old enough, and fat enough, to sell.

His routine suddenly struck him as rather boring.

Shrugging the thought from his mind, he reached the stall. All the while, he held on tightly to the pony coin for fear of losing it. He very much wanted to get a good price for it to enable him to sample the exotic foods he passed along the way.

‘Those two goats,’ a familiar, gruff voice said. The stall man pointed towards the fattest goats and thrust some notes towards Hannan.

‘Same price as always, perhaps a little less for the second goat. It’s not as plump as I’d like.’

Hannan was just about to take the money, eager to make his sale and fill his empty stomach, when he noticed a dusty-coloured pony tied to the stall. He looked at the coin in his hand, and back up again at the pony.

‘He’s not for sale,’ said the gruff voice, noting Hannan’s wandering eyes. ‘Unless you want to give me all of your goats!’

‘Oh no, no, I was only looking!’ said Hannan, waving his hands and shaking his head. He had seen many donkeys before, plenty of camels, and he had even seen horses when his parents were still at home. But he had never before seen a pony.

‘I found him at the base of Emi Koussion, the highest peak in the Sahara Desert,’ the man said proudly. ‘He just stood there, with nothing on but a halter.’

‘The highest peak? It’s a sign,’ Hannan whispered quietly, thinking of the sorcerer’s song and the coin he left behind. ‘I’ll take the pony!’

The stall man looked startled and so too did Hannan, almost as if he did not know the words had come out of his mouth.

‘The pony? For all your goats?’ the stall man questioned. And Hannan, not wanting to appear meek, nodded his head.

In a flurry of activity, the goats were herded into pens, the pony was untied and handed to the now goat-less shepherd.

Hannan looked rather befuddled, and the old stall man must have felt a little guilty for taking so much and giving so little. So, in a gesture of goodwill, he gave the boy back the money for the first two goats, and wished him good day and good luck.

With no goat grain to buy, Hannan bought an apple for the pony and some warm, spicy food for himself. Then he sat upon a rock looking up at his new pony, and wondered what on earth he was going to do next.

‘I don’t even know your name,’ he said to his pony sadly. Hannan’s adrenaline had disappeared, leaving him feeling thoroughly miserable. He missed his goats already. He scratched the pony’s head and instantly, his hand became dirty. ‘I don’t even know what colour you are under all this dust.’

With that, the pony’s ears pricked up and it looked into the crowds and beyond. Hannan jumped to his feet, causing his pony to spook a little. He was sure he saw the back of a crimson cape with gold tapestry disappearing into the crowds.

‘Wait, wait!’ he bellowed, pulling his pony along, who amiably trotted alongside him. ‘Wait, Sorcerer Scridgemore!’

As you can imagine, Hannan received many strange looks. A sorcerer, indeed? But he kept running, and his pony cleared a path with his little choppy strides. Always, the cloak was almost in sight, and Hannan continued to call out, hoping to catch the old man’s attention. But when the crowds lessened until there was nothing but empty space and the border of the desert on the horizon, Hannan and his pony stopped.

‘He’s gone,’ Hannan said sadly. He may have cried, if at that moment his pony had not neighed shrilly, reared up, and galloped off towards said horizon.

* * *

4

A SEEKER’S TEAR

‘Stop, stop!’ Hannan called, clinging onto the lead rope. At first his legs were able to keep up, but soon he fell to his knees. Determined not to let the pony go, he gripped with all of his might (proving he was very brave indeed). He bounced along the dusty ground, each time with an ‘oomph’ or an ‘ouch’ or some other words I do not feel at liberty to say. The pony did stop, eventually. But when he did, the pair found themselves in the middle of nowhere, with no land or marker to help Hannan decide which way was home. All around them was miles and miles of dark orange sand.

‘Oh no!’ Hannan said, realising at once where they were.

They were in the perilous Sahara Desert.

While Hannan scraped himself up from the ground, his pony went onto the top of his hooves and shook his entire body with a happy groan. All the dark, gloomy dust that had been resting upon his colourless coat shook off, revealing a glowing white coat. So white, in fact, that it sparkled as if encrusted with diamonds. Hannan could hardly believe it, and ran his hand along the pony’s sleek neck.

‘Wow, you are beautiful!’ he said, wide-eyed. The only problem for poor Hannan was that in the process of his pony’s reveal, he had become covered in the gloomy, dirty dust himself. And stuck in the middle of the Sahara Desert, there was no way to wash it off.

‘Well,’ Hannan began, very used to talking to his animals, ‘I suppose we had better find our way home.’ He sucked a finger and stuck it into the air to determine which way the wind was blowing. The tricky thing about this method of tracking home, was that Hannan did not actually know which way the home wind blew.

So he shrugged, deciding to track the hoof prints left by his pony instead. He led the pony because Hannan had never actually ridden before, and he was too afraid to try with a pony he did not know particularly well.

His method for finding home was all very well and good, until a sandstorm whipped up the sand in all directions. Hannan covered his face with his arms, and the pony jogged alongside, sheltering his head behind Hannan’s back. It was terribly confusing as to which way was which and, when the storm finally stopped, there were no hoof prints either in front or behind them to lead them back.

‘Oh bother!’ Hannan declared, already wishing he had not set out on his strange adventure. But he could not help thinking of the sorcerer’s song and began to sing it aloud.

‘For if the Seeker’s brave

and believes in what he seeks,

he’ll no longer be a slave

of the boring and the meek.’

Raucous laughter erupted behind him and Hannan spun around, expecting to see someone. But nobody was there except his pony.

‘Did you hear that?’ he asked his pony, who stamped his hoof and gave a hearty neigh.

‘Of course I heard it! It was me laughing!’ said the pony, swishing his long, flowing white mane.

Hannan wondered whether he was still in the cave, dreaming. He even considered if the sun had caused him to hallucinate (having heard that the desert can make you see strange mirages). He pinched the warm skin on his arm.

‘You’re not asleep, young man,’ the pony began. ‘Stranger things have happened than a pony who can talk!’

Hannan raised his eyebrows; he doubted that very much. Perhaps he liked the sound of his own voice, or perhaps he understood the boy’s confusion, because the pony continued.

‘Let me introduce myself. My name is Sahar. I’m a very magical pony!’ he said rather smugly. He pulled a face that looked something like a superior smile. ‘And you, I know, are young Hannan.’

The young, goat-less shepherd did not ask how the pony knew this, nor did he question how Sahar could talk. Lots of strange things had happened in a small space of time, and the shock allowed Hannan to continue as naturally as if he was talking to his wordless goats.

‘Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sahar. Why, may I ask, did you wait until now to speak to me, and actually…’ he became a little cross, ‘why did you gallop off like that?’ Hannan looked down at his torn trousers and grazed knees.

‘Why, I had to find out if you truly were a Seeker!’ The pony cocked his long white head to the side, his ears flicking forward in interest. ‘You are certainly brave, because you gave up all you had for a chance of something new. And you are certainly courageous, as you held on so tightly to the rope, and many have dropped it over the centuries. And,’ the pony lowered his voice in a conspiring whisper, ‘you sang the song.’

Hannan digested the information, which did not sit too comfortably in his stomach now unsettled by rich, exotic food and strange happenings.

‘Did you say centuries?’ Hannan asked, clinging onto what may have been the oddest part of Sahar’s speech.

To Hannan’s surprise, the pony winked and did a strange little dance. He pounded his front hoof three times, then his opposite back hoof twice. He marched around in a circle on the spot with a peculiar, high-kneed action. Then the pony shuffled closer to Hannan in strange, foxtrot-like steps, and, when he was only inches away from the boy’s face, he cried out, ‘TA DA!’

Hannan backed away quickly in surprise, expecting something extraordinary to happen. But alas, nothing did.

‘Oh!’ said the pony, with an element of disappointment. ‘It has been such a long time since I discovered a Seeker, I have failed to remember the correct sequence. Let me try again.’

And then the pony tried the dance many times, each time slightly different from the last.

Eventually, Hannan fell to the floor in uncontrollable fits of laughter. ‘Stop! Stop!’ he cried, clutching onto his sides. ‘I can’t take any more!’

And he continued to laugh, and then grunt, and then tears rolled from his eyes, making trails down his dirty, dusty cheeks. Hannan realised he had not laughed so hard since before his parents had left him a very long time ago.

The pony’s eyes widened. ‘Yes, that’s right, that’s right! I also need a tear from the Seeker for the thing he wants to seek!’

The pony walked towards the boy, and very gently rubbed his head against the boy’s wet cheeks.

In a flash, every colour Hannan had ever seen, and even colours he never knew existed, exploded from the pony in swirls and stars. The colours twirled in the warm breeze, up and around the pony. Up and around the boy, and then, when they subsided, Sahar was donned in the most exquisite set of tack Hannan had ever seen. Silks of gold and silver and crimson draped from his mane, ribbons of midnight blue and twilight green flowed from his tail. A saddle was perched upon his back, made of leather so soft it looked like a comfy armchair.

‘Come on, jump on!’ Sahar said.

‘I, I, I can’t ride,’ Hannan stuttered. His cheeks flushed with a pink glow.

‘You don’t need to know how to ride where we’re going!’ laughed Sahar. ‘Come on, I’ll show you. Even the best of riders would not be prepared for this.’

* * *

5

SKY HIGH

Tentatively, Hannan put his foot in the stirrup and clumsily clambered on board with a huff and a grunt.

‘Are you ready? Hang on!’ Sahar called. Without waiting for a reply, he launched into beautiful, long galloping strides and, as he did, a remarkable thing happened. Pure white feathers sprouted from around the saddle, at first disappearing behind them in the wind. And then more and more appeared, until two large wings formed and spread out gracefully from the pony’s shoulders. Still galloping, the wings whooshed through the air and slowly, very slowly, Sahar and Hannan left the ground, flying effortlessly into the sky.

‘Woohoo!’ Hannan cried, looking down at the desert far below. ‘We’re flying, we’re really flying!’

The pony’s legs continued to gallop through the air, yet instead of the sound of pounding hooves, all Hannan heard was the rhythmical whirl of large wings beating beside him, slicing through the warm desert wind.

‘Oh! It has been such a long time!’ Sahar said, swooping and dancing in the air, and suddenly he burst into song.

‘We’ll fly together hopeful

and find the magic lake,

but only one sole action

the Seeker must then take.

‘Only drink the water,

or only bathe your skin,

but if you take the water

be sure it’s the only thing.’

‘Why does everything magical always seem to sing?’ asked Hannan, a little frustrated with the riddles.

‘Why, we don’t sing because we’re magical; we’re magical because we sing!’ laughed Sahar.

‘Then why the riddles?’

‘Because, dear boy, you can’t expect all life’s answers to be given to you. You have to search. After all, you are a Seeker; you must seek the truth!’

Hannan was not completely satisfied with the answer, but the view was so beautiful from high up in the air, he soon forgot his cares. He watched their shadow fly across the orange sands, and breathed in the clouds they occasionally flew through. Higher and higher they went, until the air became quite cool, and just when Hannan was getting a little worried, Sahar began his descent.

‘There it is!’ the pony proclaimed, heading towards a mountaintop.

Unfortunately for Hannan, Sahar’s landing was nowhere near as smooth as his take-off, and they plunged towards the ground.

‘Slow down, slow down!’ Hannan begged.

‘I can’t!’ Sahar called from over his shoulder. ‘I don’t know how to brake!’

With that, the two landed with a thud, tumbling and rolling across the ground in two separate heaps. The feathers upon Sahar’s wings floated away until he was a pony once more.

‘Well, that wasn’t too bad,’ Sahar said a little coyly, avoiding eye contact with Hannan, who was sporting a rather sore-looking lump upon his head and an eye destined to swell and close with bruising. ‘Good job we landed on sand!’

Hannan opened his mouth, ready to give Sahar a royal telling off, but stopped. Surrounding him, on the top of the mountain, was the most beautiful oasis he had ever wished to see. Hannan was used to dry, barren land, green-brown grass, and brittle, fruitless trees. So when a lush jungle presented itself to him, he fell to his knees in admiration.

‘Is this a mirage?’ he asked the pony.

‘No, no, my friend, this is no mirage. This is Lake Furkan!’

* * *

6

LAVENDER AND PRIMROSE

Instantly, Hannan noticed the sparkling blue waters of the lake and the clean, crisp mist around it. He could even feel the moisture from the jungle lake rest upon his skin. Immediately, Hannan raced towards it.

‘Do come on!’ he called back to his pony, who remained standing on the spot.

‘This is not my quest, and I cannot assist.’

The pony’s voice grew distant as Hannan continued to run, both with the thirst of a camel’s aunt and the need to bathe his skin. Yet, just before he reached the lake, he slowed, noticing the foreboding fence line. Hundreds of bones: arm bones, leg bones, and even skulls encircled the entire perimeter in the fence line. Hannan soon forgot about his thirst. Then he noticed a piece of paper spiked on a finger bone, and upon it was another riddle, the warning riddle, which you may remember from the start of this story.

Well, Hannan was tired of riddles. He was tired of songs, and he was even almost tired of adventures.

‘What is the point of this beautiful lake if I cannot swim within it and drink from it? And how can bottled water create magic?’ Hannan wondered aloud. He heard footsteps tiptoeing behind him. Turning around, Sahar was trying to appear as small as his frame would allow. Which is not really that small when you consider the size of a pony.

‘Shhhh,’ Sahar whispered, ‘I shouldn’t tell you, but I can remind you…’

Remember what it is you seek;

don’t look for something more.

For the fence line will give you a peek

of what will be in store.

So decide on if it’s water

to drink or bathe or keep,

and if it’s magic that you’re after,

you’ll reap what you have seeked!’

‘Seeked?’ said Hannan. ‘Is that even a real word?’

The pony raised his hoof to his mouth in a gesture indicating a secret shared. Hannan sighed, sat upon a rock clutching his pony coin in his hand, and thought about the riddles. He knew he had to be brave and courageous – and surely he was! He had given up his usual life and routine to take a risk, not to mention riding a flying pony high above the sands. Now, he had to act with caution. He was thirsty, but alas, he was also dirty. He thought about the promise the lake’s riddle gave and reread the warning note to remind himself.

Bathe in me when blue

and your youth will stay with you.

Drink me when I’m gold

and your fortune will unfold.

Don’t wet your lips or skin

and your adventures will begin.

So bottle me and keep

if it’s magic that you seek.

But if you do all three,

you’ll break the law of Cree.

And soon you’ll understand

you’ll never leave the sand.

Eternal youth? Well, Hannan did not want to stay a child forever; he wanted to grow up and have more thrilling adventures, so he decided not to bathe in the water when it turned blue.

The art of alchemy? Well, he had already found a precious gold coin, and Hannan decided he had always found a way to make enough money to live. Perhaps, he considered, this was an art he already possessed. So, he chose not to drink the water when it turned to gold, despite his desperate thirst. Because if he bottled the water, he would gain what he was seeking. And wasn’t he a Seeker? Wasn’t that what the pony and sorcerer had both called him? What Hannan wanted was far more important than gold and far more important than eternal youth. Yes, Hannan wanted his family back. He turned sadly to Sahar.

‘I’ve been seeking my parents for many years –’ he began, but the pony interrupted him.

‘You haven’t been seeking them for years; you have been waiting for them for years. And waiting does not always give you what you want.’ The pony’s coat began changing colour. Dark pink swirled before merging into the deepest of crimson red. Hannan, so used to peculiar things happening of late, hardly paid this colour change any attention.

‘Sorcerer Scridgemore told me that even all his magic could not find my parents.’ Hannan looked at the lake and felt his heart ache.

‘He also told you that if you have an ache in your heart, you must follow it as if your very soul depends on it.’

‘How do you know that?’ Hannan asked.

And with a flash of ruby red light, the pony transformed into a man.

‘Because I am Sorcerer Scridgemore.’ He bowed a low bow and his long, salt and pepper beard grazed the sand upon the ground. ‘At your service!’

Well, poor Hannan hardly knew what to do or what to think. His lips formed an ‘O’ shape, but no words escaped from them.

‘My magic cannot help you find what you seek. But your magic can!’ he said.

‘But I’m no magician; I have no magic.’ Hannan’s upset and frustration caused him to cry. He missed his parents now more than ever. But presently, a beautiful tune filled the air.

‘Follow you heart,

right from the start

believe in what you seek.

Follow your dreams

and life will deem

an adventure at your feet.

Be brave, be bold, be open

and sing from your heart a song,

and soon you’ll realise your dream

has been with you all along.’

‘Well, there’s nothing else for it!’ Hannan proclaimed, watching as the old magician coughed and spluttered from his singing dream. Running through the bone fence, Hannan raced towards the edge of Lake Furkan and dropped to his knees. Searching through his little bag of belongings, he brought out a small, empty bottle, the contents of which he had already drunk. And with all the belief in the world, with all the hope, and with all his bravery, Hannan plunged the bottle into the water, careful not to get his fingers wet. He instantly replaced the cork top. Then before he had time to reconsider (as it was very tempting to swim in the lake), he ran from it towards Sorcerer Scridgemore, whose smile reached from one ear to the other, exposing his ruby tooth.

‘Well done, boy! Well done!’ he called. Hannan felt incredibly proud, and embraced the sorcerer, who had become a great friend as Sahar within his quest. But Hannan’s attention wandered when a familiar smell wafted through the air. Lavender and primrose, a sweet gentle aroma he had not smelt for years. And then spices, old spices he held only in his memory. Through the desert’s breeze, he heard his name whispered.

Looking up, Hannan watched as the bone fence rattled, then shook, then transformed. He saw skin emerging, and eyes and long, flowing hair. What were once skeletons, were now people, rearranging themselves out of their awkward positions, and straightening their tight limbs. They all looked rather baffled; rubbing their eyes and yawning as if waking from a deep sleep.

‘Hannan, Hannan!’ a voice called, and the goat-less shepherd could barely believe his ears.

He turned to see both his mother and father disentangling themselves from the fence before running towards him, their arms flung wide.

‘You came for us!’ his mother cried, picking up her son and swinging him around and around.

‘You are lucky you have such a clever son,’ Sorcerer Scridgemore said. ‘Many people have waited hundreds of years for someone to undo the curse caused by ignoring the lake’s promise.’

Hannan’s mother finally put her son down, and his father knelt before him, holding Hannan’s shoulders.

‘We bathed in the lake to heal your mother,’ Hannan’s father began. ‘But then we also drank it, we were so thirsty.’

‘I bet not as thirsty as you are now!’ Hannan laughed, as he was picked up and squeezed just a little too tightly by his father.

‘Did you hear us whisper to you?’ his mother asked with a face full of smiles – her melancholy completely cured. ‘We felt you watching us from your mountain top with your goats. We called to you every day.’

It was then Hannan knew his parents had always been with him, even when they were not – because they had kept him in their hearts, and he had kept them in his. He clutched his bottled magic tightly, incredibly grateful to have followed his heart’s desires, and to have found enough courage to become a true Seeker.

* * *

7

A FOND FAREWELL

And there one quest ends and another journey, another adventure, and another story begins. I know this because I lived to tell the tale.

The desert holds strange powers over people: mirages, mysterious lakes, magic even. My family and I returned home with the help of Sorcerer Scridgemore, but this was not my last time in the desert, nor indeed, my last time with Sahar.

But that dear friend, is another thrilling tale I’ll save for another time…

So this is not the end but rather, another beginning.

Hannan x

* * *

Discover magical tales in this Heart Warming Series!

The Painted Pony

The Galloping Pony

The Girl and her Pony

The Runaway Pony

The Wooden Pony

Thank you for purchasing this book. As an indie author, this really means a lot to me.

As a thank you for choosing this book, I would love to gift you a FREE BONUS STORY! You can download it just here!

ALSO BY ANGHARAD THOMPSON REES

Magical Adventures & Pony Tales

The Painted Pony

The Galloping Pony

The Girl and her Pony

The Runaway Pony

The Desert Pony

The Wooden Pony

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Middle Grade Adventures

The Making of a Knight

The Snow Pony

* * *

Children’s Creative Journals

My Horse Riding Journal

My Ballet Journal

Write your own Comic Journal

* * *

Middle Grade Fantasy Series

Witch Hearts

Fire Heart

Dragon Heart

Raven Heart

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Angharad Thompson Rees is a multi passionate creative with a Little Whimsey. A screenwriter, comic scriptwriter, poet, illustrator, and author of fantasy novels and creative journals for children and young adults. Weaving strong imagery with poetical prose, Angharad's stories capture the imagination of young and old with her whimsical offerings.

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Discover out more at:

www.littlewhimsey.com

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Copyright © 2022 Angharad Thompson Rees

All Rights Reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or in any means – by electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise – without prior written permission

Published by Little Whimsey Press